by Erin Mallon
“I actually don’t call my grandpa sir.”
“Well, you should! Show some respect, girl!”
“Don’t tell me what I should do!”
“Kids today! Bah!”
Damn, that certainly escalated quickly. Definitely my cue to go. I make my move toward the door.
“Nice to meet you, Otto. Bye-bye now.”
“Oh-ho ho, I’m joking with you, kid! I’m not one of those cranky old folks who talk about the old days like they were the only days worth having. Believe me. That’s a bunch of baloney bunk and horse hockey hooey if you ask me. I’ve just always wanted to try saying that old chestnut: ‘Kids today. Bah!’ Now that I’ve said it, though, no need to do it again. You keep being young, girlfriend. No! Better yet, ‘You do you!’ as they say. They do say that, don’t they?”
“Sometimes, I guess. They sometimes say that.”
“Yeah, I’ve definitely heard them say that. So. Where we headed?”
I notice then that he’s packed up his book and stool and is shuffling alongside me as though we’re old pals.
“We?”
“Yeah. You’re a feisty one. I could use more feisty fitzies in my life.”
That phrase stops me in my tracks.
“Why did you, um… What did you just call me?”
“A feisty fitzie?”
“Yeah. Why did you call me that?”
“Oh. Habit, I guess. Always used to call my wife that. She was a FitzPatrick.”
“Hm. Funny. I’m a FitzGerald.”
“Well, will you look at that! I knew I liked you. Gotta love those Irish gals. I’d follow a feisty Irish gal anywhere.”
Chapter Seven
And follow me, he does. All the way up to the fifth floor to pick up the last few boxes of gala invites—looks like I have quite the action-packed evening of envelope stuffing and stamp licking ahead of me tonight, joy!—and then back down to the cafeteria where I was planning on having a late afternoon solo snack to fill my belly with free food before heading home. Keyword being solo. But apparently, I’m now part of a duo.
“A bit late for lunch, isn’t it?” Otto asks as we each grab a tray.
“Then let’s call it dinner.”
“A bit early for dinner, isn’t it?”
“How about linner then? Dunch?”
“Dunch! Dunch is good.”
“Great. We’re having dunch then. Whatever you call it, the important thing is that it is free.” I flash my trusty badge. “One of the perks of the internship. One I am not in a position to turn down.”
We start cruising the offerings, and I hear a smattering of “Hi, Otto” and “Otto, what’s up, man?” from the cafeteria staff. Damn, Damon was absolutely right about Otto’s street cred in this place. On our walk to the cafeteria alone, this guy received no fewer than seven fist bumps, five high fives, and three salutes from patrons and workers young and old alike. Then he wrapped up the mobile lovefest with an adorable bro hug between him and Jerry, the head of security. Bro-hugging Jerry was kind enough to get my badge souped up real nice, and I can now access any area of the museum I’d like, including Trix and Monty’s new home. The fact that I can spend time with them anytime I want feels unreal. Like I’ve won the lottery. Like my dreams are slowly but sort of steadily coming true.
As I slide my tray past the cashier with an easy breezy swipe of my badge, I hear a voice from the seating area. “Calliope! You made it!” I look over, and that Mabel girl is smiling and waving. She pats the chair next to her. “Saved you a seat!”
Oh God. I totally forgot I said I would have lunch with her, but then I got caught up and… “Mabel, hey! My gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“For forgetting about our lunch plans.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I realized we never set a solid time, so I just waited. I figured you must just have a different internal food clock than me. No biggy. Glad you’re here now, though. Phew! I was getting hungry.”
She tears into her untouched cheeseburger and lets out a happy little moan.
“Um. Just curious. How long did you wait for me?”
“Not too long! Got here around one-ish?”
I take a quick peek at my phone screen. It’s almost four. Geezus. Who does that? What is up with this girl?
She starts chomping on her stone-cold French fries next. That’s not the saddest part, though. The saddest part is that she looks completely delighted while doing so. I’m reminded of that time when I was twelve, and my friends across the street invited me to come swim in their above-ground pool on a superhot day. My little brother was only eight, and like a typical preteen, I found him super annoying. He begged to come swim with us, but I wouldn’t let him. Years later, I was flipping through old photos and found a picture of him taken that same afternoon. He was running through the sprinkler in our backyard all alone, his eyes bright and his mouth wide open as he jumped through the spray and laughed. It was no above-ground pool, but he was delighted all the same. The discovery of that picture pretty much made me feel like the worst sister ever.
“Mabel, I really am sorry I—”
She waves off my apology between bites and says, “Oh look, it’s Otto! I love Otto!”
“You and everybody else, it seems.” I look up and see him talking with the cashier.
“Awwwww and he’s chatting with Nancy.” She lowers her voice and goes all sing-songy. “Otto and Nancy are in love.”
“Really?”
“Well, just look at them. It’s so obvious.”
Is it obvious? Maybe. Then maybe turns to definitely as Otto picks up his tray and moves in our direction, and I notice his face is definitely tinted a fresh pink.
“Mabel!” he says when he spots us. “I see you’re joining us for dunch?”
Her face twists in confusion.
“We decided it was too early for dinner, but too late for lunch, so we’re calling it dunch,” I explain.
“Fun! I like it! Though may I add a third option to the mix? Only if you don’t mind?”
“Sure. I mean—”
“Hear me out, but what do we think about calling it lupper?
“Lupper?” I grumble.
“Yeah! We three can be lupper buddies! My parents and I have always called dinner supper. Lunch plus supper equals… lupper!”
“I dunno. Supper makes me think of The Last Supper. And lupper sounds a bit too much like leper. Infectious skin diseases and feasting on Jesus’s body and blood don’t do much for my appetite.”
“You’re right, you’re right. We’re sticking with dunch!” Mabel chirps.
“What the hell are you talking about, kid?” Otto rasps as he gnaws on a rubbery chicken finger.
“Forget it.” I shake my head. “Grew up super religious. Lots of leper talk.”
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “How’d that work out for ya?”
“As a kid, okay, I guess? As a teen and adult, though, not so great. Parents and I don’t really see eye to eye these days. On a lot of things.”
“Really? Aw, that’s so sad!” Mabel says. “My parents are the absolute best. My favorite people in the whole entire world! Why don’t you love your parents?”
“Who said I don’t love my parents? Of course, I love my parents! We’re just… very different people. They don’t really understand me. Or maybe I don’t understand them? I dunno. There’s a ton of love between us, it’s just—”
All right, why am I opening up to these people I barely know? I hate having to explain myself. To anyone. But especially near strangers. “You know what, guys? I actually have to head home and get crackin’ on stuffing these invites.”
“But you haven’t even touched your dunch!” Mabel says with seriousness.
I start packing the various items from my tray into my
backpack. “It’s cool. I’m actually more of a solo duncher. I’ll eat at home.”
“You need help with those boxes, kid?” Otto rises to stand with me.
“Nah. Please. Stay and eat. Very sweet of you to help me carry the boxes down here, though, Otto. You sure your back is okay?”
“Oh, sure. Just a little tweak is all.” He says this as he slips a hand to his lower back and gives it a painful-looking mini-massage before settling back into his chair.
Leave it to me to let an old man carry one of my boxes and end up tweaking his back. He was so adamant about helping, though. I didn’t want to emasculate him or embarrass him or whatever. See? I think about other people!
“Okay, well, thanks again. Um. Nice to see you guys.” I sling my backpack over both shoulders and hoist the boxes up in front of me. With all three stacked up to my nose, I can just barely peek over them to see the top of Otto’s and Mabel’s heads. “I’m sure I’ll see you both around.”
I scoot out of there as fast as I can while balancing the boxes and trying to watch where the hell I’m going. I make it through a few turns and down some short staircases. Then, just as I’m heading down the long marble hallway leading to the main exit, I feel a presence walking in tandem with me.
Now, I know I haven’t lived in the city long, but it only takes a few days of city living to know that this is completely unacceptable behavior. If you are walking down the street or through the train station or, in this case, down a museum corridor, you do not walk in tandem with someone. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. It’s downright aggressive.
I try slowing my pace. The dude next to me slows as well. I try speeding things up. He picks up speed too. After doing this ridiculous dance for a few more rounds, I stop completely, and—you guessed it—he does as well. That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.
“What is your problem, dude?!”
I turn to confront this punk.
I take one look at his stupid beautiful face, and… I drop those heavy-ass boxes right on my own damn foot.
“Ow! Christ! God!”
“Geez! Are you okay!?” that delicious voice I’ve come to know way too well says in alarm.
“Do I look okay?!” I hold my knee up to my chest and bounce up and down, wiggling my aching toes.
“Why did you do that!?”
“Oh, I dunno! I thought breaking my toe sounded like fun! Why were you stalking me, weirdo?
“Walking beside you makes me a stalking weirdo?”
“Sure does!”
“Well, I’m sorry. I was just trying to get your attention.”
“Mission accomplished.” I place my foot back on the ground and try putting my weight on it. “Ow, that hurts.”
“Where are you headed? I’ll help you get there,” he says as he lifts the boxes to his chest as if they weigh nothing.
“Home. And no, thank you. I’m fine.” I go to take the boxes from him, but he turns his body so I can’t reach them.
“What are you going to do, limp home with a possibly broken toe while carrying heavy boxes?”
“Yup.” I lunge around to his other side, but he pivots again.
“Calliope. Please. At least let me put you in a cab.”
I give up. And I hate to admit it, but I kind of like the way my name sounds coming from his lips. It certainly sounds better than when he repeatedly called me “What-uh-pee” while I was stuck in the elevator.
“Fine.” I say. “But I don’t need a cab. I’m only a few blocks north of here.”
“Fantastic. You sure you can walk, though?”
I take a few practice steps.
“Yeah. It hurts a bit, but I can walk.”
“Cool. My guess is it isn’t broken then. I used to do some ka-ra-tay when I was younger, and kids were always busting their toes when we kicked the wooden boards. They couldn’t walk for days.”
“Sorry, did you mean karate?”
“That’s what I said. Ka-ra-tay.”
“Okay, you have to stop pronouncing it like that. It really diminishes your cool factor.”
“You think I have a cool factor?” He smiles brightly at me.
“Well, not anymore, I don’t!”
He laughs. “Noted. So, shall we?”
And then we’re walking side by side. Intentionally this time. And it no longer feels weird or aggressive, but kind of nice actually.
“I’m a little surprised you want to help me.”
“Why is that?”
“I just figured you were pretty mad at me. Ya know, for this morning.”
“Well, I do feel a bit responsible for this, uh… footcident.”
“Footcident?”
“Yeah. And footcident or not, wouldn’t I be a bit of a douche if I didn’t help out a woman struggling with a bunch of boxes?”
“I wasn’t struggling,” I protest.
“You were. But hey, for the record? I’m not mad at you. My boss, however…”
“Is mad at me?”
“No, he’s mad at me.”
“Oh. Is he going to give you another chance, I hope? To lead the planetarium show?”
“Looks that way, yeah.”
“Good. That’s good.”
We’re separated for a moment as we push through the revolving doors leading outside. Damn Philadelphia is beautiful in the springtime. Flowers on the trees. College rowing teams gliding silently down the Schuylkill. I think I might love it here.
“Which way are we going?”
“That way.” I point. “Then we’ll hang a right on Locust.”
We walk in silence for a block or so, and my foot actually doesn’t feel so bad after all. I should probably tell him as much and just travel the rest of the way myself, but for some reason, I don’t.
“You’ll be happy to know we’re cutting the part about the dinosaurs farting themselves out of existence.”
“Really? Why? You’re not changing it because of what I said, are you?”
“Hell, no.”
“Oh.”
“No offense, but your opinion doesn’t hold much weight with me. At least not yet.”
“Harsh, dude! Also, whenever someone says no offense, it’s pretty much guaranteed that they’re about to offend you big time.”
“Yeah, no offense is probably one of those meaningless fillers I sometimes use. Bad habit. Just like your sorry filler, right?”
“Ha. Right.”
“What I meant to say was… I guess I’m still trying to figure you out.”
“Me too. Let me know what you discover, huh?”
We halt simultaneously, and our eyes lock over the stack of boxes he’s holding. Damn, those are some green-blue eyes. They’re sort of swirly too. Kind of like the way Earth looks from space. Beautiful. And peaceful. And also somehow intimidating.
It’s silent a moment.
“The fart line!” he blurts.
“Huh?” I’m startled out of his stare.
“The, uh, the fart line from my presentation? You asked if it was your comment that killed the fart line. Not really. I mean, I did consider your feedback, but no, it was Dr. Abrams who ordered the kibosh on it. He said it was my vegan propaganda sneaking its way into my work.”
“I’m… not following.”
“I’m a vegan.”
“Okay…”
“And many vegans will tell you that by cutting down on beef consumption, we can limit the impact of climate change.”
“And what does that have to do with the decimation of the dinosaurs?”
He goes directly into teaching mode.
“Fewer cows on industrial farms would mean a decrease in the amount of methane released into the air,” he clarifies. “You know, fewer cow farts.”
“Sure...”
“So. It goes to reason that in some people’s minds, not necessarily my mind, if cow farts could negatively impact the planet on such a large scale, then what kind of devastation would be wrought from the farts of a nine-ton colossus like a Carcharodontosaurus? Then! You think of the over seven hundred other dinosaur species there were, and those are just the ones that have been identified, those millions and millions of massive creatures just living and farting their way across our prehistoric planet millennia after millennia after millennia, and well, your mind can go to some pretty wild places! Would farts of that scope and magnitude be enough to end life as the dinosaurs knew it? Unlikely. Though it was enough of a possibility to be given some serious scientific consideration for a short while. But then, of course, the Chicxulub crater was discovered, and the asteroid theory was confirmed, so there was clearly no need to keep focusing on the farts.”
I’m pretty much at a loss for words. Because what does one say to that?
“Anyway, I think Dr. Abrams was just afraid I was trying to steal everybody’s cheeseburgers, so the line is cut.”
God help me, but this guy is fucking fascinating.
Chapter Eight
A few minutes later, we reach my building, and I’m not quite sure how this next part should go. When in doubt, though, I go into action, so I move to grab the boxes from him.
“This is me. Thanks again. I’ll take it from here!”
“Don’t be silly. I didn’t come this far to abandon you at your door. I’ll bring them up for you.”
“Nah, there’s no elevator, and it’s a third-floor walk-up, so—”
“So all the more reason I should help you then. Unless… Calliope, if I make you uncomfortable or something, then—”
“Uncomfortable? No way!” I start laughing a little too hard. “How the hell could you of all people make me feel uncomfortable? You’re just a sweet little teddy bear who studies the stars!” I continue to laugh. He, however, is not laughing.
“A little teddy bear who studies the stars, huh?”
Did his face just fall? Dammit.
“I meant a-a-a ripped-as-hell grizzly bear with abs for days and an ass that won’t quit.”