Darling Rose Gold(58)

I marched to the ticket counter. I’d gone too far north, but we would correct course. By the weekend, I’d be there.

“Can I help you?” the man at the counter asked. He wore an eye patch—a very good omen.

“One ticket to Denver, please,” I said.

I was long overdue to meet Phil in the flesh.



* * *



? ? ?

At ten a.m., when the bus was an hour outside of Denver, I decided to text Phil my real name. I didn’t want our first in-person exchange to start with me correcting him when he called me “Katie.” I couldn’t go on pretending to be someone else forever.

    Me: I haven’t been honest with you

Phil: What do you mean?

Me: My real name is Rose Gold

Me: I lied because I didn’t want you to find my messed-up family story online or in the papers

Me: I’m sorry



I dropped my phone in my lap, hands shaking, and let out a sigh of relief. I’d taken a risk by admitting I’d lied, but it felt good to come clean with Phil. I hoped he wouldn’t google me in the next hour and figure out what I looked like, or he’d never want to meet me. I waited for his response.

    Phil: Huh

Phil: I’m both surprised and not. It’s the Internet, after all

Me: I’m so sorry

Phil: Hey, I understand



A pit formed in my stomach. I had to ask.

    Me: Do you still want to talk to me?

Phil: Of course

Me: Good, because I’m almost in Denver

Phil: What?

Me: I knew you’d never agree to meet unless I surprised you. I’m on a bus, and I’m almost there

Me: Meet me at the Denver bus station in an hour. The one on 19th Street. I’m wearing a purple hoodie



My heart was hammering again, but I was also proud of myself. More and more these days, I had taken control of my life. I’d stood up to Alex and taught her a lesson. I’d demanded my manager let me have this week off of work. I’d gotten to know my father and cut off my mother. And now I was giving Phil commands. Timid Rose Gold had been ousted.

    Phil: Okay, I’ll be there



I blinked a few times at his message, not believing it. I was going to meet my online boyfriend.

    Phil: I’ll be wearing a gray beret



I was so excited at not being hung out to dry that I tried to ignore the bad omen of a gray hat. I had never seen a beret-wearing snowboarder before, but then, I had never met any snowboarders. I would have to wait and see.

The last hour of the bus ride dragged by. I spent most of the time watching YouTube tutorials on applying makeup. In the end, I put mine on the same way I’d seen Alex do hers. After that, I practiced poses that would allow me to talk to Phil while concealing my teeth—not that I needed the practice. I’d figured out every mouth-covering move years ago.

The bus pulled into the parking lot. I had butterflies. Good or bad, this day was going to be a memorable one. I peered out the window, trying to catch a first peek at Phil. But the parking lot was mostly empty. A few cars waited, but I couldn’t see any of their drivers.

The bus stopped. The doors opened. A handful of people shuffled off the bus with me, yawning and stretching their legs. I willed them to move faster. I descended the three steps to the sidewalk, the last one off the bus. I watched some of the passengers head to the waiting cars. They poked their heads in the driver’s-side windows, offering hugs and kisses to invisible loved ones. I scanned the parking lot, but didn’t see a gray beret.

What if he’d stood me up?

I tapped my foot on the concrete and crossed my arms. No one here is paying attention to you, I told myself. And if they are, they’ll assume your ride is late.

I’d give it fifteen minutes. If he didn’t show up by then, I’d have my answer. I was already dreading getting back on the bus.

Someone tapped my left shoulder. “Rose Gold?”

I whirled around to see a man standing behind me, arms stiff at his side. In one hand, he held two crushed daisies. Under his gray beret was a reddish blond ponytail. He had a potbelly and a mustache with white wisps, wore glasses, and had to be at least sixty.

This couldn’t have been Phil.

The man extended a hand toward me. “I’m Phil,” he said.

“Rose Gold,” I said numbly, shaking his hand.

The guy was old enough to be my grandfather, and I’d told him I loved him more than once during our late-night chats. I was going to projectile-vomit all over Phil’s Birkenstocks.

“You hungry? I thought we’d get a bite at the Crispy Biscuit down the street. Great diner.” Phil scratched his elbow. A flaky patch of skin flew off. It dawned on me I had been very stupid and made a giant mistake.

Phil began walking toward a black pickup. I plodded behind him, stalling. I did not want to get into this guy’s truck. I’d recently started watching horror movies, and it seemed like all the characters put themselves in harm’s way—failing to call the police, hiding in obvious places, getting into strange cars—while I screamed at them for being idiots. I vowed not to be an idiot twice in one day.

“How far is the diner?” I asked.

“Two-minute drive. Not even,” Phil said, clearing phlegm from his throat.