I feel sorry for the girls whose moms
didn’t just walk out on them, but those whose moms are dead and aren’t ever
coming back.” He pushes our now-empty food tray to the side and slinks down in
his seat like he’s making himself comfortable. “So no Maggie, I don’t feel
sorry for you.” He crosses his arms behind his neck. “And I suggest you stop
feeling sorry for yourself.”
I don’t know if I want to cry or scream, so I
choose to do neither and just sit there, radiating under the heat of my flushed
cheeks. I look up at Ran and notice he has something—probably leftover
traces of mustard—stuck to the corner of his mouth. Telling him about it
feels like the safest thing to do right now.
“You have a little something,” I say, mirroring
him, pointing to my upper lip with the tip of my fingernail.
“You wanna lick it off? Just one more
compliment and it’s yours.”
“I don’t even know if I want to sit in the same
restaurant as you right now,” I groan, glaring out the window at the bustling
street outside, wanting to be swallowed up in it, wanting to disappear.
“You’re always trying to get away from me.
First you wanted to get out of the ambulance, now the restaurant.” He laughs
and I feel the tension slip slowly out of my rigid frame. I tighten my
shoulders back up, still wanting to stay mad at him. “I’m not holding you
hostage, you know.”
“It kinda feels like it. You pretty much came
to my house and kidnapped me with my own brother’s car.”
“So that’s what you think? That I’ve kidnapped
you and I’m holding you hostage?”
“Yeah, and now you’re demanding a kiss as
ransom.”
Ran’s previously wide eyes nearly disappear as
a loud bout of laughter overtakes him. Several people eating their lunch at the
tables near ours look our way, but they shift their intrusive gazes when I
challenge them with my own assertive stare.
“I think you mean I’m demanding a kiss for Ransom.”
“As ransom, for ransom. It’s all semantics.”
I’m beginning to find this guy impossibly difficult to communicate with. Maybe
English isn’t his first language.
“I don’t think you truly see the humor in all
of this, Maggie.”
I pull my chin back. “What? You think it’s
funny to keep me here against my will?”
“No, I think it’s funny that my name is Ransom
and you’re joking about offering kisses as ransom.”
I gag on my Diet Coke. “Your name is Ransom?”
“Yeah.”
“I just figured it was Randolph or something,”
I admit.
“I’m not a reindeer.”
I try not to spray my soda out through my nose.
“That’s Rudolph, idiot.”
“I’m not that either.” He gives me a smug
smile.
“What? An idiot?” I challenge. “What are you
then?”
Ran rises slightly in his seat and I think I
even hear him clear his throat before he begins speaking. “I’m a twenty-two-year-old
paramedic named Ransom. I live in my own apartment in the historic district and
I drive a Ducati Diavel Cromo. I’m an only child and was adopted by an older
couple when I was four. My mother died when she was 79 in her sleep and my dad is
in a home that cares for the elderly with Alzheimer’s. I work four, twelve-hour
shifts a week and I own a German shepherd named Nikon. I also have two goldfish
on rotation.”
“Rotating goldfish?”
“Yes. Every week after my Wednesday shift I
stop by the pet store to pick up another goldfish, because sure enough, one is
always dead when I come home. I just keep rotating them out.” Ran’s phone
buzzes across the table and he gives it a cursory glance, punches the ‘decline’
button, and returns his attention to me.
“So why do you keep buying new ones? Why don’t
you just have one instead?”
“Because that would be sad, Maggie.”
“You’re telling me you can spend twelve hours
at a time dealing with horrifically gruesome situations, yet the thought of a
lonely goldfish makes you sad?”
“Have you seen them when they’re
didn’t just walk out on them, but those whose moms are dead and aren’t ever
coming back.” He pushes our now-empty food tray to the side and slinks down in
his seat like he’s making himself comfortable. “So no Maggie, I don’t feel
sorry for you.” He crosses his arms behind his neck. “And I suggest you stop
feeling sorry for yourself.”
I don’t know if I want to cry or scream, so I
choose to do neither and just sit there, radiating under the heat of my flushed
cheeks. I look up at Ran and notice he has something—probably leftover
traces of mustard—stuck to the corner of his mouth. Telling him about it
feels like the safest thing to do right now.
“You have a little something,” I say, mirroring
him, pointing to my upper lip with the tip of my fingernail.
“You wanna lick it off? Just one more
compliment and it’s yours.”
“I don’t even know if I want to sit in the same
restaurant as you right now,” I groan, glaring out the window at the bustling
street outside, wanting to be swallowed up in it, wanting to disappear.
“You’re always trying to get away from me.
First you wanted to get out of the ambulance, now the restaurant.” He laughs
and I feel the tension slip slowly out of my rigid frame. I tighten my
shoulders back up, still wanting to stay mad at him. “I’m not holding you
hostage, you know.”
“It kinda feels like it. You pretty much came
to my house and kidnapped me with my own brother’s car.”
“So that’s what you think? That I’ve kidnapped
you and I’m holding you hostage?”
“Yeah, and now you’re demanding a kiss as
ransom.”
Ran’s previously wide eyes nearly disappear as
a loud bout of laughter overtakes him. Several people eating their lunch at the
tables near ours look our way, but they shift their intrusive gazes when I
challenge them with my own assertive stare.
“I think you mean I’m demanding a kiss for Ransom.”
“As ransom, for ransom. It’s all semantics.”
I’m beginning to find this guy impossibly difficult to communicate with. Maybe
English isn’t his first language.
“I don’t think you truly see the humor in all
of this, Maggie.”
I pull my chin back. “What? You think it’s
funny to keep me here against my will?”
“No, I think it’s funny that my name is Ransom
and you’re joking about offering kisses as ransom.”
I gag on my Diet Coke. “Your name is Ransom?”
“Yeah.”
“I just figured it was Randolph or something,”
I admit.
“I’m not a reindeer.”
I try not to spray my soda out through my nose.
“That’s Rudolph, idiot.”
“I’m not that either.” He gives me a smug
smile.
“What? An idiot?” I challenge. “What are you
then?”
Ran rises slightly in his seat and I think I
even hear him clear his throat before he begins speaking. “I’m a twenty-two-year-old
paramedic named Ransom. I live in my own apartment in the historic district and
I drive a Ducati Diavel Cromo. I’m an only child and was adopted by an older
couple when I was four. My mother died when she was 79 in her sleep and my dad is
in a home that cares for the elderly with Alzheimer’s. I work four, twelve-hour
shifts a week and I own a German shepherd named Nikon. I also have two goldfish
on rotation.”
“Rotating goldfish?”
“Yes. Every week after my Wednesday shift I
stop by the pet store to pick up another goldfish, because sure enough, one is
always dead when I come home. I just keep rotating them out.” Ran’s phone
buzzes across the table and he gives it a cursory glance, punches the ‘decline’
button, and returns his attention to me.
“So why do you keep buying new ones? Why don’t
you just have one instead?”
“Because that would be sad, Maggie.”
“You’re telling me you can spend twelve hours
at a time dealing with horrifically gruesome situations, yet the thought of a
lonely goldfish makes you sad?”
“Have you seen them when they’re
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