Someone has set the thermostat to low. Waves of cool air ram against her skin. Her arms are coated with goose bumps, her legs like blankets of Braille. Her sweatpants need to be washed; a spaghetti sauce stain is encrusted on the inner belly of the U, in NYU.

            Oprah preaches the values of self-love and familial ties. She shuts off the TV, feeling as though she’s heard it all before.

***

           
            Tightening the grasp on her luggage, Therese decides that she hates the train. She ordered the ticket online two weeks in advance. She’s been prepared for a window seat, the lack of personal space, even the poor circulation of stale air. She’s not unfamiliar with the train; she used to depend on it during college. Initially, it’d been disappointing, almost unjust. She hated the erratic tremble of the car’s lights and the narrow bathrooms.

            A few years later and her resentment has failed to dry up. Therese thinks that the government should just dismantle the entire railroad system. She boards the train and experiences a terrible sense of static. It’s as though she’s trapped in a revolving aquarium, interacting with the same cellmates, watching the same stereotypes of people with different faces.

            After rolling through the elite landscape of business class, Therese spots prime seating in coach. A good distance from the lavatory, tucked against the window, isolated in a mass of couples and teenagers. Therese claims said real estate with a refreshing sense of accomplishment. She settles into her chair and pulls out the newest copy of People. 

            And then, The Child materializes. There’s the sniffling of his snout and his mother’s scratchy cough. Therese looks up, masking her irritation with a parody of sincerity. She holds the magazine like a battering shield, peering at mother and child. His name is Lenny, (he just turned eight yesterday, didn’t you Lenny?), and is a well-behaved boy, (aren’t you, Lenny?), and of course Therese doesn’t mind if he sits next to her, (I’ll be in the aisle seat, right across from him, but he won’t cause any trouble, won’t you, Lenny?).

            
            Lenny’s reign of terror begins thirty-five minutes later. After skimming a crinkled copy of Rolling Stone, she decides to take a nap. Lenny decides to play demolition derby. He produces a train and a monster truck from a plastic backpack. Again and again he smashes them together, giggling underneath his breath, adding his own soundtrack. Therese shifts in her seat. She peels one eye open, then the next. Lenny’s mother has fallen asleep, head lolled back, mouth open. Lenny resurrects the train for the fifth time. Therese groans. There’s only one solution to this dilemma. 

            Whenever she’s upset, she likes to make lists. She starts off with her Top Five Guilty Pleasure Romantic Comedies From The 80’s, followed by Top Five 1940’s Film Noirs, moving on to Top Five Bottled Waters, and finally, debating between Top Five Toothpaste Brands. This process always eases her nerves. Thus, when the train pulls into New London Station, Therese couldn’t care less when Lenny (accidentally) gouges her eye with his bony elbow. Lenny’s mother awakens with an embarrassing start, eyes darting back and forth. With a smile of relief, she gathers her bags and gets up to fetch Lenny. Therese says goodbye to them with an aloof wave. She’s silently wondering if Crest should be above Colgate.

            The station is small, the tracks overlook the water. Therese accepts the open palm of the train attendant, watching the steps as she steps onto the ground. She rolls the suitcase up the steps, nudging the door open with her shoulder. A small crowd of people wait in the lobby, scattered throughout the plastic seats. The air smells like wet dog and dried BO. Therese wheels over to the window, scouring her surroundings, stomach twisting. A clock hangs over the entrance door; the hands tell her that her brother is ten minutes late. Ethan must have remembered, right? He couldn’t have forgotten? She e-mailed him three times, reminding him when her train would arrive. She’s about to whip out her cell phone, when Therese spots him.

            Ethan bursts through the door, aviators perched on top of his head, dark locks spilling everywhere like a bottle of dripping ink. He’s the same as always, the same as she’s seen him last. Average height, green eyes with eyelashes like the legs of a spider, that faint scar underneath his chin. However, optimism and love suit his features, bringing a permanent blush to his round cheeks.

            Therese can’t help but grin, though the sight of him reminds her of Jack and all of the things she wishes she could say but knows she never will. She realizes she looks silly but waves anyway, a wave fit for air traffic controllers. He returns the greeting. Ten seconds later, Therese has thrown down her luggage and wraps her arms around Ethan’s neck. She hadn’t meant to come across as too enthusiastic, but it feels like ages since they’ve met face to face. Ethan laughs, patting her back, slightly embarrassed.

            “Hey there, Reese. How was your train ride? Good?”

            They step back, studying one another. Therese glances at her discarded duffel bag and suitcase. She replays what she must have looked like, flailing her arm and beaming like an idiot. Biting her lip, she clears her throat. She crosses her right arm over her chest, grabbing her left elbow.

            “It was all right. Would have been better if I didn’t have to sit next to the energizer bunny,” she admits.

            “What?” he asks, chuckling.

            “Oh, nothing. Some little kid had the seat next to me. And for the entire ride, he decided to play human soundtrack. I can still hear the explosions and car crashes in my head. I swear, if I ever get married, I’m not having kids. They’re cute when they can’t talk. Then they grow up and want attention.”

            “Aw, you’re just a Grinch, is all.”

            “I am not! You try it sometime and let’s see if you come out unscathed.”

            “Well, pretty soon, I’ll have to.”

            “Pretty soon? Wait, is Lena…”