Free One Week by Nikki Van De Car Page B
Authors: Nikki Van De Car
I do realize that. So what the hell am I doing here? What is this supposed to accomplish, exactly?
I don’t know what I’m doing. Which is the whole problem. I’ve never known what I’m doing. I’ve spent my entire life not knowing what parts of my life are mine, and what parts are manufactured for show, and I just wanted to get away from all the demands and expectations and noise so that I could figure it out. But yeah, I guess my chosen method of self-discovery is a little irresponsible.
But accepting pot deliveries for your friends isn’t? Please. Jess has no business being even remotely judgmental. And I’m an idiot for caring at all about what he thinks.
With my attitude properly readjusted, I walk the two steps it takes to cross the roomette and pick up my book. Lady Delia deigns to accept the scandalously low-cut dress that was probably previously worn by a prostitute. Of course.
The slow—and then whoa, not so slow—whittling away of Lady Delia’s standards and inhibitions passes more time than I thought it would, and when my rumbling stomach causes me to look up, the sun is already setting and we’re well clear of the greater Sacramento area. I lean my chin against the window and look out at the flat deadness of Nevada—or that’s how I’ve always thought if it, anyway. With the sun setting and the brush flying past, it looks golden and alive.
I look at my bags of Skittles doubtfully and decide my stomach is empty enough to deserve some real food. After a day in which I ate nothing but a tiny cheeseburger and some chips and a Snickers from your friendly neighborhood vending machine, I’m starving. I dig the key the attendant gave me out of my back pocket and lock up the roomette, and head off in search of the dining car. Which probably won’t have real food either, I realize, but it’s got to be at least slightly less plastic than Skittles.
I stumble through car after car (how long is this train, anyway?) before finally coming to the dining car. I slide the door open, stumbling slightly as the train jerks, and look up to see Jess sitting at one of the tables.
I don’t know whether to back away or what, but he smiles widely and gestures me over.
“Hey,” he says, as I slide into the seat across from him. “I looked for you, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. Where are you sitting?”
It’s like nothing happened at all. “I, uh, it turns out I have a roomette,” I stammer.
Jess gives me a weird look. “Like a Rockette? Does it kick?”
God, what a lame joke. But honestly, I’m so relieved to have someone to talk to that I’ll give it to him. “No,” I scoff. “It’s a tiny little room, like even tinier than rooms on trains usually are, apparently, but it’s private.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye to see if he’s going to give me any crap about being spoiled and getting a private room and not riding in coach like normal people. But he doesn’t.
“Sweet,” Jess says calmly. “Well, here are your choices.” He passes me the menu. “Overcooked pasta, scary chicken, and weird vegetable medley. I opted for the vegetables.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I hate eggplant. Why do vegetarian dishes always have to have eggplant?”
Jess shrugs. “Maybe because it’s kind of hearty?”
“This is why more people aren’t vegetarians,” I complain. “There are so many good vegetables in the world, but if you order the vegetarian dish, it always has weird-tasting slimy things like mushrooms and leeks and eggplant.”
“Were you planning on being a vegetarian, but then the threat of eggplant stopped you?”
I chuckle. “Not exactly. But my best friend Julia is a vegetarian and I have a lot of empathy for them. I have no choice, since she complains almost every day.”
“Does Julia know where you are?” Jess asks.
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself. Nobody knows.”
“Hmm.”
“What hmmm?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Jess shrugs.
I don’t know what I’m doing. Which is the whole problem. I’ve never known what I’m doing. I’ve spent my entire life not knowing what parts of my life are mine, and what parts are manufactured for show, and I just wanted to get away from all the demands and expectations and noise so that I could figure it out. But yeah, I guess my chosen method of self-discovery is a little irresponsible.
But accepting pot deliveries for your friends isn’t? Please. Jess has no business being even remotely judgmental. And I’m an idiot for caring at all about what he thinks.
With my attitude properly readjusted, I walk the two steps it takes to cross the roomette and pick up my book. Lady Delia deigns to accept the scandalously low-cut dress that was probably previously worn by a prostitute. Of course.
The slow—and then whoa, not so slow—whittling away of Lady Delia’s standards and inhibitions passes more time than I thought it would, and when my rumbling stomach causes me to look up, the sun is already setting and we’re well clear of the greater Sacramento area. I lean my chin against the window and look out at the flat deadness of Nevada—or that’s how I’ve always thought if it, anyway. With the sun setting and the brush flying past, it looks golden and alive.
I look at my bags of Skittles doubtfully and decide my stomach is empty enough to deserve some real food. After a day in which I ate nothing but a tiny cheeseburger and some chips and a Snickers from your friendly neighborhood vending machine, I’m starving. I dig the key the attendant gave me out of my back pocket and lock up the roomette, and head off in search of the dining car. Which probably won’t have real food either, I realize, but it’s got to be at least slightly less plastic than Skittles.
I stumble through car after car (how long is this train, anyway?) before finally coming to the dining car. I slide the door open, stumbling slightly as the train jerks, and look up to see Jess sitting at one of the tables.
I don’t know whether to back away or what, but he smiles widely and gestures me over.
“Hey,” he says, as I slide into the seat across from him. “I looked for you, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. Where are you sitting?”
It’s like nothing happened at all. “I, uh, it turns out I have a roomette,” I stammer.
Jess gives me a weird look. “Like a Rockette? Does it kick?”
God, what a lame joke. But honestly, I’m so relieved to have someone to talk to that I’ll give it to him. “No,” I scoff. “It’s a tiny little room, like even tinier than rooms on trains usually are, apparently, but it’s private.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye to see if he’s going to give me any crap about being spoiled and getting a private room and not riding in coach like normal people. But he doesn’t.
“Sweet,” Jess says calmly. “Well, here are your choices.” He passes me the menu. “Overcooked pasta, scary chicken, and weird vegetable medley. I opted for the vegetables.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I hate eggplant. Why do vegetarian dishes always have to have eggplant?”
Jess shrugs. “Maybe because it’s kind of hearty?”
“This is why more people aren’t vegetarians,” I complain. “There are so many good vegetables in the world, but if you order the vegetarian dish, it always has weird-tasting slimy things like mushrooms and leeks and eggplant.”
“Were you planning on being a vegetarian, but then the threat of eggplant stopped you?”
I chuckle. “Not exactly. But my best friend Julia is a vegetarian and I have a lot of empathy for them. I have no choice, since she complains almost every day.”
“Does Julia know where you are?” Jess asks.
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself. Nobody knows.”
“Hmm.”
“What hmmm?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Jess shrugs.