Just a Name

by Becky Monson

  Everyone starts laughing and Thomas yells out, “Epic!”

  “Ha, ha, you’re all hilarious,” I say blandly. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Uh, it kinda is,” Bree says.

  “Whatever. Maybe I just want my dad to be happy. I mean, wouldn’t you do this for your parents?” I use the old passive-aggressive tactic, playing on sympathies.

  The table erupts with no’s and deliberate head shakes. I forgot my friends are evil. Passive-aggressive doesn’t work on them.

  “Well, obviously, I’m a better person than the rest of you,” I say, and then give them my best snooty duck lips.

  “You really are,” Quinn reaches up and pats my back twice.

  “You should be sainted,” Bree pipes in, and Alex concurs with a head bob.

  “Besides,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive, “no one but a handful of people will even know that was my wedding venue.”

  “Except the most important people,” Thomas says.

  “The most important people,” Quinn repeats, with a head bob at the table, “won’t tell anyone.”

  Bree and Alex both nod in agreement.

  “Thomas?” Quinn says, giving him a very stern mom look with her head tilted to the side, her eyes glaring.

  Thomas lets out a huge sigh. “Of course,” he says, like he’s resigned to it. He sits back in his chair, folding his arms. “Again with all the Holly talk.” He throws his head back dramatically. “Can we talk about me now?”

  Chapter 11

  My plan didn’t work.

  I went to Jerry and demanded that Quinn have the story or I wouldn’t do it. I also insisted they bump the flights to first class, get two rooms for the hotels in London and Paris, and I even required that they pay for all admissions to tourist attractions and throw in some spending money.

  He agreed to it all. All of it. He didn’t even flinch. I should have added something farcical—like requiring that I’m serenaded by Harry Styles every day.

  Dang it. I should have thought of that.

  It’s all happening now. We taped the interview on Wednesday, it aired on Thursday, and now I’m here the day after the feature went live, dealing with the fallout.

  Although, so far, there’s been no actual fallout. In fact, I’ve been mostly praised, and oddly enough, mostly by my team. I honestly didn’t think any of them would have seen it because they don’t seem like a news-watching bunch.

  “Are you gonna like, do a reality show?” asks Sarah-with-an-h. We’re having our normal Friday morning meeting.

  “No, I’m not,” I say definitively.

  “Oh my gosh, when I saw you on TV last night,” says Sara, “I was like, that’s my boss! Then I totally posted it on Insta.” She shows me her phone where’s she’s taken a screen shot of me on TV—and of course in the shot she captured, I have one lazy eye and my chin is pulled in so tightly that I have triple chins going on. I look like an obese pirate. Couldn’t she have tried for a better angle? “And it has, like, over three hundred likes,” she says with a glint in her eye.

  “Thanks,” I say dryly.

  “Is this going to affect your job here?” Avery asks.

  This is a good question—a normal one. The answer though, is not normal. It actually could help me.

  “I don’t think so,” I answer Avery.

  “My favorite part,” says Sarah, “is the part when you turned to the camera and said ‘I’m looking for you, Nathan Jones.’” She tries to do an impression of my voice, all high and nasally. I’m pretty sure that’s not how I sound.

  That line was Jerry’s idea and it took about ten takes because it was hard for me to muster up the energy he wanted behind it. It came out all stupid and forced. I cringe every time I see it, which is a lot—that’s the line they are using as the teaser and keep replaying it during station advertisements.

  “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here,” I say to my team. “I’m here to talk about the PFC report.”

  The Sarahs both whine, and Avery, Jim, and Brad all grunt.

  Jim raises his hand as if we’re in class. “Yes, Jim?” I ask, tentatively.

  “Aren’t you worried about going on a trip with some stranger?” he asks, peering at me through his black-rimmed glasses, his hair extra slicked back today, the ratty green polo looking extra worn out. “I mean, what if he ends up being a total psycho and he, like, ties you up and slowly mutilates you until you die, and then wraps you up in one of those huge carpet thingies.”

  “An area rug,” pipes in Brad.

  “Yeah, that. And then throws you in the Nile.”

  The room goes silent, everyone looking to me for an answer.

  I swallow slowly. “Thank you . . . uh . . . Jim, for your concerns—as detailed as they are. But they’ll be doing background checks on all the possible Nathans. Plus, we won’t be anywhere near the Nile River.”

  “Aren’t you going to London and France?” Jim asks, his brow furrowed.

  “Yes,” I say, drawing out the word. “In Europe.”

  “Right,” he nods his head, still not understanding.

  “The Nile is in Africa,” I say, an unintentional what-the-hell tone to my voice. I couldn’t even hold it back.

  “Any more questions? Or can we get to the PFC report?”

  Everybody’s hands go up.

  ~*~

  After filtering questions and bringing my team back around to the reason for our meeting, we finally got the changes to the PFC report squared away and I left the office feeling a little lighter than I usually do when I leave.

  My team was actually interested in me. Granted, some of our discussion was a little ridiculous, but for the first time, I felt like we were bonding. I wish I could pick and choose when they do the supervisor assessments. I bet if they did it today I’d pass with flying colors.

  “Yoo-hoo!” I hear Tiffany outside my office door as I sit down at my desk.

  “Come in,” I say, the good feelings growing large wings and flying away.

  “Look at our little superstar,” Tiffany says as she enters my office. She’s wearing a slim-fitting, yellow sheath dress, perfectly tailored, of course. Her hair is pulled into a low-slung ponytail that hangs over one shoulder.

  She shuts the door and takes a seat without my offering one.

  “Can I help you?” I say, feeling disconcerted that she shut the door. She’s never done that before.

  “Look at you, with this whole crazy trip thing,” she says, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes bright, her normal cheerful smile. Although it’s tinged with something. Maybe psychosis. Yes, there’s a hint of psychosis in that smile.

  “Yeah,” I say, unsettled. No, unsettled is too tame. I’m feeling a slight petrification in my bones right now.

  “Are you doing this to get the attention of the executive team?” she blurts out. Her smile stays intact, though a little more nutter shines through. Also, a light red starts at the base of her throat and moves up her neck and to her cheeks.

  “What?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Holly, if you think this gimmick you’re pulling is going to get you Mike’s job, then . . . well . . . you must be kidding.”

  I chortle. “That’s not the reason.” Although it is. In a roundabout way.

  “Then why all the hoopla? Why not go on a regular vacation like a normal person?”

  Why, indeed.

  I give her a thin smile. “I don’t need to explain my reasoning to you, Tiff.” I make sure I say her name with my best patronizing tone.

  “Well, if you think it’s going to get you the job, then you are very mistaken,” she says, and I can’t help but notice the slight shake in her voice. “I have it on good authority that the executive team is not happy about this.”

  Ah-ha! She’s Lying McLiarson! I know for a fact Marie said they were fine with it. Even happy for the possibility of some free advertising for the bank. Not that they’ve mentioned the bank except for once in the initial intervie
w.

  I decide right now, with Tiffany, that I’m just going to be cool . . . like a cucumber. I can use this to my advantage.

  I take a deep breath. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see how this plays out, won’t we,” I say, now doing my very best impression of Tiffany’s extra-fake smile.

  Her red face darkens slightly and her eyes appear to be widening. “Yes, I guess we’ll have to see,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “If we’re finished here . . . do you mind?” I say with a head bob toward my door. Time for Tiffany to go.

  She huffs and gets up to leave. She turns around before opening the door. “That job is mine.” She yanks the door open and walks out of the room.

  I hold off from yelling “in your freaking dreams, you crazy B-word!” as she leaves.

  Huh. So far, this ridiculous trip has made my team more interested in me and has made Tiffany go a little psycho. Side benefits.

  ~*~

  “Why are you doing this search thing?”

  I just picked up my coffee at the Lava Java and was hopeful I’d avoid Logan this visit since he was busy on a phone call when I got here and didn’t even notice me.

  No such luck.

  “I see we’re avoiding pleasantries. Hi, Holly, how are you?” I say in a terrible impression of the male species. “Why, I’m fine, thank you for asking, Logan.” I grab a packet of sugar and shake it in his face for no reason other than to emphasize my annoyance. I rip open the packet, imagining it has some kind of voodoo magic and would do something similar to the man glowering at me right now. There’s actually a glower happening.

  “Why are you doing it?”

  I shrug. “For fun.”

  “For fun?” he echoes me, only his words are laced with irritation. “You said you weren’t going to do the vacation.”

  “Welp, I’m a fun girl. And I changed my mind.” I sound like I’m back in high school and realize I’m being sort of obnoxious right now. I don’t know if it was the meeting with my team or the confrontation with Tiffany, but I’m feeling kinda punchy—in a good way.

  He stares at me. “Is this about the spontaneous thing?”

  “What?” My lip curls up at his question. “No, it has nothing to do with that.”

  He stares at me like he doesn’t believe me, folding his arms as he eyes me.

  I hadn’t even considered Logan questioning my spontaneity. But here’s another side effect—proof I can be spontaneous. These little side effects are adding up. If only I could reap all the side benefits without actually going on the trip.

  “No, seriously. Quinn presented me with the option, and I figured, why not.” I give him a little shrug for emphasis.

  “There are a lot of reasons why not,” he says, now squinting at me.

  “Well, I think it’ll be fun. Exciting even.” I want to add spontaneous, but then he’d think I was doing it to prove him wrong. Which is ludicrous. I mean, honestly, he must think a lot of himself to think I’d do something this crazy because he said one thing.

  “Couldn’t you go with your friends?” he asks before I could point out how full of himself he is.

  “None of them can go.”

  “Your dad?”

  “He can’t either.” Because he’s getting married in the place where I was supposed to be getting married. Wow. I really did not think that through.

  He lets out a huff. “I’d . . . I . . .”

  “What? You’d what?” I say watching him fumble with his words.

  “I’d go with you.”

  “Huh?” I say, totally taken aback by that. What in the world?

  “Let me go with you.”

  “You . . . I . . . you can’t . . .” Now I’m fumbling my words.

  “Just call the whole thing off, and I’ll go.”

  I look at him, straight into his eyes to make sure he’s not fooling with me. But Logan has never been one to say stuff he doesn’t mean.

  “You can’t just offer to go,” I say. “Not like that.”

  “Why not?”

  I search my brain for the right words, letting out little huffs as I try to figure out what to say.

  “Because, up until like three weeks ago, I was pretty sure you hated me.” There. That’s the truth.

  “I—”

  “I know,” I cut him off, holding out a hand. “You like me just fine,” I say, once again trying to imitate his voice and doing a crap job of it. “Excuse me for wanting to hang out with someone who likes me more than that.”

  “A complete stranger?”

  “Well, at least there’s the possibility. And he won’t be a total stranger. We’ll meet over the phone and Skype and stuff. And—you know what? I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

  Why am I trying to explain myself to Logan? Am I so pathetic, a small part of me still wants him to like me? I never thought of myself as that kind of person, but maybe I am. Is that what’s happening here?

  “I think this whole thing is ridiculous, and . . . dangerous.”

  I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “I’m a big girl, Logan. I can take care of myself.”

  “I never said you couldn’t.”

  We stare at each other for a beat.

  “Just let me go with you,” he says.

  “No, thanks,” I shake my head. “I’m good.” I raise my coffee to him, my goodbye gesture, and I turn around and walk out.

  Chapter 12

  Not all the side effects of this trip are turning out so well.

  I’m in my office a week later, checking out all the posts online about me. Yes, I Googled myself. Actually, I set up a Google Alerts to ping me every time my name shows up online. Which is both stupid and exciting. But mostly stupid.

  It appears I’m trending. I’ve gone viral, and rather quickly too. The interview and follow-up news stories are getting tons of hits on the station’s website. Jerry is giddy and Quinn’s approval at the station is going up quickly.

  I know the viral thing is part of it, I mean, we can’t find any Nathan Joneses if word doesn’t get out. And they’ve started showing up—five applicants already. There are five other Nathan Joneses out there in the U.S.A. who want to go on this trip with me. Perfect strangers who want to take off on a plane and go to Europe with someone they’ve never met. I find it all so strange.

  Because there are about to be two Nathan Joneses in my life, we have been referring to the Nathan Jones we’re doing the search for as Number Two so we don’t confuse them in our conversations. Thomas has come up with many Number Two jokes and puns.

  Even though I’ve gone viral, it hasn’t been as big of a deal as it could be. At least not yet. It’s only just begun. But I was hoping because this isn’t the first time this was done that the bigger news outlets wouldn’t care. Been there, done that, sort of thing. That seems to be the case so far. It’s mostly been passed along by bloggers and social media. It’s moved fast enough that way, anyway.

  I’ve already been getting noticed around town, though. I’ve had quite a bit of experience watching Quinn get recognized when we go out, but it felt so foreign when someone noticed me over the weekend. Some lady practically pounced on me at the grocery store. It solidified what I already knew—fame is so not my thing. I’ve never wanted it. I’ve seen how it all can backfire like some of it has for Quinn, who always wanted it and pursued it.

  I did get one call last night from a local production company asking if they could come with us on the trip and follow us around to film a reality show about it, one they could sell if Number Two and I were to fall in love. Because a love connection would mean big money, or so I was told. I told the guy no way, and he was flabbergasted that I would turn down this “once in a lifetime opportunity.” A once in a lifetime opportunity to fake fall in love with some guy I don’t even know on a trip I was supposed to be going on with my husband. Okay, sure. How about never in a freaking lifetime.

  Speaking of my ex-fiancé, I got a call from Nathan early last week claimi
ng he was a little upset that I jilted him out of his plane ticket. I reminded him—nicely—that he was the one who gave the ticket to me. Like it was some consolation prize.

  Then, after he got over that, which wasn’t too long because Nathan’s never been one to hold a grudge, he had the gall to ask me if I was doing this for him. To try to get him back. And I laughed. A bitter-evil-witch-sounding laugh. I said in no way, shape, or form was any of this for him. Because it’s the truth. I don’t want him back. He and that Christine chick can live happily ever after with their laid-back fairy-looking children, for all I care. The nerve of that guy.

  Then he apologized—because that’s Nathan, never one to want people to be mad at him—and then he told me he was proud of me. Like a father would say to his daughter. Which annoyed me even more. He doesn’t get to be proud of me.

  My phone beeps and vibrates, signaling I have a text. I’m now a little scared of my phone because of the Google Alerts. Maybe I should shut those down. So far nothing has been said, except the basic facts and a couple of people have called me a copycat. Initially I wanted to defend myself because I feel like it’s different from how the lady in New York did it, and plus it wasn’t my idea. Quinn is the real copycat. But then I realized it’s not worth commenting on.

  I pick up my phone to see I’ve gotten a text from Logan. I’m a bit confused by this because I’m pretty sure Logan has never texted me. Plus, I didn’t think he had my number. I had his because Nathan put it in my phone once just in case I couldn’t get ahold of him. But I never used it. In fact, I forgot it was there.

  Logan: What about skydiving.

  What the? What about skydiving?

  Me: Skydiving?

  My phone beeps again.

  Logan: It’s spontaneous. And not in a diff country with a stranger.

  Oh my gosh. Why is he so against me doing this? Although, to be honest, I’m against me doing this.

  Me: No, thanks.

  I don’t know why he’d even lead with skydiving. He knows I wouldn’t do it with Nathan. Why would I start now?