Page 28 of Only One Tour Bus

I’ll never think harsh thoughts about a tourist who interrupts me to ask an inane question ever again. I don’t care if they ask what country Paris is in or what language they speak in Italy. Even if they ask where the closest mall is, I’ll be eagerly helpful from now on.

All right, maybe I’ll still judge the shit out of questions I don’t approve of, but I’ll answer them with a smile.

Fine, for the sake of full disclosure, maybe it would be more practical to promise not to snarl at them. I think that’s more than fair; an answer with complete neutrality.

“It’s going to be Doris and mine’s fiftieth anniversary when we’re in Paris. I was hoping that you could give me some suggestions for how to make it special.”

Asha gasps like she just got proposed to, and I look around to make sure she’s not reacting to something else, because I’m not sure if that’s a happy gasp or a scared one. Maybe a live grouse stowed away on the bus and is attacking the group.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, just to be sure. Only because if anything were to happen to my co-leader, I’m sure Rob would say I failed whatever education he wanted me to get from this joint operation.

And that is the only reason.

“No, nothing.” She waves me away and turns to Henry. “That is so sweet! Leave it all to me.” She looks at me cautiously. “To us. If you could write down any allergies or food you two don’t like, and some of her favorite foods and flowers. And the exact date of the anniversary. Oh, how does she feel about boats? Add that. Then leave the rest to us! We’ll coordinate reservations and transportation.”

No. She had it right the first time; leave this to her. This is the kind of request I would handle a lot differently than Asha. I would send Henry off with the top hit on Google for “fancy French restaurants.” Maybe, if there’s a place I know and like, I would give the name.

And then that’d be the end of my involvement.

But of course the woman who is overly obsessed with the group’s happiness would want to be more involved in the request.

“Thank you so much,” Henry says, smiling at Asha like they’ve become fast friends. She has that effect on people.

“No. Thank you. I haven’t met my own Henry yet, but watching you and Doris confirms my belief that he’s out there and worth the wait for his misplaced self.” She squeezes his arm and he walks back to his seat.

“Fifty years, Callum!” She does that thing where she’s whispering but it’s much louder than a whisper should be. Almost so loud she may as well just talk in a normal voice, for Christ’s sake. “That’s amazing. We have to make this so special.”

“This is not our job.”

“It most definitely is. As humans, to celebrate love.” She’s so excited about this that I can almost see cartoon hearts in her eyes.

“Human is not a position that pays anything and therefore it comes with very few obligations.”

“It does pay, in karma, and yours isn’t going to be very good if you don’t help celebrate the happiness around you.”

“I’m going to leave the celebration plans to you.”

“I would be upset that you left me with all the work, but it will be easier to plan this magical night without you, honestly. So much easier.”

“Hey, I think that’s an insult. I thought your whole ‘happy, always-looking-on-the-bright-side’ attitude would preclude you from throwing out insults.”

“No. It means I’ll do it with a smile.” She smiles in case I wasn’t in the mood to believe her words.

“You are a wee bit terrifying.”

“Nah. I’m harmless. Remember, I’m the one who’s about to do your job.”

“You’re about to do duties that you made up for the job.”

She doesn’t respond with words, not willing to be sucked into this conversation again. She has more self-control than me.

“If you’re not going to help, you can go back to your side of the bus. So I can make my calls to plan this night without your Debbie Downer attitude putting a damper on all the love and good thoughts.”

I get up in relief. I want to keep sitting next to her, but this is better than her asking all sorts of irrelevant questions, like why I’m sitting next to her.

I take the seat across the bus and get my book out. I’m sure it’s a coincidence that I’m leaning in her direction and catching glimpses of her every time my eyes drift to the top of the right pages of my book.

Pure coincidence.