Page 45 of Keepsakes and Kismet

The guy tips his fedora. “Oh my God, I needed that.”

Peyton winks. “Hey, if you thought that was good, you should try the cider. Do you want me to grab you a glass?”

Then, in between a plate of appetizers in the dining section of the establishment, a guy with a long beard wearing a gray beanie starts speaking with her. “So that’s how my safari jeep got attacked by a hippo,” he tells her.

“Whoa. Talk about wild, huh?” She shakes her head. “It’s so funny you bring up hippos, because I was watching a documentary the other day, and they mentioned how hippos are obsessed with apples. I bet they’d love this incredible cider, huh?”

Being with Peyton is so effortless, especially for someone like me. She seamlessly navigates every conversation until she’s the most popular person in the room. People she just met five minutes ago are introducing her to their friend fifteen minutes later. She makes good impression after good impression—no fumbles whatsoever. And being around her also makes it easier for me to socialize. To talk with other people instead of being furniture or trailing her around in silence.

It’s only after she’s met every single guest in the room that Peyton looks remotely tired, leaning against the wall and sighing. “Alright. Only five more minutes until I can start on The Goodbye.”

“What’s that tone about?”

“Oh, The Goodbye is the worst part of any job. Each assignment requires a different one, and unless it’s The Irish, I could be in for another hour.”

I scratch my chin. “There are different types of goodbyes?”

“Oh, sweet Callum. There are oodles of goodbyes, ranging in complexity.”

“Tell me more.”

“Okay. There’s The French Exit, The Midwest Goodbye, The Uber’s Here! Fear, The Live Action Work Email, The Pantomime, The Concerned Citizen, The Na Na Na Na, The Uno Reverse, The New York Minute, The Magician’s Twist…” She trails off. “I mean, I could go on, but I won’t bore you.”

“Go on.”

“What?”

“You said you could go on. So, go on.”

“You want me to list them all? What if there are fifty?”

“Make it one hundred.” I tilt my head. “I genuinely want to hear anything you have to say.”

Talk about the volume of the speakers. The shape of that fake orange leaf on the floor. Your preference on the different types of printer paper.

I want to hear it all because it’s her saying it.

Her lips tip up. Every time I do something to make Peyton happier, it kicks my own self-esteem up a few notches, like I’ve accomplished a little bit of greatness.

Peyton spends the next several minutes listing every Goodbye she knows while I listen with rapt attention. Her eyes spark at the silliest ones, color rushing into her cheeks. She tells me which of the Goodbyes she invented, and which were already established. My gaze clings to her animated expressions, only straying once to appreciate the way she tucks her hair behind her ear.

She taps her lower lip. “So, that makes… what? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-nine, I think.”

Peyton nods. “Well. Time to start The Pantomime.”

“And what does that entail?”

“The owner already told me I don’t need to stop by when my contracted time is over, but I hate to leave without notifying anyone. So, I wait to catch her attention, and then I mouth, I’m going to get going, thank you for everything, this was amazing, with a hand on my heart—like this.” She brings her hand to her chest and leans forward slightly with a closed mouth smile on her face. Then she drops the pose. “Pretty good, right?”

I shake my head. “You are unbelievable.”

Peyton flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder with mock flair. “It never gets old, hearing that.”

After The Pantomime is executed flawlessly, we walk out of Stan’s. The brewery was so hot and crowded that both of us choose to hold our coats instead of wearing them. Peyton’s scarf hangs loosely around her neck, and she sighs in relief when the cool breeze hits her skin.

It doesn’t take long to find my truck, and I jog around to open her car door before coming around to the driver’s side. I glance at my dashboard and sigh. At this hour, sadly there won’t be traffic. As I set my keys in the cupholder, I wonder how slowly I can drive down the highway without either getting a ticket or being a safety hazard. I don’t want the night to end.