Riva and Jeremiah’s mother (who has yet to meet me) calls Jeremiah’s place, where I’m house-sitting. We chat for a bit. She asks how I like the city, house-sitting, etc.
“Oh, good. I’m just in the process of trying to find a room closer to the studio. I doubt the 50-minute bike ride will be as appealing in late November.”
Pause.
And with complete sincerity and genuine motherly concern: “Ali, there is a bus.”
Ah, the country-bumpkin impression Momma Soucie must have had of me in the moment before I reassured her that, yes, I was familiar with the public transit system.
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