He points at the vending machine behind us. “I was thinking water. Or Coke. The soda. Not drugs.”
“Sure,” I say, like I’m totally relaxed and not kicking myself on the inside.
There’s an awkward moment where he might be offering to pay for the orange juice I selected but I’m not 100 percentsure, so I bust out a wrinkled dollar bill like it’s a Badge of Feminism. And then I can’t decide if it would be more progressive or less to buy his drink, so I awkwardly shuffle to the side and watch him feed quarters into the machine.
We find new seats because even the most eager beavers have given up on saving a prime spot in front of the defunct luggage carousel.
“Cheers,” he says, twisting off the cap of his water bottle. There’s an expectant pause.
“What?”
“I didn’t catch your name.”
I take a sip of orange juice to stall. “You can call me… Katie.”
“Because that’s… your name?” he asks, mimicking my hesitation.
It’s not a complete fabrication, because Katherine is my middle name. I thought about going by Katie at school for a while, around the time the boys in my grade figured out what “virgin” meant and started pronouncing my name like it was a communicable disease.VIRGIN-eee-uh!But then Grandma Lainey told me that one day I’d be glad to have a powerful first name, instead of sounding like a stripper, and now I’m more or less okay with it.
It’s still fun to pretend I’m someone else for a minute, especially since it’s not like I’m ever going to see Felix again.
“Are you here for work or pleasure, Katie?”
“Are those the only two options?” If so, I’m not sure how to answer.
“I guess it could be both.”
“How do you figure?”
“Theme park performer. Spreading joy to young and old.” He adds sparkle fingers, in case I need the visual aid.
“I thought you were going to say sex worker.”
Felix chokes, and water shoots out of his mouth. He looks mortified, but I’m flattered I made him do a spit take.
“I’m not really Disney princess material,” I add, while he wipes off the armrest.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Beats working the deep fryer at Mickey D’s.”
“Is that what the cool kids call it?”
“Mickey D’s. BK Lounge. The Bell.” His poker face is excellent. Even Grandma Lainey would approve.
“Nobody calls it ‘The Bell.’”
He grins at my look of disgust. “Maybe you need to get out more, Katie. Where are you from?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Why, is it the challenge question for your online banking? Let me guess. Peoria? Charlotte? Gary, Indiana?”
“No, no, and no.” So much for this lipstick giving off cosmopolitan vibes. “Where areyoufrom?”
“Atlanta.” His grin is unexpectedly cute. “See? Sharing is caring.”
“I’ll remember that when I steal your identity.”
“Nice. I’m here visiting my grandfather, by the way. Not that you asked.”
