by N. R. Walker
I shrugged. “What about porridge? It starts out as a liquid, grains are added, and it’s heated to a thicker consistency. But we don’t call it oatmeal soup. And a few differing ingredients aside, what separates a Bloody Mary from gazpacho? That one is consumed from a glass or straw and the other with a spoon. Angus and I discussed this at great length the other night, and he thought you might be able to shed some light.”
Hennessy laughed. “I’m not sure I’m really qualified to answer that question.”
I sighed. “I knew I should have just stuck to one of my own.”
“And what would that have been?”
“My questions? Easy ones like do you have any tattoos? Or what’s the coolest place you’ve ever travelled to? You know the basic, getting-to-know-you, gaining-some-insight kind of questions.”
The bus pulled into his stop and he let go of my hand, stood up, and squeezed past me. “Yes, I have one. And Nepal.”
I watched him get off the bus, and my heart banged in my ribs when he looked up and smiled at me as the bus pulled away. Again, my mind was stuck on how my hand felt empty now he’d let it go, and it took a few seconds for his answers to the questions I’d asked to make sense. Yes, he has one tattoo, and he’s been to Nepal.
The lady in front of me turned and said, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. And yesterday’s. I think the questions are cute.”
Then a guy across the aisle leaned across and said, “He’s been to Nepal? That’s smooth.”
The lady behind me tapped me on the shoulder. “I think he has a crush on you.”
I side-eyed the three of them. “Is this The Truman Show? Am I on television right now? Because what even is my life?”
An older man one seat back across the aisle answered. “I heard your soup question, son. I think there’s a pretty good chance your life is a mess.”
And so, for the remainder of my bus ride home, random strangers on the 353 bus discussed my life, The Truman Show, and soup.
Fuck my life.
Chapter Eight
Hennessy
I read our text exchange for what must have been the tenth time.
Just so you know, we may need to find a new bus to catch. People on this one are discussing our questions, gazpacho (which one lady keeps calling gestapo), and Nepal. They’ve heard our questions every day, and I think they’re more invested in us than Merry and Angus. Which is a lot.
That’s a shame. I like that bus. There’s a cute guy that gets on at the library.
Tell me about it. There’s a total hottie that gets off on Cleveland. He wears headphones and I like to think he listens to audiobooks and not music.
That reminds me. I need a new audiobook recommendation. Know anyone at the local library who can give me suggestions?
Maybe… There might be a guy.
Is he cute?
Kinda. A bit awkward tho. Says motherfucker a lot.
LOL I have a joke. Wanna hear it?
Sure!
What do Oedipus and Hamlet have in common?
IDK. What?
They’re both motherfuckers.
HAHAHA best joke ever! I’m cry-laughing. Actual, physical tears. People on the bus have stopped talking about soup and are now staring at me.
You’re welcome.
I’m going to have that printed on a shirt. And a literary joke? You win all the points.
Glad you liked it.
I’ll have the best question ready for you tomorrow, so be prepared.
Can’t wait
* * *
I slid my phone onto my desk and Michael caught me smiling at it.
“Is that what’s-his-name? Jordan?” He fluttered his eyelashes.
“Shut up.”
“So that’s a yes. I think I might need to meet this guy.”
“What? I’ve been out with him once.”
“And you talk on the bus every day, and you get hearts in your eyes every time you think of him, you have conversations via text, and you never smiled at your phone like that with Rob.”
I wanted to roll my eyes but refused to give him the satisfaction. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
His smile faded. “Yeah, of course.”
“Why isn’t cereal considered to be or called a soup?”
He stared. “Cereal?”
“Yeah, like rice bubbles or corn flakes. It’s a grain product immersed in liquid and eaten hot or cold.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you feeling okay?”
I laughed. “I feel great.”
He stared out the window at the grey Sydney day. “Well, I guess soups are vegetable or meat based, like the broth part. Whereas cereal is dairy based, like the broth, er… liquid part.”
“So what does that make cream of mushroom soup?”
“Gross, that’s what that is.”
“Or cream of chicken soup? It’s dairy.”
“It’s savoury,” Michael said. “With meat. Cereal isn’t and doesn’t have meat in it.”
“Not all soup is savoury. And not all cereal is sweet.”
“That’s true.”
“Jordan asked me this yesterday, and it’s ridiculous but I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Michael stared at me for a long second, then opened my office door and called out to his personal assistant. “Hey, Rach. Why isn’t cereal called or considered to be a soup?”
There was a pause, then her voice sounded down the hall. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously,” Michael replied.
“Like milk soup and Weet-Bix croutons?”
“See?” I said. “It’s an unanswerable question.”
“Not sure about unanswerable,” Rachel offered, appearing at my door. “More like, random and not altogether too important.”
That made me laugh. “True. But interesting.”
Michael sighed. “He’s playing a game of Q&A with his new love interest on the bus every afternoon and it seems to be a contest of who can ask the weirdest question.”
“Oooh, that’s so cute!” Rachel said, her face lighting up. “Ask him why we send something by car and call it shipment but send stuff by ship and call it cargo? Or why do our feet smell and our noses run? Or why the number eleven isn’t pronounced onety-one? Is Disneyland a people trap operated by a mouse?” She nodded. “I can keep going.”
Michael squinted at her. “Did you take a class on random questions?”
“Kind of. I took philosophy at university and we used to have these drinking games where—” She composed herself. “You know what, never mind.”
I laughed. “I’ll keep those questions in mind.”
But as the afternoon wore on, rain settled in and the bus was crowded. I couldn’t save him a seat, and that was not part of my plan at all.
He climbed on the bus and I watched as he scanned through the crowd and he spotted me and smiled, but I could see he was disappointed when he saw there was an older gent sitting next to me. He held onto the vertical handrail near the step and gave me a pouty frown.
“Sorry,” I mouthed.
He shook it off with a bit of a smile, but he was soon jostled by another passenger and kind of got half turned around. And I hated that he was right there, so close, but I couldn’t talk to him, and he was wearing a grey scarf, and although I couldn’t see his shoes, I had no doubt they’d match, and it bothered me that grey was a muted, sad colour, and he was anything but.
I stood up, excusing myself to get past my seatmate. I tapped a lady on the shoulder and offered her my seat, which she gratefully took, and I squeezed my way through the aisle, apologising to everyone. But then I was near him.
“Do you mind if I stand here?” I asked.
“No, that’s fine,” he said as he turned around. He broke out in a grin but we were impossibly close, and as the bus jolted, he bumped into me. I put my hand on his arm to keep us both steady. He looked up into my eyes, a little dreamily. “Hi.”
“I couldn’t not s
peak to you,” I said, not exactly hating how close we were. “And our question game…”
Jordan nodded to the crew up the back. “They’ll be disappointed they didn’t hear.”
I looked over my shoulder to the back of the bus to see a few smiling faces watching us. “I think me coming to stand with you made up for it.”
Just then, the bus lurched to a stop and Jordan all but fell into me, my arm going around his back. “Sorry,” he said quickly.
“Don’t be,” I whispered. “I can’t say I am.”
He shot me a look and he blushed. He swallowed hard. “I’m trying not to say anything inappropriate or embarrassing, but you’re really close and incredibly good looking, and you smell amazing.” Then he blanched, obviously not meaning to say any of that out loud. “Like that. All of what I just said. Not embarrassing at all.”
That made me laugh. “Thank you.”
He groaned. “I’m a nervous rambler, remember? And before I forget, I’d like to commend you on the Oedipus and Hamlet joke. It’s like some comedic geniuses got together and formulated a joke designed just for me. And wow, you look even better this close up.”
I laughed again. We were close, close enough that I could see some faint freckles on his nose, but the crowded bus was to blame. Or in my case, to thank. “Oh, and just so you know,” I said, “I was curious and googled soups. Did you know there are about forty kinds of cold soup? Even a cold banana soup.” I grimaced at the thought. “I have serious concerns.”
“Did they have cereal listed as a cold soup?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
His gaze went from my left eye to my right. “It’s the conundrum of our times,” he whispered, like he was no longer talking about soup. “Your eyes are really pretty.”
Now it was I who blushed, and it made me look away, which made me see how close my stop was. “Would you like your question now?” I asked.
“Yes, please.”
“If animals could talk, which would be the rudest?”
“Cats,” he answered quickly. “Or those monkeys in tourist spots who steal your things. Or sharks. I can’t imagine them being overly pleasant company.”
“The smartest?”
“Uh, elephants because they never forget a thing. Or octopi. Personally I think octopus are from outer space and landed here a few thousand years ago by mistake. If they came here looking for intelligent life forms, they missed the mark. Humans might have opposable thumbs and mastered how to make fire, but as a species, we’re pretty fucking stupid.”
I snorted. “Funniest animal if it could talk?”
“Lemurs. Or Tapirs. Maybe giraffes. Or zebras. Oh wait, maybe that’s just because of Madagascar. I don’t know.”
“Most political animal if they could talk?”
“Pigs. But again, maybe that’s just an Orwellian response.”
“I love how your mind works.”
He blinked. “You do? Because it’s a scary place sometimes.”
We turned right at the intersection, which meant our time was almost up. “Okay, your turn with my question.”
“Oh, okay. And again, this one is from Angus, so I apologise in advance. Which sport would be the funniest to add mandatory amounts of alcohol to?”
I chuckled. “Um, I’m not a huge fan of any sport really, but I think drunk synchronised swimming would be hilarious. If they didn’t drown, of course. Floor gymnastics would be pretty funny. Except for the injuries.”
“Yeah, I could imagine if I tried to do that ribbon twirling after a few wines, it wouldn’t end well. And the balance beam…” He shook his head. “That was a lame question, sorry.”
“No it wasn’t.” The bus pulled into my stop. “But, if that was Angus’ question, what was yours?”
“Well, it’s kind of stupid too.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Merry will probably kill me for asking this but this is something I’ve often wondered but never asked anyone, so okay,” he said. “Do you think maths is something we invented or something we discovered?”
His question took me by surprise. “Um. Okay, first, wow. Wasn’t expecting that.” People were getting off at my stop and there were only a few people to get on. I had to go. Shit, shit. “Secondly, I think it’s a human construct, like time. We are bound to it, it gives us order and clarity, and its importance is probably what confines us as a species. And thirdly, I think that’s a great question and I think you should ask the questions you want to ask because you’re really some kind of wonderful.”
I had to grab the door to stop it from closing on me as I raced to get off the bus. And by the time I could look back up through the window, all I managed to see was Jordan staring back at me with his mouth open like I’d rendered him speechless.
And he could look at me all starry eyed and get all flustered and ramble on about how good looking he thought I was, but it was he that did that to me. It was he who left my heart hammering and soaring at the same time.
He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. And normally I’d be reserved and hesitant, but it felt different with him.
Yes, I was in trouble. I was, without doubt, taken by his charm, his intelligence, his smile. But unlike the many times before, there was no dread lurking, lying in wait for disappointment to take its place. There was only anticipation and excitement of what was to come. Which was perhaps a little premature, given we hadn’t really discussed some critical issues, but I had the feeling this was the beginning of something amazing.
He might have said he wanted to start as friends, but there was a spark between us. He had to feel it. I wasn’t stupid. I could see how he looked at me, how his breath caught, how his pupils dilated. And even if it was only to be fleeting, I would still grab it with both hands. We definitely needed to have a conversation about expectations and limits, and I needed to know where his head was with the whole asexual thing. He’d mentioned it again in passing, so maybe he was getting more comfortable with it. But I wouldn’t force him, and I wouldn’t lead him down a path he was not meant to travel.
But holy hell, my heart skipped a beat when I thought of him, when I pictured his smile, his laugh. When I was near him, when he looked at me.
I threw on my running gear as soon as I got home, and I was just about to select a playlist on my phone to run to when my phone rang in my hand. My pulse spiked when I saw his name and I grinned as I answered. “Hey.”
“I almost died, just so you know. On the bus. You look at me and you stand too close and you say something sweet like I’m some kind of wonderful, and not only do I forget to tell you about the audiobook recommendations, I also forget how to breathe. It’s supposed to be an automatic and involuntary anatomical response, Hennessy, but oh no! You told me I’m some kinda wonderful and my brain stopped telling my respiratory system how to function. The soup crowd made me take a seat and practice Lamaze breathing just so I could tell them all about the questions game we play.”
I chuckled. “The Soup Crew?”
“Yes, the Soup Crew. That’s what I call the five people who spent twenty minutes yesterday discussing soups and Nepal after your stop. They’re very invested in our… well, how our relationship is progressing. I hope it was okay for me to call you, by the way. I was going to text but it was going to take too long, and thanks for the concern about my respiratory failure.”
I laughed. “I am very sorry about that.”
“You don’t sound it.”
“I’m making a mental note right now to give due notice if I intend to ever say anything sweet, which I probably will, just so you know.”
“Well, I’ll try to be prepared.”
“How did you go with the Lamaze breathing?”
“Really well, actually. Mrs Petrovski taught prenatal classes for thirty years.”
“Who?”
“Mrs Petrovski. She’s one of the Soup Crew. Nice lady. She was very impressed that you stood up and came down the bus to talk to me. She said
it was, and I quote, ‘very Love Actually.’ She hasn’t been this excited since Scott and Charlene’s wedding in Neighbours.”
“Wow. That’s some pressure.”
“Well, not for you. Apparently your questions are great. Mine was okay today, by their standards, but they don’t rate Angus’ much. I don’t have the heart to tell him.”
I snorted. “I liked it. You can tell him I thought it was great.”
“He’ll like that, thanks.”
“I was just about to go for a run,” I said.
“A run? Like walking, but faster?”
I laughed. “Yep.”
“Oh, the audiobook recommendations,” he said. “Do you run to music or books?”
“Usually music, only something for background noise. I like to savour books.”
“Like Flowers for Algernon?”
“Yes.” I sighed. “Will you ever let me live that down? I should have known better than to listen to that chapter in public.”
“Live it down?” he scoffed. “Absolutely not. It will live forever in infamy as number one on the list.”
“On the list of what?”
“On the list of things that make you some kind of wonderful.”
My heart did that banging thing in my chest again.
“So, did you want audiobook recommendations or music? To be quite frank, I don’t think I’m qualified to give recommendations on music. Especially music to run to. If it were me, the theme song to Jaws would get me going. Or the intro music to The Walking Dead. I’d run like Forrest freaking Gump then.”
“Not a fan?”
“Of Jaws or The Walking Dead? Or of running?”
“Pick one.”
“All three, really.”
I laughed again. “Okay, I’ll pick my own music. What are your expert recommendations for audiobooks?”
“Well, given the titles you’ve already chosen, I have a few. If you want classic, you could do The Screwtape Letters by CS Lewis. Or if you want something more contemporary, a little dark but riveting, Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine.”
“Completely fine? That’s hardly a glowing review.”
