The guy—more of a boy, honestly—laughed again. He had a nice laugh. A sweet smile, too. But looking at him only made me miss a more serious face. One that when it smiled, felt like a precious gift, just for me.
“It’s obvious,” he said. “You’re totally absorbed with someone. But there’s a problem. What is it, is he married?”
“No!”
“Dead?”
I pinched my eyes shut and opened them again. “Aren’t you a little young to be psychoanalyzing strangers?”
He shrugged. “I like older women.”
He wasn’t smarmy. Just honest and kind of sweet. He’d make someone very happy someday.
I pulled my book closer to me. “It’s complicated.”
“You know, people tend to say that when they’re justifying something they know isn’t right.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that. It’s just… our lives are… unaligned right now. In a big way.”
“That’s it?”
I frowned, irritated I was actually talking about this to a stranger, let alone this one. “Life’s not all bongs and beach parties, you know.”
That made him laugh. He swirled the last of his drink in his glass. “You’re right. Life is very serious.” He flagged the bartender. “I’ll get both of ours.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said.
“It’s all good. You look like you need a little cheering up. Also, you look just like Dolly Parton. I grew up listening to her. A class act. But listen, I wasn’t finished with my words of wisdom.”
That got him a world class eye-roll, which he laughed good-spiritedly at. “I know, I know. But listen, lifeisserious, but not if you choose for it not to be.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means why not live a life guided by happiness, instead of fear? Why not treat each problem like an adventure? Why say no to happiness because it might lead to future pain?”
I glared at the guy.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m in grad school. Philosophy.”
“You don’t say.”
But inside, this boy had tweaked something in me. A memory of Mama and me, skipping down the streets of St.John’s, looking in the windows of the shops, pretending we could buy anything we wanted, but the fine things weren’t good enough for us. We picked apart each one we passed, waving our hands airily, saying things likewhat shoddy craftsmanship, andthat’ll never do in our front parlor.Then we’d go home to our cold apartment, with a can of noodles for supper and a pit in our chests over the beautiful cozy displays in those stores. But we’d had each other. And we’d had fun.
I’d forgotten about that, right up until Mr. Pollyanna here had said the words.
The guy was standing up, hooking his bag over his shoulder. “Good luck with everything, Dolly,” he winked, then walked jauntily out of the bar.
I couldn’t help laugh. When I looked forward again though, I startled. In the mirror behind the bar, Phil the Philanderer was settling down on the seat next to me. “Can you believe that guy?” he said.
I stood up. “No. But maybe I should.”
I texted Mitchell as I walked to my gate.
WINONA: I just met someone at the airport bar.
I had no idea what time it was in Zurich, but three dots popped up almost right away.
MITCHELL: What do you mean someone? A man? Was he good looking? Local?
