We Never Had Paris

Iggy woke in his seat watching Cordelia adjust the strap on her dress across her shoulder as she looked out the window at the passing countryside, tucking her hips into her seat. “You should have stayed in Ostend or taken the ferry back to London,” she said still staring at the passing farmland.

“Thank you for the flowers by the way, but why would you say that? This was our trip, our journey together, to finally see Spain.” Glenn Miller’s Pennsylvania 6-5000 played softly from a small speaker Cordelia had in her seat. Iggy attempted to reach under the table between them and take her hand from her knee into his, but she gently moved it to her other knee. No word was spoken. He sat back, placed his royal blue velvet pillow on the arm of his chair by the window while he studied the lapis zebra patterned seats.

Cordelia turned her gaze toward Iggy but looked through him. “Spain? We did talk about Spain.”

“I bought us tickets,” he said.

“Well. Things change.”

“What are you saying.”

“You said you love me,” and for a moment, Cordelia seemed to be focused on Iggy.

“I did,” said Iggy, now also looking back at Cordelia. She took a deep breath through her nose, nodded her head, looked down and adjusted the floral dress over her knees.

“Do you see that my dress matches your flowers?”

“I noticed,” and he looked at the straps on her shoulders.

“You didn’t say anything,” she said.

“That’s true. It would have been nice of me to say something,” and he watched her lips gently press together as again she nodded and this time looked back out the window. She took her phone from her purse, tapped a button and her music stopped. She put the phone and the little speaker back in her purse.

Iggy also looked out the window but watched the blur of images near the train rather than the world beyond. He felt a little dizzy. Time seemed suspended in the low-level clatter of the train’s wheels and gentle rocking of the car. It seemed like hours before she spoke again. He would have broken the spell himself, but he simply didn’t know what to say.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked as she waived to the steward. He approached the table politely, professionally and almost discreetly.

“Madam?” he said just loud enough for them to hear and not bother anyone else nearby.

“Champaign for me, please. Iggy?”

“Ah, yes, um a Sazerac please?”

“Certainly. Would you like your Sazerac with cognac or rye?”

“I’ve never had the cognac, but rye please. I’m not sure I’m up for something new at the moment, thank you” Iggy nodded to the waiter and Cordelia gave a small, tight smile before looking back outside.

“Iggy, you said you loved me.” She placed one hand on the table, keeping the other on her knee, looking past the other passengers in front of her. “How many years have we been together?”

“I don’t know,” said Iggy, “five, seven, depends on where we start, long enough to save for a several month trip to Spain together.” She sighed. “What?” he asked.

The steward returned with their drinks. “Please charge his to cabin 13,” Cordelia stated as she took the glass by the stem from the steward. He nodded, glanced at Iggy and then proceeded back down the aisle.

Iggy took a sip, noting the contrast between the scent of absinth against the mild burn of rye whisky. She sipped her champaign. He felt himself swallow and it seemed loud in his head. “Again,” he asked, “what?” He saw a tear in her eye.

“You should have noticed,” and she sipped again, momentarily looking at him and then away. They looked at each other in the widow’s reflection, “Why didn’t you ask?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. We’ve been rushing since New York, I thought we were going to be stuck in Reykjavík, there is all this COVID stuff, and I don’t want to bring up the passport ordeal you had, but I have to bring it up, because who doesn’t check their passport for a trip they know is coming. For fuck’s sake, how did you not know your passport was expiring about a week into our plans…”

“Don’t make me cry. I took care of it and we got to London.”

“We got to London.”

“Iggy, I know you wanted to go to Spain.”

“Cordelia, this is feeling all out of control, and that’s okay, I guess, we can bring it together.”

“Iggy, you said you loved me.”

“I do love you, I think.”

“I think we have habits Iggy. I know you wanted to go to Spain.”

“I thought you wanted to go to Spain. I’ve been studying on Duolingo. I can say ‘hello,’ find a bathroom and get a check.” Iggy took a larger sip of his Sazerac.

The conductor came to the table. “I hope your evening is going well. I’m sorry sir, but I have to ask, may I see your ticket?” Iggy reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his tickets.

“Sorry sir, I mean ticket for this train. These are for Spain, we’re going to Budapest.”

“What?”

“Sir?”

“I should have told you sooner Iggy, this train isn’t stopping in Spain,” said Cordelia. “I thought you would ask, I thought you would notice, I have a single coach. I thought you would ask and get off.” Cordelia put both hands on the table and tilted her head as she spoke to him. No longer were there tears in her eyes. Iggy took a larger sip of his drink.

“Budapest?” Iggy thought for a moment he would cry, but he didn’t. “Well do you have my ticket, I mean I have yours for Spain?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t Iggy. I didn’t have the money for both of us. This is the trip I have to take, alone.”

“Sir, do you have a ticket?” asked the conductor.

“Where can I get off?” asked Iggy.

“Unfortunately sir, due to COVID, we're not stopping. This train goes to Budapest.”

“I can’t get off?”

“No. I’ll set something up in the baggage car and make arrangements with the authorities.”

“Can I have another Sazerac then?” Cordelia nodded to the conductor.