He smiles, albeit a reserved sort of smile, and I find myself taken by his teeth. Straight, white, and even teeth. There are no bits of food stuck around the gum line … he appears to care for his teeth the way he does his fingernails. If I had seen these teeth the other day, I would never have mistaken him for homeless (though he is still wearing the hat and the ill-fitting jeans).
“Still wearing the hat, I see.”
Wally pauses, touches the hat, as if checking it’s still there. “Er … yeah.”
His tone indicates mild offense. It’s astonishing what can be offensive to people. For example, apparently it is the height of rudeness to ask someone his or her age or weight, which makes absolutely no sense. Why be mysterious about something that is quite literally on display for all to see? And yet, these rules exist, and everyone seems to understand what they can and can’t ask. Everyone except me.
“You’re American,” I say, hoping that this is a) not offensive, and b) a distraction from the hat comment.
Wally merely nods. His gaze, like last time, lands just over my left shoulder. I actually don’t mind this. Some people can be so hungry for eye contact, it’s a relief to be able to look away.
“What brings you to the land of Oz?” I ask. I’m quite pleased with the casual whimsy of the comment, but Wally does not look charmed.
“My mother was Australian,” he says. “My father is American. I’m a dual citizen.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. He’s quite handsome, in an odd sort of way. It’s not a surprise that I’ve only just noticed—it often takes me a while to realize someone is handsome. Rose laughed herself stupid recently when I commented that Bradley Cooper wasn’t bad looking in A Star Is Born. (“You’ve only just noticed this?” she said, wiping her eyes. Frankly, I thought it was far more laughable the way most people made snap judgments without taking time to consider why they felt that way.)
Gayle chooses this moment to arrive at the desk beside me and ask Wally if there’s anything she can do to help. Usually I am very grateful when Gayle comes to my rescue, but today I am frustrated, because it reminds the man why he approached the desk in the first place.
“Ah, yes,” he says, directing his inquiry to me once again. “The printer.”
“Have you tried pressing Print?” I am unable to conceal my boredom.
“Yes.”
“And have you checked you are connected to the correct printer? Each one has its number printed on a laminated document on the wall.”
“I have.”
I toy with the idea of saying The network has gone down. It happened a few weeks back and it was the most glorious catchall for every printer or photocopier inquiry that came my way. Sadly, it hadn’t remained “down” for long. I am about to give this excuse a go when I notice Carmel hovering nearby, watching us. I sigh. “Fine. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
I follow Wally to his computer. The last time I saw Wally I’d thought of him as lanky, but as I trail along behind him now, I notice he is more athletic than I gave him credit for. His stature reminds me a little of those golfers I enjoy watching on the television during the Presidents Cup. Wide shoulders, narrow torso, firm buttocks. I enjoy this view until we make it to Wally’s laptop, when, again, I’m instantly bored. I try pressing Print, and when that doesn’t work, I fiddle with a few of the settings. I figure I can do this for a few minutes before declaring it a mystery and suggesting he come back tomorrow. In the meantime, in case Carmel is looking, I frown intensely at the screen as if I’m deep in thought. And I am. About Tinder. Apparently, I’ll need to set up a profile with a photo, which shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ll ask Gayle to take the photo. Then I’ll have to vet the suitors. Someone handsome would be good, for the baby obviously. Someone with a few brain cells. Good health.
“What on earth are you doing?” Wally asks, which is annoying, as Carmel is still within earshot.
“What does it look like?” I snap. “I’m trying to print your document!”
I press another button, and a document pops up on the screen. “Rocco. Ryan,” I say, reading the name printed at the