Page 51 of Only One Tour Bus

“I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got you the pike quenelles but also the chicken. I can eat what you don’t.”

I take the first bite of pike quenelles, and moan as it melts in my mouth. “This is perfect,” I say with my mouth mostly full as Callum pulls the chicken toward him. “Didn’t you eat at the restaurant?”

“Some. But I was busy holding my phone up and trying not to look suspicious. Which I probably failed at, but luckily, I left before the waiter could call the police on me.”

Oh yeah, because of me.

“So why are you obsessed with all this romance, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be a feminist?”

“What? I am totally a feminist.”

“But all this romance stuff is so…it’s the patriarchy and shite.”

“It can be, I guess, if it’s forced on people or if it’s presented as their only option. No one needs a partner if they don’t want one. But that’s why third wave feminism is my favorite…I think it’s the one with all the choices. Whichever feminism means I get some quality fucking and companionship, can choose my career or lack thereof, and my partner pays for dinner. I want that one.”

“You don’t ask for a lot, do you?”

“Hmm. Probably. But the dinner thing is compensation for the gender pay gap. And the rest, well, everyone should be able to choose what they want in life.” My nose is regally in the air at my proclamations. And then it feels a tickle and I sneeze again, ruining the image.

Callum passes me a box of tissues without judgment.

“Wait. This doesn’t look familiar,” I say after I’ve used the mystery tissues.

“I brought you some tissues. Noticed you were using toilet paper during the video chat over dinner.”

I point to the drawing on the box meant to indicate its softness. “You brought me the one with the lotion?”

A blush forms on Callum’s cheeks. “Yes. Your nose looked red. Probably because of all the toilet paper.”

“That’s so sweet. You did something so sweet.”

“I absolutely did not. You need to feel better so Rob doesn’t accuse me of sabotaging the joint tour. See, selfish.”

“It can be self-interested and sweet at the same time.”

He holds up an item. “I almost don’t want to give you this now because you’ll misconstrue it, but I also got this for you.”

I gasp. “A souvenir Eiffel Tower pen? In the shape of the Eiffel Tower?”

“And it lights up. Don’t get overly excited; it’s very cheap.”

“It lights up?” I start looking for the button to light it up, and not seeing any, I scramble for some scrap paper and write on it. Just like I thought, it lights up when writing! “This is amazing.”

When I finally tear my eyes away from the light-up pen, I see Callum watching me. He’s got a very small for a normal person—and very big for a Callum—smile on his face.

“I know how much you hate this sort of frivolity. So thank you for overcoming it to bring me this. I really like this get-well present.”

“Well…the group…wanted you to know that you were missed. And…they…felt bad you were missing the craic.”

“The group said that?” I didn’t miss all those pauses.

“Yes. Your tour babies are very attached to you.”

“Tell them thank you for me, then. I appreciate…whoever and everyone who was involved with bringing me this wonderful souvenir.”

“Useless, naff shite. It’s the most aggressive whimsy I’ve ever seen in all my days.”

“Yes, very tacky. Only the completely tasteless would enjoy,” I agree readily. But I have a smile on my face as I clutch it to my chest.