An Unexpected Route

“Woebegone.” A man’s index finger jabs at the newspaper spread across my knees.

He’s hovering over me holding one of the rails on the bus. I’m seated against the wall. Nobody objects on my behalf to the invasion of my personal space.

“What?” I glare up at him, noticing he’s wearing shorts and sneakers. It’s January. The rest of us are in heavy coats and toques like sensible people.

“Your crossword. The answer to ‘down in the dumps’ is, “Woebegone.”

“Oh, that I now know,” I say with frustration while writing the word into the cubic spaces. “What I don’t know is why you won’t be gone.”

His eyes widen as he holds up both hands in apology. Then the bus hits its brakes, causing him to stumble backwards. I snicker, and even though the squealing drowns out the sound, he notices.

I take this route every day for work, but I caught the 7:44 pick-up today. It’s forty minutes earlier than my regular one. I'm hoping to get through my to-do list before my appointment this afternoon. This is the busy season in the university’s admissions department, when letters are going out. My name is on the paperwork that makes up one of the most defining things in people’s lives. It thrills me most days, but I can’t focus today.

The bus’s doors open, letting in a gust of cold air as a few people exit, including the woman who was sitting on my left. I sigh as the man in shorts slides into her seat. With another huff, I place my crossword into the tote bag between my feet. It has its own pocket, because I like to keep everything well-organized – in my bag and in life.

“Sorry,” he says, watching me. “I didn’t mean to spoil your game. It looked like you were struggling.”

When I don’t answer, he presses on. “Do you want me to ruin the ending of your favourite T.V. show too? Chandler and Monica get married.”

“I was not struggling. Besides, there’s no time limit. Also, I’ve seen Friends.” I think back to my scribbled attempts to guess the clue. I’m not good at crosswords, but I’m getting better. They meant a lot to my dad, which is why I do them. It makes me feel like he’s there with me, filling in the spaces I don’t know. I get a lot of satisfaction on the days I do manage to complete them.

He turns his body to face mine. “So, what’s your agenda looking like today?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Seriously?”

“What?” he asks, like he’s unaware of the unspoken rule to keep to yourself in public spaces. Nobody on the 8:34 bus does this. I’m an expert at keeping my head down, as we should all strive to be. He reaches into his sweater pocket and pulls out a clementine of all things. I stare at it in wonderment.

“You want my life story or something? What’s your deal?” I’m in no mood today, because today is going to end in wreckage. They wouldn’t have asked me to come in otherwise. Good news can come over the phone.

His thumb presses into the fruit as he peels it in one piece, its fresh scent hitting my nose. “I know most of the regulars on here, and you’re new. Just your name would do.” He splits the clementine in two, pulling away the pith, and holds out half of it to me. “A peace offering.”

I must admit, it looks like a good clementine. I hesitate before taking the half, pressing my lips together in what I hope is a smile, but it feels wooden. So, I reward the gesture instead with an answer.

“Sydney,” I say, holding the clementine in my palm without yet daring to eat it.

“Pleasure to meet you, Sydney. I’m Lyle.” He holds out a hand to me, which feels sticky.

He has a grandpa name, but he looks to be my age. That is, he’s young enough that you’d worry if he introduced himself to you as your doctor. We pass a familiar street sign, so I pull the cord for my stop. As the bus slows, I gather up my bag, hovering on the edge of my seat so I can spring towards the doors. Lyle does the same.

The bus rocks us to a stop, and through the motion I keep my gaze on his, noticing his eyes are a warm brown, darker than his hair. He’s looking at me like we know each other.

“See you next time then?” he says like a question as he approaches the door, me in tow. He thanks the bus driver, whose name I learn is Georgia. Then, he literally jumps off.

“Maybe. It’s a big city,” I say, joining him on the sidewalk out front of the arboretum. It's next to the university campus – trees on one side of us, concrete on the other.

He is now jogging on the spot to keep warm. He puts earbuds in and shrugs with a small wave, taking off into the trees. From his stride I can tell he runs a lot, and it’s not a bad sight. When he is far enough away, I pop some clementine into my mouth and smile my first genuine smile of the day.

***

Going into work early made me hyper-productive, so I leave for my appointment with time to spare. I’ve been seeing Dr. Van Wyk since I was a kid. As I walk down the hallway toward his office, I snap my fingers to quell the nervousness. The fluorescent lighting stings my eyes as I present my health card, then find my seat. My pulse is still racing as I pull at the scarf restricting my neck.

“Sydney?” the nurse calls, before I’ve even taken off my coat. They must be running ahead of schedule. I follow her. She takes some notes for Dr. Van Wyk before leaving me in the tiny room. This is my second time being back here in two weeks. My eyes fixate on the teaching prop on the shelf across from me. It’s a fetus in a womb. The door opens.

“Thanks for coming in again, Sydney,” Dr Van Wyk says. There is another figure in the doorframe behind him, though I can’t see the person. “I have a medical student joining me this week. Do you mind if he sits in on your appointment?”

“That’s fine,” I hear myself say as my head screams otherwise.

Dr. Van Wyk reveals the person behind him, who has a smile I recognize.

“Lyle,” he says, extending a hand to me. “But you may remember that.” He’s wearing pants now and a white coat.

My mouth feels dry. Dr. Van Wyk is too busy reading the nurse’s notes to notice our interaction. This was going to be bad enough without a larger audience – especially someone who looks like the worst thing in his life is that he needs a haircut. I shift on the undignified paper stretching across the exam table.

After brief small talk about my day and the crap weather, Dr. Van Wyk gets down to business. “Have you been experiencing the same symptoms since your last visit?” He consults the computer, pausing to wait for my nod between the symptoms he reams off. “Absent periods, night sweats, trouble sleeping, reduced sexual drive?”

My cheeks flush at the last one, eyes darting to Lyle who is fixing his eyes on the computer screen.

“What about your moods?”

“Cranky sometimes,” I say, still watching Lyle. He would know. He got a bit of it this morning.

Lyle’s mouth tilts up as he says, “I can attest to that.”

Dr. Van Wyk looks between us – my narrowed eyes and Lyle’s knowing smile. “Sorry, are you both acquainted?”

“As of this morning,” Lyle confirms.

I don’t envy the look Dr. Van Wyk gives him. “If you know the patient personally, Dr. Mackenzie, it’d be best if you wait in my office.”

Lyle has a look of sudden comprehension and springs to his feet. “Right. Sorry. See you around, Sydney. Sorry.”

I feel bad, but I’m not about to call him back to witness more of my embarrassment.

Dr. Van Wyk’s face remains flat as the door shuts again. It’s a bad sign. “Sydney, to get to the reason you’ve come in today, your blood work came back showing no sign of pregnancy."

Without child then. This should be a relief, but from my googling, it is not.

“Your estrogen levels were also low. I’d like to refer you for a pelvic ultrasound to examine your ovaries and take more blood work in a couple of weeks. It’s important that I explain what possible diagnoses could mean for your ability to have your own children.”

Dr. Van Wyk continues like he is practicing a speech in the mirror. Too bad I can’t hear him over the growing siren in my own head. I know the gist anyway. I never really thought I was pregnant, unless this was the second immaculate conception. It’s not that Dr. Van Wyk is being harsh, but every time he opens his mouth it’s another lashing. The room gets blurry as my eyes well up.

I wait in the room to collect myself after Dr. Van Wyk steps out. I take a long time while zipping up my coat. Upon stepping out, armed with a referral in my hands, I bump into Lyle.

“Sorry,” he says again, as if it’s the only word he knows. He registers my face and freezes.

I guess I didn’t do a good job of concealing my emotions.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” I think, as I nod. It’s the worst question. People only ask it when you’re clearly not okay. The dream I didn’t know I had is dead.

He waits a moment, then realizes he’s blocking the hallway, so steps back. “Spoiler number three today? Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

Even if his opinion is unwelcome, his certainty is a small comfort. I could hide in that thought and let myself believe it.

As I move down the hallway, he adds, “If you’re looking for a friend, you know where to find me.”

I have a team meeting this afternoon, but instead of going back to the office, I call my manager to say I’m going home sick. It’s a lie, and not something I would usually do. Unlike school acceptances though, there are some defining things outside your control.

***

I’m carrying my breakfast with me as I leave the house the next day. My excuse is that I wasn’t hungry enough to eat right away. My stomach makes its opinion clear about that as I wait for the 7:44 bus. I'm gripping a container with two blueberry muffins inside of it.

“Good morning, Georgia,” I say as I step on. She looks delighted.

Lyle moves over to a window seat as soon as he sees me. His surprised smile is an invitation. Rolling my eyes at myself more than him, I take the seat next to him and pull out my newspaper. I hand him one of the muffins. He shared yesterday, so it’s only fair. Reciprocity is my only angle.

“What made me so lucky, bus buddy?”

“Just do the crossword with me, wise guy. You know you want to.”

He laughs, taking a bite of muffin. He makes satisfied chewing sounds as he peers at the empty page. He doesn’t ask about the day before, but I decide to tell him. He already knows half the story. It’s less scary admitting it to a stranger – someone who has no expectations of you.

“I probably can’t have kids.” The words hang between us, abrupt and out of place, but he makes space for them anyway.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” I answer. I’m not sure why I wanted to tell him, but I’m glad I did. I don’t even know him, but I may like to know him, so it feels important.

We finish half the crossword before we get off the bus. He got most of the clues, which pisses me off. Still, I already know I’ll be back the next day. This city is lonely, but maybe it doesn’t have to be. 

***

In the weeks that follow, I learn Lyle goes to school on campus. Outside school, a lot of his stories are about his family. They have a hobby farm outside the city, with ducks, goats, and chickens. Unfortunately for Lyle, the rooster doesn’t like men, and it chases him to the door when he visits. He’s the only man among them. The rooster leaves his sister, Evie, and his two moms alone. It brings me up short when I realize, Lyle is adopted.

Most adoption stories focus on loss, like it’s a salve for the absence of the family you’d planned. But Lyle is the epitome of more. He has more joy, hope, and energy than anyone I’ve met. His family sounds like they could have their own cartoon strip beneath the crossword. It’s a relief, because I now know, my family won’t be the conventional kind. I thought I had accepted it before Dr. Van Wyk gave me the final verdict, but it still felt like an added weight. Hearing Lyle speak about his family lessens it.

“I’d like to meet this rooster who torments you,” I say as we sit shoulder to shoulder. “It would be nice to meet at least one creature who doesn’t like you.”

Lyle was telling the truth about knowing most people on the bus. He often gives people a high five or gets into micro-conversations with them as I keep my head down over the paper. When I do look up, I can’t help but notice how they light up when they see him – the same way I do.

“Yeah? Okay. Evie keeps asking me to invite you to Sunday dinner.”

“You told your sister about me?” I look at him, sitting so close. My voice betrays my delight. “What did you say?”

“I said, I’m teaching this woman on the bus how to spell. Can you believe she thought ‘acceptable’ had an ‘i’ in it?”

I elbow him in the ribs, remembering his teasing the day I misspelled that word. It’s like he’s a walking dictionary or something.

“Okay, you got me.” He looks out the window in a rare moment of shyness. “I actually said something about how you’re the best part of my day. Even if you like to pretend that you can’t stand me.”

I swallow, not sure how to cop to the same feeling, even if I feel it.

“Don’t look so shocked, Syd. You’re not as unnoticeable as you think you are.”

***

The Friday before I’m supposed to meet Lyle’s family for dinner, we’re working on the crossword on the bus. Or rather, I’m working on the crossword, and Lyle seems only to be watching me chew on the end of my pencil.

“Right, so focus, Lyle. Four letters. ‘All you need, according to Lennon.’"

 He keeps watching me, so I turn my head impatiently. I soften when I see the look in his eyes. “What?” I ask, gentler than the first time I ever asked him this question. I snort to break the awkwardness and turn back to the page.

“Do you want a hint?”

“If you know it, say it. We’re almost at our stop.” I pull the cord over our heads.

“I’ll give you a hint.” 

With a sigh, I put down my pencil, levelling him with a look.

“It’s what I think I feel for you,” he whispers. 

A shiver runs down my spine. The word is right there in my head. He reads it in my eyes. Taking my turn to be brave, I lean in and kiss him. As he kisses me back, I sink in more, wondering why we haven’t been doing this every morning. When I hear some clapping around us, my cheeks get hot for a different reason. I pull away, giving him a sheepish smile. He winks back.

When we leave the bus, we both thank Georgia, with more pep than normal. She high fives Lyle, and I laugh at this strange little community I entered when I stepped onto the 7:44 bus.