Broken Hearts, Fences, and Other Things to Mend

Chapter 4

I noticed the guy just after we stopped for the second time.

He was sitting across the aisle from me, also in the window seat, head turned toward the window. He had a pair of white earbuds in, and his head was moving slightly in time to the music he was listening to. He seemed like he was around my age, and though I couldn’t see his face—not even his profile—it struck me that the back of his neck was really nice.

A second later, I came to my senses. What was I thinking? I had just been dumped and my heart was freshly broken. What was I doing looking at other people’s necks? I was beginning to think that Sophie had been on to something with her mourning period theory. I was not going to think about boys for at least a year, if not longer. I couldn’t even imagine wanting to date someone new. I turned away from the guy and focused my attention out at the scenery passing by the train windows.

When we made one of the last stops before the longer stretch that would take us to the Hamptons, a very large and very loud family got on the train, the mother loaded down with monogrammed canvas bags and screaming children, the father ignoring the ubiquitous NO LOUD CELL CONVERSATIONS signs and yelling into his phone. When they approached, the nice-necked guy got up and offered them his row, which the family took, the mother looking almost absurdly grateful as the father screamed something into his phone about the Tokyo markets.

The guy picked up his backpack and duffel bag and looked across the aisle to me, and the two empty seats in my row.

“Hi,” he said, setting his bag down on the aisle seat. I noticed now that he was really cute, the kind of cute seen more often in ads for orange juice and family smartphone plans than in real life. He had light brown hair, cut short, and eyes that looked greenish, but that might have just been because he was wearing a pale green T-shirt. He had dark eyelashes and eyebrows and though it was hard to tell because I was sitting, but it looked like he was a few inches taller than me, which meant he was pretty tall.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, and I noticed that his voice was nice, deep but not scary Batman-deep.

“Nope,” I said, hoping he hadn’t noticed me staring. “Just let me make some room for you.” I stood up and shifted my bag over on the luggage rack.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, standing behind me and pushing his bag into place. “I’m—”

Just then, the train stopped suddenly. I was thrown off balance, and had managed to steady myself when the train sped up again. I fell back—and landed right on the lap of the guy.

“Oh my god.” I felt my face get hot as I tried to understand what was happening. Somehow, I was sprawled across this guy’s lap. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, though I could see he was turning red too. I tried to push myself off him, but just as I did, he half-stood, and my hand landed on his thigh. His upper thigh.

“Oh my god.” I half-stumbled, half-fell back on the middle seat and then scooted myself over to the window. I wanted to make it clear that I wasn’t some kind of weird train harasser who used sudden stops to touch the legs of random cute guys. “I’m so sorry about that. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, but I could see that he was still blushing. “Are you all right?”

"Yes,” I said. “I just . . . fell harder than I was expecting to.”

He gave me a don’t-worry-about-it smile, and I realized there was something about him that seemed familiar. I couldn’t quite place him, but figured that maybe he was one of my friends’ Friendverse friends, someone I’d seen tagged enough in their posts that I recognized him, even though we’d never actually met. I picked up my latte—it had been resting on the tiny ledge by the window, and had not, miraculously, spilled—and took a deep restorative sip.