Page 35 of Leaving the Station

I’ve spent the past hour doing research, and I know enough now to know that we can’t waste our time trying to run to the town

on foot—if Oakley agrees to go with me, that is. I’ve already called a cab to take us from the train station into the town

proper, which feels very old-fashioned, but maybe that’s part of what will make it a true grand gesture, because that’s what

this is.

Oakley’s a hopeless romantic, and even if those feelings aren’t directed toward me, she deserves something cinematic.

Now there’s only one thing left to do, and it’s the scariest part: I have to actually talk to her.

I’ve walked the path to Oakley’s sleeper car a dozen times during this trip, but I’ve never felt this mix of nausea and excitement.

My heart is beating out of my chest as I stand in front of her door.

After a minute, I knock.

“It’s fine,” Oakley shouts from inside. “I can close the beds myself, but thank you.”

“It’s me,” I say.

She doesn’t respond for a beat, and I’m worried she never will.

Until the door opens, and there’s Oakley. She looks rough, like she hasn’t slept at all. Her hair isn’t quite as shiny as

it usually is, and her pajamas are rumpled. Despite all that, she’s ridiculously cute.

“What?” she asks, voice hostile.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “I just wanted you to know that we’re going to have a surprise forty-five-minute stop

in Leavenworth.”

“Are you a psychic now?”

“Yes. I can see the future and it looks fucking bleak.” It might be my imagination, but I’m pretty sure she smirks. “Can you

come with me?” It’s not the speech I had prepared, but right now it has to be enough.

“I’d rather not,” she says. “I’m just trying to make it off this train.”

“I’m not expecting anything,” I say quickly, and for the first time, it’s true. “But I have something I want to show you.

Please?” I take a deep breath and say, softly, “After everything you showed me?”

She sighs. “Give me five minutes.”

I wait in the observation car for Oakley, pacing back and forth. The train is already slowing down in preparation for its

arrival at Leavenworth.

Virginia’s in the observation car too, preparing for her star turn as “sick woman on train.” I glance over at her, and she

gives me a reassuring thumbs-up.

Oakley comes out a few minutes later, wearing a knee-length wool coat that’s open to reveal a long pale blue, satin spaghetti-strap dress with a black turtleneck underneath.

She has on pink lipstick that perfectly complements her skin tone, and a thin rose-gold headband she’s placed gently onto her freshly brushed hair.

“Hi,” she says, and I can only stare. The dress hugs every part of her body so perfectly.

“Hi,” I say back. “You look beautiful.”

She doesn’t reply; she must know it’s true.

“All right, folks, we’re almost at Icicle Station in Leavenworth. If Leavenworth’s your final destination, please have your

personal belongings packed and ready, as we’re only stopping to let passengers on and off.”

The sun’s rising now, and there’s a soft glow over the Cascade Mountains as we pull into the station.

Oakley doesn’t know what Virginia’s about to do, and I maneuver both of us to the door so that we can run off the moment we

know the plan worked.

“Oh, dearie!” Virginia calls to one of the conductors who’s passing through the car and waking people to ask if they’re getting

off at Leavenworth. “I’m not feeling too well.”

The conductor hurries over and bends to check on her.

I try not to look too interested as Virginia clutches her chest and moans convincingly.

When the train stops, the conductor speaks into his walkie-talkie.

Then, a voice comes over the loudspeaker: “If there are any medical personnel on the train, please report to the observation car. I repeat, if there are any medical personnel, please report to the observation car.” Then, the voice adds, “We will be stopped in Leavenworth slightly

longer than expected as we attend to this... situation. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

Chaos descends after that, with everyone craning their necks to try to catch a glimpse of Virginia, who’s now rolling around

on the floor. She’s delivering .

I glance at Oakley. She’s staring at Virginia, who winks at both of us, and then the train doors open. Oakley turns to me,

confused.

But there’s no time to explain. I jump off, hoping fervently that Oakley’s following me. Thankfully, she is, and I usher us

into the cab I called. Once the door is closed the driver speeds us to the center of Leavenworth. Oakley’s staring out the

window, at the Cascade Mountains in the background and the early-morning light rising over the faux-Bavarian village situated

in the middle of Washington State.

“I’ll meet you back here in thirty minutes,” the cab driver says as he pulls into the center of town, glancing at his phone.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully.

I checked my bank account to make sure I had just enough to pay everyone helping with this deeply unhinged plan. I promised

him a week’s worth of my greenhouse salary in exchange for the ride when I spoke to the dispatcher on the phone earlier.

Leavenworth is just waking up as we get out of the cab; most of the shop windows are dark, and only one or two people are on the street, walking their tired-looking dogs.

There are already Christmas lights everywhere, sparkling on trees and benches and lampposts.

Like Oakley, I’ve never been to Europe, but maybe it’s like this, with quaint streets and brick buildings and mountains looming over everything, framing the landscape with their grandeur.

Or maybe it’s nothing like this at all. That would be okay too.

I turn to Oakley, who’s staring at all of this in awe. She runs her hands along a sign for an old-fashioned candy shop (a

“shoppe,” of course), then spins to face me. I’m thrilled to see that she doesn’t look mad. She looks almost hopeful .

Which means that now is the perfect time to enact the final piece of the plan. I need this to work; I need to show her how

much this trip has meant to me.

I knock on the door of a nearby café—one that I called earlier along with the taxi driver, just as they were opening—and a

barista brings out a basket of chocolates and an accordion. She places the basket on the ground in front of us, then props

the accordion onto her legs. She clears her throat, then starts singing a song in German, the notes breaking the stillness.

“I brought Europe to you,” I tell Oakley over the music.

Her eyes are reflecting the pinks and blues of the sky as she holds a gloved hand to her cheek.

“You told me yesterday you wanted to go there,” I continue.

“That you wanted to do so many things in New York that you weren’t able to do.

” I shake my head. “You gave me some of the best days of my life, and I wanted to give you something in return.” I rub my hands against my forearms, the friction warming me.

“So yes, this is my attempt at a grand gesture. Maybe a romantic one and maybe not. But a grand gesture nonetheless. I want to give you everything, even if it’s just for the next hour.

That’s more than enough for me, Oakley.”

I had more of a speech prepared, but looking into her now-teary face, I speak off the cuff. “I’ll never understand what it’s

like for you, to come from somewhere where they won’t accept all of you. Where they can’t accept it. And I should never have questioned your decision to go back. I mean, I’m going home too, back to a city I haven’t

always loved, with people who haven’t always made me feel at home. We’ll both be back in a place that feels safe, and if not

safe, at least familiar.”

“Zoe,” she starts.

“No,” I tell her, “I have so much more to say.”

She laughs at that, wiping her nose with a gloved hand. “Can I tell you something first?”

I want to say no, because I’ll lose momentum on my grand, improvised, romantic speech, but more than anything, I need to hear

what she has to say.

“Okay.”

“I’ve felt like a failure my entire life,” she says plainly.

“What?” I ask. The accordionist has been playing through all of this, and I remind myself to tip her approximately 400 percent

for agreeing to my bizarre request.

“At first, I felt like a failure of a Mormon, because I always asked the wrong questions,” she tells me.

“Then, I felt like a failure in my schooling, because I was never satisfied with what my parents taught me. Then, and maybe most of all, I felt like a failure in New York, because I told myself it’s where I would finally fit in, that I would have a place to call my own with people who understood me.

” She looks over at the accordion player, who has the decency to at least pretend to not be listening.

“I felt like I was marked by my religion, that that’s what stopped people from getting too close to me.

That they thought I wasn’t actually queer, because I had grown up in a

church that wouldn’t accept them. But then I came on the train, and I met you, and you didn’t discount me just because I talked

about Mormonism. You wanted to have those conversations. And it didn’t hurt that you’re also extremely cute.”

My face heats, and I’m hanging on to her every word.

“So then,” she continues, “when we had that argument about you not understanding why I want to rejoin the church, all of those

feelings of failure came back to me. I felt like you were just going to try to change me or talk me out of my decision. I

felt like you’d never really understand.” I want to interject, but she continues. “I know that that was my own insecurity,

but I didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe I still don’t.”

She takes a small step toward me, and I take that as a sign that I can speak again.

“Oakley.” I say her name like a prayer. “I want to understand you. I want that so, so badly.” I take a deep breath. “This trip... it’s felt so different from everything

else in my life. It’s been every good thing about the world rolled up into one.

You’re every good thing. You’re a smart ass full of random facts and I could listen to you talk for another hundred years.

But I know we only have a few hours, and I should never have said what I did.

Because it took time away from us, and that’s the only thing we don’t have. ”

I’m crying now, and Oakley’s crying too, but I have to keep going, especially if this is my last chance. “I just like you,

Oakley. I care about you more than I should, and I need you to know that. I know I might not see you again after this, that

I probably can’t , but I need you to know that I’m never going to forget you or this trip or any moment we’ve spent together.”

Oakley blinks, and for a second, I’m worried she’s going to turn around and walk back to the cab.

But then she knocks the breath out of me, wrapping her arms around my neck and crying into the exposed skin above my turtleneck.

“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she says as she pulls away and rubs at her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zoe,”

she says. “I’m sorry for running away.”

“You didn’t run away,” I tell her. “You just went to the next car over.”

She laughs at that, and the sound vibrates into my chest.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Any time,” I say into her hair.

She hugs me so tightly that I almost fall back into a snow pile before righting myself.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks, but of course, she already knows the answer.

“The first time I saw you in the dining car, I thought you were the hottest person alive, and I had just failed at acting on being queer in New York, and I wanted you to be my last hoorah before going home.” She sighs.

“But that wasn’t fair to you. Because I do have real feelings for you.

And once I started to feel those feelings, I knew that would make it a thousand times harder

to leave you at the end of this.”

I step so close to her that our noses are almost touching. What I want to say is Then don’t leave. Instead, I ask, “Can I kiss you?” Because I know the former is impossible.

Rather than answering, she tilts her head up and holds her hand against the back of my neck. We make out there, with the accordion

playing, for a long, long time.