Honeymoon Alone: A Novel

by Nicole Macaulay

  “You’re like a broken record, you know that? Why do you always ask about that?”

  “About what?”

  “My dad.” I feel a little bad. His carefree attitude from just moments ago has fallen away completely, instantly. He’s all tense again. I make my point anyway. “It annoys you when I ask the same question, over and over, even though it’s clear you don’t like it?”

  He laughs bitterly. “All right, point taken.”

  I smile and look around at the bustle inside Hugging Mugs. Everyone is ushering inside for reprieve from holiday madness and bitter chill.

  “Finish your latte, and let’s get out of here.”

  I frown, something sinking within me. He obviously didn’t like that I asked him about his dad again. And I’m sure he has better things to do today anyway than enjoy a long coffee break with a near stranger. “If you have to get back to work – ”

  “Actually, I want to show you something,” he says, his voice light, almost like he’s attempting to sound friendly. “I think you’ll find it worth your while. So hurry up.”

  “I can take it to go,” I say, putting my coat back on. “I’m not burning my insides downing this, thank-you-very-much.”

  I follow him again through the cold streets of London. He knows his way around here. I’m happy to follow someone around instead of attempting to decipher maps.

  Since I keep tripping on the cobblestone streets, I look down as we make our way to – wherever. When we finally stop, I look up and see a very tall Christmas tree standing tall in an open, busy plaza.

  “What is this?”

  “Christmas in Trafalgar Square,” he says. After a thoughtful moment, he looks down at me. “They put this tree up every year and tourists come from everywhere to see it. Kind of like your Rockefeller. It’s a gift from our friends in Norway.”

  I look back at the tree, which stands proud and tall, a deep green, cloaked in tiny, twinkling white lights. I take a long sip of my latte.

  “It’s amazing.” I smile at Oliver – really smile at him. He stares at me for a moment, but then quickly gazes at the ground, closing his eyes for a moment, like he’s counting.

  We walk around Trafalgar Square for awhile, listening to the carolers singing by the tree in the freezing cold. I make my way into almost every tourist trap store for souvenirs for my family.

  “Mind the Gap pens, magnets, T-shirts,” Oliver reels off, looking at my latest purchases. “Why do Americans love that so bloody much?”

  “We just do.” I look proudly at my new purchases – souvenirs for my students and family.

  “Well, thanks for clearing that mystery up for me.”

  We walk to a bench and I take a seat, grabbing my receipt from one of the shopping bags. “You know, everything’s pretty reasonably priced here,” I say, glancing at the receipt. I look up at him. “I got this great dress yesterday for about eighty dollars.”

  “Pounds.”

  “Hm?” I say, distracted, still scanning the receipt.

  “Here in London, we use what we like to call pounds.”

  “I know. That’s what I meant.”

  “You are familiar with the exchange rate, then,” he says very seriously, though something very playful lights his eyes. He takes a seat beside me.

  “Of course.” I think back to the London travel guide I read on the plane. I believe the exchange rate was currently at $1.30 to the UK Pound. “Though I admit I did forget to consider that when shopping.” I look at my purchases – and price tags – with a little bit of alarm.

  Oliver looks away for a moment, and when he looks back, a wide grin has spread across his face. Here’s the thing. Oliver actually has a nice smile. He smiles like he knows a secret or a joke that I’m not privy to. This smile makes its way all the way up to his mysterious dark eyes. From being outside all day, those eyes are brighter than usual, and his cheeks are rosy. His tousled brown hair falls messily over his forehead. I want to reach up and smooth it out, but I stop myself. That would be highly inappropriate, under the circumstances.

  “So eighty pounds is over one hundred dollars,” I say, thinking about the cost of that emerald green dress. Before I can stop it, my mouth falls open. I am going to kill Cary. He knows that this is my first time here. He might’ve double checked that I was thinking about the exchange rate during our little London Lucy makeover spree.

  “And your Mind the Gap purchases,” Oliver says, grabbing the receipt from me and studying it. “About seventy dollars.” Is he enjoying this? I grab the receipt from him and stare at it. Factoring in the plane tickets, the flat at the Chaizer, all the fish and chips and caramel macchiatos that London Lucy so loves, and my two-day shopping spree, I am pretty sure I’m going flat-out broke.

  “Still love that Mind the Gap overhead?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Yes, I do,” I say stubbornly. At least I’m thinking about the exchange rate now. I’ll definitely be more careful with my shopping. For the entire rest of my trip.

  “Let me ask you something,” Oliver says, looking at my raincoat with a confused expression on his face. “Do you always wear a raincoat when it’s not actually raining?”

  “London is known for its rain.”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed we’re having a bit of a dry spell.”

  “I’m nothing if not optimistic,” I say, airily.

  He regards me strangely. “You actually want it to rain? Most people are hoping it won’t.”

  I shrug. “I’m not most people.”

  He nods and smiles in that secretive way of his again. Almost as if realizing that he is letting his guard down, relaxing – talking – he stands up quickly and checks his watch. “We should probably head back.”

  I feel a small twinge of regret that our time together is ending but think of Cary. Maybe he’s back at The Chaizer so we can enjoy Christmas Eve together.

  For awhile, I’m happily curled up on the couch in the lobby, reading The Cat Who Went To Paris as the crackling fire warms me. Oliver disappeared almost the moment we returned. He probably was meeting up with his family after all.

  “Hey,” a familiar, deep voice says and I look up, seeing Cary approach, looking as if he’s on the edge of a major life decision. He sits beside me on the couch, heavily, unwrapping his scarf and unbuttoning his jacket. “Sorry that took so long. I hope you found something to do.”

  “I did,” I say happily, closing the book, my finger holding my place. “I did a little souvenir shopping with Oliver.”

  His eyebrows shoot sky high. “Crossing into enemy territory?” he jokes.

  “I figured if I made him like me, he’d get off my case.” While that was not entirely the motive, perhaps it would be a fringe benefit of my outing with Oliver today.

  Cary shifts on the couch and faces me, eyeing me uncertainly.

  “What?” I ask impatiently when he says nothing. “Are you going out again?” I know I came to London at Christmas on my own and I can very well handle spending the holidays just like that. But now that Cary and I made our plans, the thought saddens me though I try not to show it.

  “No,” he assures me quickly. “In fact, I was thinking of abandoning our original plans and doing something spontaneous, something you’ll always remember for the rest of your life.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, bracing myself. The last time Cary had an inspired idea, we wound up married.

  “Let’s take the Chunnel to Paris.”

  “Paris?” I ask before his words even fully process. My mind buzzes with thoughts, implications, concerns…

  “Paris.” He grabs my hands and squeezes them reassuringly. “Tonight.”

  pparently, it’s that easy. You step on a train in London and three hours later, you get off in Paris. The one in France. So I’m doing it. Well, we’re doing it. As Cary and I travel beneath the English Channel, anticipation races through my veins. I was excited to get one stamp in my passport, hoping it alone would symbolize millions of stories
for the rest of my life. I never fathomed a second one.

  “Thanks for my stamp,” I say, possibly too excitedly, to the woman at the customs station. “My first one was from England,” I explain since she’s regarding me like I’ve just disembarked from a spaceship. “See, I only thought I’d see England on this trip and now I’m seeing France, too.” She just continues staring at me as I wait for some kind of reaction from her. “That’s a completely different country.”

  “Come along, honey,” Cary says, laughing as he pulls on my arm to lead me away from the woman. I don’t miss the wink he offers to her, though. “It’s her first time traveling,” he offers quietly.

  “Hey,” I say, swatting him playfully. Truthfully, nothing can temper my excitement. I’m walking through a train station in France. I’m going to see the Eiffel Tower. The Seine. The Arc de Triomphe. I’ll eat a croissant in its own native country. Back in London, paying for my Chunnel ticket did give me a moment of pause until I remembered the reason I came on this vacation to begin with.

  “So now what?” I ask Cary as we exit the train station. “Are we jumping in a taxi? Taking a bus? Where to, le capitaine?”

  “Um…”

  He crinkles his brow and stuffs his hands in his pockets, shrugging. He smiles reticently at me. That smile could win him the title on America’s Next Top Model, but I won’t be distracted. He said he had a plan. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t. “Cary, where are we staying? You said you had a plan.”

  “I do. I have a general idea.” He looks at his phone kind of nervously and smiles at me after a long moment. “We’ll figure it out,” he says smoothly.

  Oh my God. We’re homeless! I clutch my duffel bag close to my chest and look around anxiously. This was a bad idea—I just ran with Cary’s impulsive whim to visit Paris for a couple days, not questioning anything back in London. Where we had a hotel. And a plan.

  “This is all part of the adventure,” Cary says, although he seems a bit distracted. He looks like he’s looking for someone. He should be looking for a brochure desk filled with cheap hotel options.

  “I’m all for adventure,” I say as a sudden gust of wind blows my hair forward, whipping Cary in the face, which succeeds in returning his attention to me at least. It’s freezing out. “However, when evening rolls around,” I continue, more loudly, “I’d really like to have a place to stay.”

  “Hey, isn’t that the concierge from The Chaizer?”

  I swivel around on my heel and look casually in the direction Cary is pointing. And there he is – Oliver Burke, talking with four people, gesturing to a piece of paper.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter, thrusting my duffel bag into Cary’s chest. I march straight over to Oliver. When I’m standing right in front of him, he looks up from the paper. Unreadable as ever, I can’t tell if he’s surprised or unsurprised to see me standing there before him. In Paris.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand when he says nothing. I hope I look as outraged as I feel.

  “Excuse me,” Oliver says to the people he’s talking to and suddenly I notice that two of the people are Kiki and Dan. They’re poring over a map, looking around. What on earth –

  “Miss Gray,” he says quietly in acknowledgment. He clears his throat and nods his head quickly toward Cary before turning his attention back to me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Before he can say anything, Kiki looks at me and smiles. “Lucy! You came for the Paris getaway, too?” Her husband wraps his arms around her from behind and rests his chin on her shoulder, looking as in love as ever.

  Oliver pulls a piece of paper out of his back pocket and hands it to me. It’s a notice from the Chaizer, like the ones all around the front desk promoting couples yoga and sightseeing tours of London.

  CHAIZER COUPLES: ENJOY A PARIS CHRISTMAS GETAWAY AT A DISCOUNT

  “I assumed you were also here for this,” Oliver says at my quizzical expression.

  Cary clicks his tongue as he reads the fine print. “We could have gotten a discount on the train,” he says. I read as well, still suspicious. I mean…I leave the country and the guy that’s been there every time I turn around is suddenly here too?

  “It doesn’t say that this is hosted by The Chaizer. Just that the hotel offers the couples discounts on their train tickets.”

  “My sister lives here, if you must know.” He shrugs. “I offered to escort these two couples and give them tips about what to do when they got here.”

  “We’re going to a can-can show and then dinner at the Eiffel Tower,” Kiki says, excitedly. Dan laughs at her excitement and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, squeezing her to him.

  “We should actually jet, Babe,” Dan says. He looks at his phone quickly. “We need a little time to get ready.”

  “If I don’t see you beforehand, I’ll see you back in London,” Kiki says to me. The two of them rush off and I look at Cary, wondering what we will be doing with our time here.

  “Oliver!” A young woman, who looks to be in her mid-twenties, bounds energetically towards Oliver. Her long brown hair falls in two perfect braids that trail halfway down her back. She’s striking, but in a very natural way. Her freckled face seems completely bare of makeup. “You came,” she says, approaching Oliver. “I really didn’t think you’d make it.”

  Oliver stares down at her, his frown deepening. How can someone look so upset on Christmas Eve? “I told you I would come to your apartment later. I didn’t want you to come here,” he says quietly.

  “When I got your text, I said to myself, ‘if my big brother figured a way to be here with me on Christmas, I will greet him myself.’”

  Oliver closes his eyes and shakes his head. Her arrival obviously was not part of his plan and seems to have completely unnerved him. If I liked him even a little, I honestly think I’d get him a spa day for Christmas. The man needs to relax.

  The young woman spots Cary and me standing a couple feet away, totally eavesdropping. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” she says. “Are you two friends of Oliver’s?” she asks, walking toward us with an outstretched hand. “I’m Jessie, little sister extraordinaire.”

  I laugh, taking her hand. “Lucy,” I say. I can’t hide my look of shock that Oliver wasn’t lying. He really is visiting his sister for Christmas.

  “Tom,” Cary says confidently. “We’re acquaintances of your brother’s,” he explains to her earlier question. “From the hotel.”

  “Jessie, come on. Let’s go,” Oliver orders, walking toward his sister, clearly trying to put an end to our bare introductions.

  “Is this your first time in Paris?” she asks Cary and me, waving off Oliver.

  “Yes,” we answer simultaneously.

  “Where are you staying? What are you planning to do? Christmas in Paris, what a fun time.” Jessie’s dark eyes match her brother’s – except the way his are darkened by a sort of mysteriousness, hers are lit with a free-spiritedness.

  She’s so friendly. I look at Oliver in shock. “Were you two raised by the same parents? She’s actually civilized to people she’s just met.”

  “Civilized?” he scoffs, looking at his sister in a disapproving way that reminds me of how my brothers sometimes look at me. “Chatting away with complete strangers is civilized?”

  “On Christmas Eve, it is,” Jessie explains. “So spare me the lecture, Oliver, please.”

  “To answer your question,” Cary interjects politely, “we don’t really have a plan. Do you know of a decent, cheap place we could stay, since you live here?”

  Jessie eyes Cary and me wondrously before slapping Cary’s arm playfully. “Duh, just stay with me. I have another guest bedroom that never gets used.”

  There is no way I am spending Christmas with Oliver Burke. One look at him tells me that he absolutely refuses to entertain that thought, too.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “But thank you for—“

  “Nonse
nse. The rates will be murder on today of all days.”

  Cary laughs. “You wouldn’t mind housing two complete strangers at your house?”

  “Of course she would,” Oliver says, grabbing his sister’s hand. “Jessie—“

  “Please,” Jessie says to us. “Last year we hosted a homeless family from a local shelter for Christmas. Was quite nice, actually.”

  How are these two people brother and sister?

  “I need to have a word with you privately,” Oliver says in a low voice to her.

  “All right, I get it. Details in a moment. But, Oliver, if these are acquaintances of yours, I’m sure you don’t want to see them with nowhere to go tonight. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Oliver puts a hand agitatedly through his hair, his mind clearly racing. “I guess not,” he finally says.

  “It’s settled then,” she says. “Shall we?”

  Oliver is quiet for the entire walk to his sister’s place. Well, mostly quiet. He continuously tries to call someone on his cell phone and then mutters under his breath when he gets no answer.

  “You’re sure this is okay?” I ask him. “Because we can find other arrangements.”

  “It’s fine,” he says, looking like it’s anything but fine.

  When we arrive at a charming chalky-gray stone one-story duplex, with colorful flowers in a basket on the front window that overlooks the sidewalk we stand on, Jessie bounds up the front steps. Before she can finish unlocking it, the front door bursts open and a stocky, friendly-looking man wearing an apron looks on at Cary, me and Oliver happily, not even a little fazed or curious about who we are. “Merry Christmas,” he says in a thick accent that I think might be Italian.

  “That answers my question,” Oliver says quietly to his sister, “about whether or not you’re still with him.”

  She rests a hand on Oliver’s forearm and squeezes lightly – a warning gesture I recognize well having brothers of my own and all. “Honey, my brother and his friends came for Christmas.” she says to the man in the doorway.

  “Ah, magnifico,” he says, looking at Oliver closely. I can see he’s looking for Big Brother Approval. Well, good luck, buddy. My big brothers are pretty overprotective. I imagine Oliver is about ten times worse given his general personality.