Annika stood at the bus stop where they agreed to meet, tapping both of her feet, which she could never resist doing when she was wearing clicky shoes. She tried to avoid the puddles, but a little water had seeped into her heels anyway. They were probably not a very good choice for a day which involved public transit and some walking. But she was not ready to meet him in anything practical yet.

Her lover was late, which was increasingly unsurprising. Still, Annika could never resist the life-long habit that made her arrive exactly on time.

Her name wasn’t actually Annika, but it probably would be if this was one of those modern novels with a main character with a confusing ethnic background and an epic story that swept across three generations and two continents, culminating in this moment with the modern heroine standing at the bus stop, trying to get a poppy seed out of her teeth. She was unsuccessful and would have to live with the feeling of two of her teeth being spread slightly.

Darn it, she thought, checking the time on her phone for what seemed like the twentieth time, and taking her finger out of her mouth. What if someone she knew pulled up and wanted to talk to her? She could always say that she was going to a dentist appointment, but what if he drove up in the next moment? She tilted her umbrella towards the road, and almost immediately realized that if her imagined friends wouldn’t be able to see her, her lover wouldn’t either. She didn’t think they had reached the point where he could recognize her by her feet alone.

She wondered what would happen when he picked her up. Sometimes they went to his house, and sometimes to a motel, which made her feel like she was in a movie. She could never tell which one he would choose. He implied at times that something was happening at his house, involving guests or a remodel, but she suspected it was just messy.

Once, for reasons that were unclear, they went to a secluded location and did it right in the car. It wasn’t totally secluded, though. She opened her eyes once during and looked over his shoulder, and into the eyes of a raccoon that was perched on the Dumpster they were next to. It looked annoyed. Doing it in the car was okay, except for the part where the gear shift made a mark on her left thigh that took a couple of days to fade.

Twenty minutes late! This was a new one. She wondered if he was stuck in traffic. Or maybe he got carried away by his work. He was working on a new show, a rock-opera based on the life of Vannevar Bush. She thought this was amazing, but the last time they were together he mentioned that he was facing obstacles. Only one word rhymed with “Vannevar” (reciever) and absolutely nothing rhymed with “syphilis.” Still, she had faith in him. She imagined herself being there on opening night, cheering loudly.

She thought maybe she should do something to get ready, since she was getting fidgety and cold. She wasn’t sure what to do about her diaphragm, which was still in her purse. Once, she hadn’t had time to put it in beforehand and had taken it out of her purse in front of him at his house. He had made a big fuss about never having seen one before, as if it was some archaic device. She couldn’t remember exactly what he had said, as they were both a little bit tipsy from having hurriedly swallowed a glass of warm white wine, but she did remember him wobbling it around and using the words, “pussy UFO.” She was not interested in repeating this experience.

She peeked into her purse, looking at her diaphragm case, and considered her options. She put her hand inside her purse and snapped the case open. Palming the diaphragm, she removed her hand from her purse and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. There! Now, at least, it was on her person, and she could just slip into the bathroom whenever they got to where they were going and she could leave her purse and he wouldn’t look at her like she was doing some mysterious lady thing and she wouldn’t have to hear the words “pussy UFO.”

Her phone rang. It was her husband. The tiny phone felt like it weighed a million pounds in her hand, which, along with her arm, suddenly felt like it was losing all feeling. Should she answer it? He wouldn’t call unless it was important, right? But sometimes he called just because he couldn’t find the potato peeler.

“Ugh,” she said.

“Hello,” she answered, woodenly.

“Are you in?” he asked. It sounded like he was in the car and she could hear Emma crying in the background.

“No…there’s a delay. They asked if I could wait longer.” She was presumed to be at the dentist for a follow-up on her new crown, which in actuality she had secretly gone to last week during her lunch hour. “What’s happening?”

“Do you think you could punt? Emma fell and split her lip on the end table, and it’s worse than I thought at first. It looks like she’s going to need a stitch, maybe,” he said uncertainly.

“Of course,” she said. They agreed to meet at Emma’s pediatrician office downtown, since she was presumed to be a few blocks from there anyway.

She thought about calling her lover and canceling, but as she snapped her phone shut she realized he was a half hour late. She stepped forward to hail a cab and imagined him up to his elbows in papers, pounding away at his laptop, drinking a beer and listening to something manly like Miles Davis. Or maybe he was just asleep.

She imagined her baby’s face, with a hideous pirate scar scrawled across it. Was her husband paying enough attention? Would this have happened if she was there?

She thought about what rhymes with syphilis, and could only think of one thing: “How could you miss this?” A cab stopped, further soaking her shoes, and she got in.