by Anthology
Just kidding.
I had the worst night of sleep of my life. I made the mistake of trying to sleep on the bottom bunk with Brett. It’s small, yes, but I didn’t want to crawl up to the top bunk. I had visions of rolling right off the side every time the train stopped. And I sure as hell didn’t want Brett’s big ass sleeping on that tiny pull out above me, he’s like a whole person bigger than me. What if it collapsed?
But after being pancaked against the wall for most of the night, thanks to my lovely fiancé, I finally ventured to the top bunk. It didn’t help. I’ve heard people say the rocking of the train soothes you to sleep. Not me. When the low rattle of the train on the tracks wasn’t driving me to madness, I was jolting up in my sleep every time the engineer blew the horn. All aboard the insomnia express.
We rolled up to Chicago’s Union Station bright and early this morning and transferred to the famous California Zephyr. We’re thankfully on the second and final leg of our trip now. In a little less than two days, we’ll roll into Reno, Nevada, and my parents will be waiting to drive us over to our cabin on the lake. Maybe I can find some oxygenizing spa treatment to combat my train face before the wedding. A girl can dream.
The door slides open, and Brett walks into the cabin carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. He hands one off to me, and I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, breathing in the delicious smell of roasted coffee beans.
"My hero," I sigh as I sip on my life’s blood. Our new car attendant makes me miss our little Edmond. She never actually told us her name, so we’ve been spending our time coming up with ones that might fit.
"Did you run into Helga on your trip to the lounge car?" I grin, triumphant in my choice.
"Ooh, good one." Brett bends and drops a kiss on my head before stretching out on the couch facing me. "No. Brunhilde was too busy scowling at the guy in Room E for pushing his call button to notice me."
I break into giggles. "You win. For the record, I’m becoming concerned at your knowledge of scary lady names."
"Scary? These are coming straight from my list of possible baby names."
My jaw drops, and Brett shakes his head at me.
"And by the way." He pauses for a sip of coffee. "I double-checked on the luggage to make sure everything made it onto this train."
"Thanks, babe." I stretch my legs out onto the sofa across from me and stare absentmindedly out the window, watching the snowfall as we travel through Illinois.
Brett nudges my foot. "You ready for this?"
I look up to find his big brown eyes trained on me.
"For what?"
"The wedding." He picks at an invisible thread on his sweater. "I know this wasn’t your preferred form of transportation. Things could’ve been a lot easier on you if we’d flown, I know that."
I shrug. "It could’ve been. But you’re worth it."
Just seeing the smile that spreads across his full lips as I say that reminds me that I made the right choice. He’s not wrong, though. Flying would’ve been a lot easier. With four days until our wedding, I would’ve been stressed either way. Add sleep deprivation, train food, and an orgasm thief into the mix, and you have the perfect storm for a bridal meltdown. But it is what it is. And it made him happy.
I lean my head back on the recliner, and my eyes fall on our carry-ons in the storage space.
"Hey, babe, where are my shoes?"
Brett looks at me, his gaze slowly traveling down to the Uggs on my feet, and then finds my eyes again. "Is this a trick question?"
"Not these." I roll my eyes and point at my feet. "My wedding shoes."
"Oh." He shrugs. "I don’t know."
My heart stills in my chest.
"You … don’t know?"
"Babe, how would I know? Are they in the checked luggage?"
I jump up from the seat and frantically search around the little room, a knot growing in my stomach as I realize that I don’t actually remember seeing them on the last train, either. How could I have just now noticed that they aren’t here?
I turn to Brett, and the panic must be showing on my face, because his eyes are wide with concern.
"What’s wrong? Tell me what I can do?"
"Did you notice a white shoe box tied with white ribbon in any of our stuff since we left for Penn Station?"
I can see the hesitation written all over his face. He doesn’t want to answer.
"Just tell me," I snap.
He shakes his head. "Unless it’s something you packed in the luggage, I haven’t seen them."
I grab my hair in frustration. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
He glances down at his watch. "I’m gonna call your mom. They aren’t flying out until later this evening. If you left them home, maybe she can grab them?"
I’m elbow-deep in our carry-ons, tossing clothes and toiletries all over the cabin. Realistically, I know a pair of Manolo Blahniks with six-inch heels wouldn’t be hiding in my tiny make-up bag, but it makes me feel a little bit better to check.
Brett holds the phone to my ear. "Talk to your mom."
"Sweetie?"
My face crumples and my eyes well with tears. Why is it I can always hold it together until I hear my mom’s voice?
"What’s going on? Brett said something about your wedding shoes."
"I can’t find them," I say quietly, wrapping my arms around my waist in an attempt to hold myself together. "I can’t get married in my Uggs, Mom! What am I gonna do?"
"What you’re going to do is take a deep breath, and try to relax. I’ll go over to your house right now and check. If you left them there, they’ll be on the plane with us to Tahoe. If they’re not there…"
I suck in a panicked breath.
"If they’re not there, Morgan, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I know how much planning you put into this, sweetheart, but you have everything you need to get married with you on that train."
"But I don’t have my shoes."
"No, Morgan, you don’t. But you can get married without Manolo Blahniks on your feet, darling. Brett is the only thing you can’t get married without. And thank the heavens above, you can’t seem to get rid of that boy no matter what you do, so you’re safe."
"Not funny, Mom."
"But it’s true," she trills. "Just go enjoy your fiancé, and let me worry about the rest. I’ll text you when I get to your house."
Brett tosses the phone aside as I slide to the floor. He’s beside me before the tears begin to flow. He pulls me close, and hooking a finger beneath my chin, lifts my face to his and places a sweet kiss on my forehead. "I’m sorry, babe."
I nod and lean my head on his chest. Taking comfort in his arms, I think about my mother’s advice. "It could be worse … " I trail off.
We both start as the train’s loudspeaker blasts static before the conductor’s brusque voice echoes around the cabin.
"We’ve just received an update from the National Weather Service, and a winter storm is making its way through the Midwest. At this time, we’re looking at delays of up to a few hours. We’ll keep you updated of any significant changes that’ll further impact our arrival times."
I tense in Brett’s arms, and he smiles down at me nervously. "I think it just got worse."
Chapter Six
I used to think I knew stress. Law school, studying for and passing the bar exam, seem so small now. Planning a wedding three thousand miles away, making a trans-fucking-continental train trip, and having absolutely no control over the delays and the timing of your arrival two days before your wedding when you already have guests arriving for the rehearsal dinner and still have flower arrangements and programs to finalize? This. Is. Stress.
"Okay, Dad." I hear the frustration simmering just beneath the surface in Brett’s voice. "Yes, we confirmed with the reception hall three times that they will add Clams Casino for you." He glances in my direction, arranges his thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun, sticks it against his head, and pulls the trigger. I giggle
uncontrollably as he continues to placate my future father-in-law. "Yes, Dad. I’ll make sure you have your own plate. Yes, even if we’re delayed, I promise you will get your Clams Casino."
He hangs up and tosses his phone aside. "Clams motherfucking Casino. Can you believe that guy?"
I shoot him a pointed look. "Apparently that’s his one thing."
"Touché." He stands, stretching to his full height, then grabs me off the couch. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?"
"Exploring. I’m going train crazy."
My dress—let’s just call her Vera, since she’s pretty much a third passenger on this trip with us and most women can appreciate her creator—and I follow Brett through the train cars until we reach the observation lounge.
A knowing grin tips his lips as he sees my eyes widen in surprise. I may not have many positive things to say about cross-country train travel, but the sightseer lounge is the exception. The car is lined with wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a completely panoramic view of the snow-covered countryside.
A shimmering frost has formed on the window edges, and between that and the muted Christmas music playing in the background, it could easily be mistaken for the Polar Express.
Santa, is that you?
Anyway, Brett, Vera, and I find a few comfortable chairs and start enjoying the scenery.
Iowa’s rolling hills stretch out in front of us, the powder-white snow on the ground and snowflakes floating on the wind making it a picture-perfect winter wonderland.
Brett nudges me, and I turn to find him beaming like a kid on Christmas. "Pretty cool, huh?"
I nod and return the smile. "Pretty cool."
For just a second, I let my guard down, put my worries aside and take in the moment. The car is filled with travelers from all over the country. Families sit playing card games, writers tap away on their keyboards, and some people, like Brett and I, simply stare out the window and daydream. A part of the country I’d never have any other excuse to see flies by, and I just enjoy the beauty of it.
"Excuse me," a deep, baritone voice interrupts my moment.
I look up at the owner of the voice and find James Dean. Well, James Dean if he had lived a good, long life and aged incredibly well. His salt-and-pepper hair is neat and meticulously styled, and he wears faded blue jeans, a well-worn leather jacket, and a kind smile.
"Sorry to bother you and your friend here," he says, nodding to Vera. I like him already. "But do you mind if I take this seat?"
I glance around and notice that the car is nearly full. I lay Vera across Brett’s lap and mine, and he sits. His leather jacket shifts and I notice a clerical collar peeking out of his shirt. A priest? A priest in jeans and a leather jacket?
"Oh! I’m sorry, Father." I suddenly have a strong desire to cross myself.
As if he knows exactly what’s in my brain, Brett nudges me, and whispers, "Get a grip, Maxwell."
"Quite all right. I appreciate the seat," says our holy new friend. He eyes Vera carefully. "With the way you’re guarding that garment bag, I’m guessing you might just have a very important event coming up?"
I nod, adding shyly, "Our wedding."
Brett reaches forward and offers his hand. "Hiya, Father. I’m Brett, this is my fiancé, Morgan. We’re getting married this Friday in Tahoe."
The priest’s mouth curves into a smile. "Father David, please. Congratulations, and God bless you both. I don’t meet many couples about to marry on a long train trip like this."
"I don’t meet many leather jacket-wearing priests," I blurt out.
Brett’s eyes go wide, and Father David lets out a good-natured chuckle as I shrink into my seat and try not to cringe at my own big mouth.
"I’d imagine you don’t." He lowers his voice as if he’s sharing a secret. "I like to dress down a bit when I’m on my own time." Then he winks. A leather jacket-wearing, winking priest. Did I mention I like him?
"Personally, I like the look," I compliment his clothing choice. "And we’re traveling coast-to-coast two days before our wedding because it was Brett’s one thing. I couldn’t say no."
"She tried," Brett piped in. I elbow him in the side and smile sweetly at Father David, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment I know is rapidly spreading across my face.
"Ah, the one thing." Father David nods his head knowingly.
"You know about the one thing?" Brett and I say in near unison.
"Mine was a Niagara Falls honeymoon," he answers conspiratorially, turning his attention on Brett. "You picked a good one, son."
"But then you became a priest …" My heart constricts in my chest as I remember the only way a married man can enter the priesthood.
Father David smiles sadly. "When cancer took my Nancy, I knew there was no one else for me. We’d lived a wonderful life together, made a beautiful family. I couldn’t imagine ever sharing that with anyone else. So I decided to dedicate my life to God. I went to seminary and took my vows."
We chat for a while longer, sharing stories and laughs until he leaves us for the dining car. Brett and I decide to walk the cars and stretch our legs a bit more before dinner. But when we pass our room, Brett pulls me inside and insists we check a few more items off of his bucket list. He has me pressed up against the glass in a very compromising position before I can object. Not that I would. I realize somewhere along the way, I’ve actually started having fun.
Chapter Seven
Every bride has her moment. Even the most laidback, easy-going bride will lose her shit at least once. I like to pretend sometimes that I’m laidback and easy-going, but that would be a slight exaggeration. I’ve had a few moments already, if I’m being honest. But that’s neither here nor there.
After a particularly satisfying romp in our little room, Brett and I decide to be social and brave the dining car. After all, if we’re going to be stuck in this toaster on rails for at least another day, we might as well have the whole train experience. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m going with it.
We enter the car, which is lined with tables on both sides. Windows stretch the length of each wall, and although the sun has already set, flashes of dark, snowy countryside pass by outside and make for a nice, cozy atmosphere. After this trip, I’m considering writing a travel guide. The wonders of train travel.
The dining attendant shows us to our table. Brett and I sit down and settle in, and I set Vera down on the seat beside me. My dress needs her space. It’s important that she not be cramped anymore than she already is in that terrible garment bag. I would take her out and let her breathe if I weren’t so superstitious about Brett seeing her before the wedding.
I look across the aisle and immediately break into a fit of giggles. Brett glances at the table of nuns, and his lips curve into a knowing smirk. Once again I feel the irrational need to cross myself. First, Father David, and now this. Leave it to me, the girl who just had her tits pressed against the panoramic window while getting railed by her fiancé, to make friends with the holiest people on the train. That’s just how I roll. I wonder if there’s any holy water on this train.
Four people are meant for each table in the dining car. It’s not a very large space, so strangers are seated together, and that’s where the fun and socializing comes in. At least in theory. No one has been seated with us yet, so Brett and I smile at the sisters and strike up friendly conversation. I struggle to keep it appropriate when all I really want to do is try to force a divine love connection and ask Sister Mary if she’s seen the sweet and handsome Father David.
I’m vaguely aware of the dining attendant approaching our table, and I hear Brett’s voice in the background laced with warning as he says, "Sir, I would caution you not to do that."
And then all hell breaks loose.
And by all hell breaking loose, I mean the car attendant moves to pick up Vera with the intention of seating another couple at our table, and I go straight up ninja on him.
I can’
t say I’m particularly proud of myself, but in a desperate attempt to save Vera from the evil clutches of the dining attendant, I let out a strangled cry and dive for the dress, ripping it from his hands and terrifying our would-be table mates. I clutch Vera against my chest, breathing heavily and staring at the attendant with wild eyes.
Brett looks between us and shakes his head. "I tried to warn you, dude."
The man is visibly shaken and stares at me in shock.
I look to the nametag pinned to his jacket and spread the sweetest smile I can manage across my face. "I apologize, Vincent. Can I call you Vincent? But I’m stuck on this train, a train that is now delayed, for who knows how long, trying to get to my wedding, in two days. I’ve left my wedding shoes at home and this garment bag, holding my couture wedding gown, is all I have left to hold on to."
Brett coughs loudly as if to say "What about me?" and I quiet him with a look.
"The doors to our sleeper cars don’t lock, and I can’t risk her being stolen out of our room," I continue. "So I’m asking you, Vincent, is there any way that you can make an exception and leave Vera to her own seat so that she doesn’t get ruffled any further?"
Being that Vincent doesn’t know that Vera is just a clever name for the brand of my dress, I’m sure he thinks I’ve completely lost my mind, but I’m going with it.
For some reason that only God knows, literally, the nuns are impressed with my heroics and intercede on my behalf, convincing Vincent to let Vera be. It pays to have friends in holy places.
Brett, Vera, and I are eventually given a single tablemate named Monica, who fits right in with our rowdy crowd. Monica is somewhere in her mid-forties and every attendant knows her by name. She travels the rails often, but nobody seems to know why, and she doesn’t like to give up her destination.
Seated behind us are Jill, Kevin, and their small son, Ryan, who, thankfully did not arrive in time to see me hulk out on our poor server, and they’re seated with a man named Marty, who seems to be Amtrak’s unofficial tour guide.