Mind the Gap | ✔️

May 3 @ 9:33 A.M.: Evan

Venus was her name. The planet book woman's name. When she had told me that, last month, back on the train, I had to bite my lips to stop myself from laughing. It so matched the book she was reading.

I hadn't seen her since then. She usually took an early morning train. Earlier than mine, that is. Last month, I had been lucky to meet her.

Was it luck?

Or had it been fate?

We had exchanged text messages almost every morning since then.

Her message of the day reached me just as my train left Central station, heading towards Kendall/MIT.

Mastro's Ocean Club, next Wednesday @ 7 pm, U & I

The words took me by surprise. I had asked her out, more than once—almost daily, in fact—but she had always found some reason to decline so far. Her apologetic replies had referred to yoga sessions, French classes, a girls' night out, and migraineicity.

But next Wednesday, as the message stated, she seemed to be available.

And willing.

To dine with me.

I loosened my tie. I hated the way it constricted my neck, but in our first-month assessment session, my new boss Liam had explained it was time for me to fit in with the corporate environment.

Gone was my hipster sweater; gone were the corduroy pants. A midnight blue jacket, matching trousers, and a blindingly white shirt made me blend into the insurance microcosm. The tie was azure, of course.

But it came with a yellow smiley.

My little private act of rebellion. And it also matched my umbrella.

The suited man on the seat opposite wore a tie, too. But his held no insignia of revolution. Apparently, he lacked the spark that kindled the fire within true partisans. Instead, he stared at a spot about ten inches to the left of me, his eyes unmoving and his face expressionless.

A suited zombie—dead and didn't even know it.

They'd never turn me into that.

Returning my attention to Venus' message, my curiosity was piqued with the venue she had mentioned.

I fired up my tablet and looked up Mastro's Ocean Club. It was a restaurant at Seaport, which advertised itself as the preferred steakhouse of celebs and locals alike. They enforced a strict upscale dress code. I wondered if my smiley-themed tie would qualify for that.

Its menu looked interesting, but its prices made me frown.

I typed a quick reply to Venus.

Love it. I'll book a table. CU

As I navigated the complex reservation procedure on their elaborated website, my tablet went ping once more. 

It was Venus again.

Her succinct answer was:

Thx 4 the invite

Was it an invite?

I shrugged. It mattered not. Money would not be an issue. Even though it tied and suited me, the insurance company paid heaps better than Suffolk University. And as a conservative salaryman with a sense for business, I should probably embrace a more traditional set of gender role models.

Venus apparently did.

Something told me Braces wouldn't. I could imagine her insisting on paying half and half for our meal. Or she would be the one inviting me, pulling out a credit card out of one of the ample sleeves of her burgundy jacket I had seen in January, akin to a cute she-magician. 

But she probably had her hands full with Mister Chiseled Jaws now. With her fiancé.

And I had the planet lady—maybe. I smiled at her message.

But even with Venus on the horizon, when the train came to a halt at the Charles/MGH station, I couldn't stop myself from checking the view for Braces.

And there she was, our windows and our stars perfectly aligned as if by magic. Her couleur-du-jour was green, the wild strands tamed and falling onto her shoulders like a peaceful, mossy waterfall. Her blouse matched her mane, and left her shoulders bare.

A set of raspberry-pink lips contrasted the greenish theme perfectly.

She didn't look at me but was talking to someone on the seat opposite. It was not Mr. Chiseled Jaws, to my great relief, but a large black woman with big curly hair.

Their animated discussion involved gestures, frowns, and head shaking. I wondered what it was about and if they were arguing about something.

The black one was the first to notice me staring. She glowered and said something to her braced companion.

I blushed and looked at my train lady, hoping she'd come to my defence and explain my unabashed voyeurism.

When she saw me, her frown made room for a smile.

I grinned back at her. She may have been engaged, but I couldn't resist the sparks she gave off when happy.

I lifted my tie to show her its smiley. She giggled. Turning to the other woman, she said something, and they both laughed.

Their conversation went on and on. They kept glancing at me, gesturing at me, laughing, and talking.

It was obviously me they were discussing. Slightly irritated by being the subject of a conversation I didn't and couldn't participate in, I crossed my arms and brought up a pouting face. I had learned it from the best—from my daughter. Janice wielded it with uncanny, heartbreaking power. The two women didn't look heartbroken by it, though. They just laughed some more.

I flipped my tie upside down, showing them the inverted smiley, hoping they'd get it.

They didn't—their mirth just continued. It seemed endless.

Giving up my resistance, I grinned back at them.

Giggling was contagious, apparently, and couldn't be contained by two window panes and a gap between them.

The suited zombie across from me was immune, though. He still stared at the same spot as before.

I imitated his stance, let my face go slack, my shoulders sag, and my focus get lost.

When I looked at the Braces again, she frowned. I shrugged and pointed my small finger at the zombie, hoping he wouldn't notice.

The doors of my train closed, and Braces and I locked eyes for a mere instant before the train's movement severed the thread between us.

My gaze dropped back to my tablet. It took me a moment to register what I saw: Venus' message.

At least that.