There’s traffic as I approach the station and I’m worried that I’ll be late. All I have to do is turn the corner and I’ll be there. I’m still not that familiar with Newark Penn Station in New Jersey, although I should be – I’ve lived here for eleven years. ‘Eleven years,’ I find myself saying out loud. So much has happened that no one could ever have imagined.
The car in front of me moves slowly but I know I won’t make the green light. I consider beeping but restrain myself. Instead I count how many cars are ahead of me; maybe next it will be my turn. The sky is darkening. The wind picks up and it begins to rain. I slowly move forward again, this time barely making the green. I turn towards the main station, pulling my car into the first opening I see.
I text Michelle: ‘I’m here, black car. No rush, excited.’
A moment later my phone beeps: ‘Coming, yay!’
I open my car door, aware that I may need to move it any second if a cop comes. The wind picks up again. My hair is now tousled all around, as I scan the faces in the crowd. And then I see her waving to me: a tall, slim blonde woman, her long hair blowing about in the wind, her scarf blowing around her. I wave back and she hurries across the street.
We are both smiling as we hug. I open the boot, put her bag in and we get in the car, laughing a little as we try to get warm.
‘So,’ she says excitedly, ‘did he call?’
‘He did,’ I reply. ‘I said we’d call him when we were close by and that we’d start heading towards him.’
‘I’m so relieved.’ Her voice had a similar tone to mine, it was just our accents that were different: her’s a straight American and mine British.
I glance at her for a moment. We had Skyped, and met briefly just once before, but this was the first time we would be spending the day together. We were two years apart, Michelle just turning fifty and me almost fifty-two. My birthday was three days after her’s. I see myself in her face, although she has light blue eyes and mine are green.
‘Our teeth,’ I say as she looks at me, ‘we have the same teeth.’ And she laughs her light, airy laugh. I like her energy; she is upbeat and full of fun.
‘Balloons?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes,’ she replies, ‘definitely balloons.’
I start driving; the rain is coming down a little heavier.
Michelle dials a number into her phone.
‘Hello, could we order some balloons to go? Do you have one with “It’s a girl”? Fabulous, we’ll be there in half an hour.’
I can’t help laughing.
‘I’m so glad we have the same sense of humour,’ she says, tilting her head back with a loud throaty laugh, and picks up her phone again. She mouths to me, ‘I’m calling to tell him we’re almost there.’
‘Hello,’ she says playfully. ‘Yes, it’s us, we’re on our way… about forty-five minutes. See you there, in Dunkin’ Donuts? Of course, that’s our special place after all.’
We make eye contact, both of us beaming. It was surreal, quite a story, we had said, repeating it over and over. Yet sitting next to this woman who I only recently knew existed felt so comfortable. I feel like I’ve known her forever.
We find the balloon shop and run in, seeing our display waiting, making us laugh out loud again like two teenage girls. We ask a young man nearby to take our photo. Standing side by side, with the rain still coming down, we hold onto our balloons as they sway.
He looks at us with a question in his eyes but says nothing.
‘Thank you,’ I shout back from our car. ‘I know that must have looked weird with the balloons, but it’s a long story. She’s my sister.’
Michelle lets out her loud laugh again as we get in the car. Talking the whole time, we drive to where he is waiting for us.