"The city, Yoda loves." Janice held her Baby Yoda figure to the train's window, showing it the buildings as we rolled past them.
My daughter sat next to me, on my favorite seat. I had yielded it to her for its better view of the city.
"The city, I love, too," I said.
"Then why did you move away, to Alewife?"
I tenderly ruffled her disobedient curlsâthey had now returned to their usual shade of mouse-brown. Helen had scrubbed the last green dye molecules from them weeks ago.
"You know why I moved away, Peanut. Mom and I didn't get along with each other anymore."
She shrugged without taking her gaze away from the scenery outside. Ever since my birthday party, she hadn't stopped reminding me that Helen and I should get back together.
Our divorce counselor Bellona had predicted Janice might react in this way. And at her hourly fees, that woman had better be right.
Bellona had also predicted another thingâ that Helen and I would grow apart. And she had been wrong about that. I was seeing more of Helen these days than when we were married. It was somehow easier now that we each had our own space to retreat to.
"But now Mom and you do get along with each other. She doesn't scold you anymore as she used to." Janice and Baby Yoda looked at me, both curious about my reply.
It was time to change the topic.
"Baby Yoda will love the insurance company," I said.
It was Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day. And that was precisely what I was doing. Janice would soon get a lungful of sterile, conditioned office air.
"So what does an insurance company do, Dad?"
It takes your money while things run smoothly and find reasons not to pay you when shit hits the fan.
I opted for a simpler explanation instead. "The insurance helps people when they're in bad luck. And in return, people pay it money while they're in good luck."
She frowned at Baby Yoda. Baby Yoda eyed her back, his expression a frozen half-smile.
"It's as if Baby Yoda paid you a dime each month," I explained. "And in return, if he gets sick, you'll pay his doctor."
"But couldn't he just save the dimes in his piggy bank and pay the doctor himself?" She reasoned.
The nonlinearity between economic burden and monetary cost would make the piggy bank approach an unwise one. Fortunately, though, Janice changed the topic before I had to come up with a reply.
"So why don't you like working at the insurance, Dad?" she asked.
Her statement took me by surprise. "Where did that come from? But I do like it."
"Just yesterday, you told me you'd rather finish that numbers game you have been working on, than go to work."
"True." I chuckled. "But that numbers game, sadly, won't give me any money to keep you fed and clothed."
Apart from that, though, Janice had read me correctly. Warriors of Math was almost complete, and I was yearning to finish it. Plus, having seen my daughter play the prototype and laugh at Ada's costume with gleeâI had given her a broadsword and a red-and-gold heroine dressâhad been much more fun than any risk calculus the insurance company could offer.
Janice ignored the topic, though, and pressed her face against the window as we were pulling into Charles/MGH.
I hadn't seen Braces all summer. Her life had probably changed, taking her elsewhere. Still, my heart was thumping whenever I found a train standing on the other track at the station.
Like today.
When our vehicle stopped, I eyed the compartment next to us eagerly.
Two nuns, a gansta, and an octogenarianâa still life that only the big city could give you.
But without her.
Our train rattled and inched forward again like a dragon unsatisfied with her lair.
One of the nuns was digging into one of her nostrils as she left our view.
The next window crept in, and the train stopped for good.
The new compartment held three suits and a mane of midnight black.
The latter came with a knobbly noseâBraces' nose. Her pale face and thin lips gave her a grim expression.
"Oh, look!" Janice and Baby Yoda hogged the window even more. She pointed at the woman, almost blocking my view.
Oh yes, I was already busy looking at her. But why would my daughter notice her, too?
"Her shirt," she said as if in reply to my unspoken question.
Then I saw it. Her shirtâas black as her hairâhad a Baby Yoda printed on it. Her Baby Yoda was munching on a frog and came with an explanatory text saying Feed me and Tell me I'm Pretty.
Janice waved with our own little Yoda, trying to catch Braces' attention. She looked over at us, and her face lit up.
I smiled back.
She pointed at her shirt and then shaped her fingers into a heart, beaming at my daughter.
She probably hadn't seen me at all, but my heart jumped anyways at the sight of the metallic sparkle of her smile.
"Aah, look, Dad! She loves Baby Yoda, too!" My daughter secured her plush toy between her chest and the window, and then she made a finger-heart of her own.
I got up, put my hands on her shoulders, and placed my head above hers.
Helen had been right, back before my birthday party. If we had made anything right, it was Janice. Just standing behind her, there and then, filled me with a joy beyond words.
Braces dug into her bag and retrieved a packet of... what were they? She pulled two fat, short strings from itâred and green.
"Oh look, she's got jelly worms!" Janice said.
She placed their ends into her mouth. One moment, they hung there. A second later, they were gone, sucked in and trapped behind her dark-painted lips.
My daughter giggled. "She's swallowing them. Just like Baby Yoda eats the frogs."
Obviously, Janice was way better at interpreting my train lady than I was.
I waved, trying to catch her attention.
When Braces looked up and saw me, her mouth fell open. Then the smile returned. She pointed at Janice and then at me, her eyes wide with unspoken questions.
This time I was able to easily guess the meaning of her gestures and nodded. She had realized Janice was my daughter.
I grinned. Never had being a dad made me so proud.
As her train started to move, she gave us two thumbs up and maintained the gesture as she slid out of sight.
"Oh, she's leaving." Baby Yoda sank to the windowsil moroselyl, and my daughter turned around to question me with her big, brown eyes. "Do you know her? She smiled at you."
"Yes, Peanut, I do know her." I sat back down again.
My daughter's eyes grew even bigger. "You do? Whoa! Cool. Because I really like her. What's her name?"
I shrugged. "Sorry, Peanut, I don't know."
She frowned. "What do you mean you don't know? And what does she do? Does she have kids? What's her job? Are you... seeing her?"
I sat back and looked at the empty seat facing meâits red fake-leather providing no reply whatsoever.
"I don't know if she has kids," I said. "And I don't know her job. But you know what? The very last time I saw her, she was dressed up as Wonder Woman."
Janice's little fist punched my arm, and she scowled at me. "You're kidding, Dad. You don't know that nice lady at all."
Baby Yoda jumped on my lap, guided by its mistress, and shook its big-eared head at me, its gaze heavy with reproach.
"Baby Yoda, not kidding I am," I told it. "Last time I saw her, she was Wonder Woman. Today she ate frogs, or jelly worms. And who knows what she'll do next time."
But she was engaged. That much I knew.