Just a Name

by Becky Monson

  “I worried about you . . . that you might—”

  “Turn out like her?”

  He doesn’t answer; he just dips his chin once.

  “Well, you had nothing to worry about,” I say, confidence in my voice. I work very hard to make sure I’ll never be like my mother. I may have gotten some of her facial traits—high cheekbones and fuller bottom lip—but everything else is different.

  “I sure didn’t,” he says, the corners of his mouth pulling up into his proud smile—the smile that I feel like he saves only for me.

  I let out a deep breath. “Can we talk about something else?”

  My dad’s face immediately morphs. His lips pull up high enough that two small dimples form right above the corners and a warmth radiates from his eyes.

  “Sure,” he says. “So what’s this trip all about, then?”

  “Let’s not talk about that, either,” I say.

  “Well, how about this,” he says, leaning in toward me. “I’ll stop grilling you if you promise to bring pepper spray.”

  “Already got it on my packing list,” I say, giving him a wink.

  He winks back. “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter 14

  It’s been nearly three weeks of torture since I agreed to this crazy idea, but it now comes down to this: it’s time to pick Number Two.

  I should be feeling sick right now, maybe even verging on wanting to throw up. But I guess I’m resigned to it. Or apathetic. That might be the case—I’m now spiritless.

  It does help that work seems to be going better. My team is still more interested in me as a person and even in our meetings as they seem to be actively participating in discussions. They’ve also been doing their jobs. For the most part. I mean, they aren’t doing anything extra, and the Sarahs are still taking too many breaks. But generally, things are better.

  Marie is over the moon regarding the trip. She wants updates all the time. I showed her the profile of all the applicants and she spent time weighing options and putting in her two cents.

  Tiffany is . . . well, Tiffany. She’s still putting in her digs whenever she can, of course. But she’s laid off the notion that I’m using this trip to get the attention of the executive team. This should make me nervous, like she’s heard something I don’t know. But I have faith in Marie, so Tiffany can believe what she wants to believe. No one has more pull than Marie does. So if I have her on my side, I need not worry.

  Now it’s time to pick the stranger I’m going on this trip with. In all, sixteen Number Twos applied. If the tables were turned, I would never apply for something like this, so that means we already don’t have that in common. Not a promising start.

  Out of the sixteen, Jerry said only three met all the requirements and passed the background checks.

  It’s Friday night, and I’ve called my friends for an emergency meeting at Hester’s. We’ve painstakingly narrowed it down to two. Painstakingly because Thomas is here and he makes everything painful.

  So now there are two Number Twos. Tucson Nathan Jones, and Newport Beach Nathan Jones. I’ll pick one tonight, Skype with him, and then if I get some creepy stalker vibe, I’ll try the other one. I’ll have a Nathan Jones, and a runner up Nathan Jones. If they both turn out to be creepy, I’ll resort to plan C—which is my run away plan. I spend more time entertaining that plan than I probably should.

  “I don’t know, Hols,” Thomas says as he sits across from me. “I mean, I think your best bet is the guy from Tucson.”

  “Why him?” Quinn asks.

  “Yeah, why him?” Bree parrots.

  “Because,” Thomas says, picking up the picture of Tucson Nathan Jones’s printed profile that is filled with information on him—where he works, single status, hobbies and the like, and also various pictures. “He just seems like a nice guy. I mean, look at him, he’s got a picture with his grandma. How cute is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Bree says. “My vote is for the Nathan from Newport Beach. Because abs.” She holds up a picture of Newport Beach Nathan with his shirt off, and I do have to admit, I like what I see. He’s ruggedly handsome, whereas Tucson Nathan is more boy-next-door cute.

  “Holy S, that guy is hot,” Quinn says, eyeing the picture of Newport Beach Nathan Bree’s holding. “He’s definitely the right choice.”

  “Just say the damn swear word,” Thomas says, slapping his hand on the table. Quinn sticks her tongue out at him and he starts dropping all kinds of cuss words. In multiple languages, even. It’s kind of impressive.

  “You know you want to say it,” he says, poking Quinn in the arm. “You know you do.”

  “Shut up, Thomas,” she says, turning her body away from him and toward me.

  “I like Tucson Nathan,” Alex says, ignoring them.

  “No, Newport Beach Nathan,” Bree says.

  “You guys,” Thomas says, picking up Newport Beach Nathan’s profile. “I think the only reason you’re choosing him is because he’s hot.”

  “That’s not true,” I protest. “He’s also very successful. He owns a gym.”

  Thomas guffaws in a very condescending way. “A gym? Please. I think Tucson Nathan is the safe bet. I mean, even I can recognize Nathan from Newport Beach is a good-looking guy.” He puts down Newport Beach Nathan’s profile and picks up the one from Tucson. “You need to pick the safe guy.” He waves the profile around.

  “The safe guy? None of this is safe. This whole thing is crazy,” Alex says. “Holly, are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, she’s sure,” Quinn interjects before I can say no. “Anyway, there’s a contract now. Holly couldn’t get out of it if she wanted to.”

  “I could get her out of it,” Thomas quips, his lawyerly side coming out. I don’t doubt it, even though I wouldn’t want to deal with all of that. I’ll just do what I signed up for. Or plan C. If I ran away, I could change my name to Megan. I’ve always liked that name.

  “I think we have it narrowed down to Newport Beach Nathan and Tucson Nathan. Can we all agree on that?” Bree looks around the table and we all nod back. “Okay, let’s take a vote. All in favor of Tucson Nathan, raise your hand.”

  Thomas and Alex both raise their hands.

  “And those in favor of Newport Beach Nathan, raise your hand,” Bree says then raises her hand, and Quinn does the same.

  “Split down the middle, Hols,” Quinn says. “You’re the tie breaker.”

  “And as this affects my life the most, I’d say my vote is most important.” Everyone grunts affirmations, including eye rolls from Thomas and Quinn. “I think I’m going with . . .” I cut off, biting my bottom lip. This is a big moment. I feel like I need a drum roll or something.

  “You’re killing me here, Hols,” Thomas says.

  Bree holds up the shirtless picture of Newport Beach Nathan, waving it around.

  “I’m going with Newport Beach Nathan,” I say, and Thomas and Alex both voice their disappointment while Bree and Quinn both cheer that they’ve won.

  “Really?” Alex asks. “Are you sure?”

  “Alex, all these guys have been vetted by the station. Background checks and everything. They’ve all come back clean. And Newport Nathan is just so . . . hot,” Quinn says.

  “Right? Maybe I should join you on this trip,” Bree says, still eyeing Newport Nathan’s picture. “Hey!” she protests as Alex snatches it out of her hands.

  Quinn puts an arm around me and pulls me into her for a side hug. “I’m proud of you, Hols.”

  I smile back at her. I don’t feel proud. I feel weird. Like, in-the-pit-of-my-stomach weird. Oddly enough, I don’t feel all that nervous right now. But of course, I’m not on the trip. I’m safe in Orlando with my friends at our normal meet-up.

  “Now on to more important things,” Thomas rubs his hands together and everyone turns to him. “Not one of you got Mugshot Monday right,” he says, appearing a little smug by that fact.

  “What? I thought I nailed that one,” Alex says. “What w
as ‘Awful Alex’s’ offense? And why did you name him Alex?” His eyebrows pull together as he looks to Thomas for an answer.

  “He resembles you, no?” Thomas looks around the table.

  Alex’s face falls and Bree laughs loudly.

  “I’m missing something,” I say. I only briefly glanced at it to make sure Mommy Dearest wasn’t on there.

  “That’s because, once again, you didn’t play along,” Thomas says. Whipping out his phone, he pulls up a picture of ‘Awful Alex.’

  I start laughing when I see the picture. The only way this guy could look like our Alex is if he had kidnapped him and made a mask of his face.

  “You’re mean,” I say to Thomas, who appears quite proud of himself. Bree is still giggling as Alex gives a half smile while shaking his head. Typical Thomas.

  “Guess who got them all correct?” Thomas says.

  “Who?” Quinn asks, though I doubt she really cares.

  “Mr. Logan Palmer,” he says, overly pronouncing his name.

  “Logan? How did he win?” I ask, squinting at Thomas.

  Thomas narrows his gaze at me, pushing out his lips—a glare he gives people when he finds them moronic—so, a look he gives often. “Because . . .” he drawls out slowly, “he got them all right.”

  “I mean, why is he even playing?”

  “Because he gets the emails,” he says slowly.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “He and Nathan asked to be on the list a while ago,” Thomas says, still giving me his you moron look. “You know this.”

  I did know. I told them both about it over a year ago and they wanted in immediately. Which surprised me. Not Nathan, but definitely Logan. It seemed very out of character. I don’t know why I thought they wouldn’t be on the e-mail list anymore since Nathan and I broke up. I just assumed, I suppose.

  “Um, you should have taken them off the list when Nathan and Holly broke up,” Quinn says the words I was not going to say out loud.

  “Why would I do that?” Thomas seems appalled by the notion.

  “Because, that’s what friends do,” she says.

  “Maybe when you’re a chick. Guys don’t have time for that.”

  “Well, then you should be more of a chick,” Bree pipes in.

  “You guys,” I say. “It’s fine. They can stay on the list.”

  “Good, because I wasn’t going to take them off,” says Thomas.

  “You’re one of the good guys,” Alex says, patting Thomas on the back.

  “Right?” he says, ignoring the sarcasm from Alex completely.

  Silence falls on the group until Bree says, “Can we get back to Nathan from Newport?” She once again holds up the shirtless picture of Newport Nathan Jones. I catch Alex’s eye roll.

  “Yes,” Quinn nods. “Let’s.”

  “Listen, Hols,” Bree says, leaning slightly toward me, very serious-business-like. “If you don’t make a love connection with this guy, do you think I could take a swing at him?”

  “What?” I raise my eyebrows. “Love connection? No, not happening.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Quinn says. “You’re totally gonna make a love connection.” She grabs the profile from Bree and peruses the picture of Newport Beach Nathan. I envision animated hearts jumping from her eyes as she ogles him. “I can just feel it,” she says.

  Well, that makes one of us. I don’t feel like anything will come of it. My gut tells me that doing this—going out on a limb like this—will probably not end well, especially not romantically and hopefully not deadly. There are too many variables here—too many things out of my control. This is huge, and crazy, and let’s face it—really dumb. But I’m in too deep now.

  My phone beeps, signaling a text, and I pick it up off the table and click on the notification.

  Logan: Wrestling gators.

  I grin at the text. He’s been sending me ideas since I saw him last week at the coffee shop. Which is the last time I saw him. Not for lack of me trying. I’ve gone twice with the purpose of drawing out that smile of his, but he wasn’t there.

  Me: Yeah . . . no.

  Logan: Zip-lining over gators.

  Me: What is your obsession with gators?

  Logan: Cliff diving.

  Me: Give it up, Logan.

  Logan: Never.

  I smile to myself. Luckily my friends are all still arguing over the Nathans and don’t notice me having this text conversation. They’d be even more shocked to know it was with Logan. So much has changed between him and me . . . but also it hasn’t. We’ve never really had a meaningful conversation. Never discussed past mistakes or future goals like you do with friends. Yet I now consider him a friend.

  My phone beeps again.

  Logan: Stop twirling your hair.

  I let out a gasp as I realize I am, in fact, twirling my hair. How does he know that? I mean, I do it all the time, especially when I’m contemplating something—but how does he know I’m doing it right now? Then from of my peripheral vision, I see movement outside one of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the restaurant.

  Logan. He holds up a hand, a quick wave at me, his mouth pulled into one of his classic barely-there smiles.

  I look around to see my friends all engrossed in conversations with each other, so I make a quick excuse that I’m going to the ladies’ room—which no one notices—and then make my way to the front of the restaurant and outside.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Logan as I walk outside.

  “I was walking by and saw you in there.”

  This isn’t too big of a stretch since Nathan and Logan’s apartment isn’t far from here. Still, I decide to goad him about it anyway.

  “Are you stalking me again?”

  “It’s only stalking—”

  “If you’re ugly,” I finish for him. “Why didn’t you just come in?”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t want to talk to everyone.”

  “We don’t bite,” I say.

  “I don’t know,” he peers inside toward my friends, who are still deep in conversation with one another. “I think Thomas might.”

  I laugh. Louder than I probably should, but even the slightest joke from Logan is so funny to me. It’s just so unexpected coming from him.

  “You made a joke again,” I say.

  “I told you: I’m funny.”

  I shake my head back and forth, telling him without words that I’m not buying it. But I’m starting to wonder if he really is, or if it’s so unexpected when he does joke that it makes it even funnier.

  I then remember the conversation with my friends earlier. “Hey, you won Mugshot Mondays,” I say, poking Logan in the arm with my finger. It’s a friendly gesture I’d do with any of my other friends, yet with Logan it feels sort of intimate. He must feel the same because he reaches up and rubs the part of his arm where I touched him.

  “Did I?”

  “Yeah,” I peek into Hester’s to see that my friends still haven’t noticed where I went. “I think Thomas owes you a drink or something. That’s the payment for winning.”

  He shakes his head. “He never said anything. I only got a picture of a cat hanging from a tree that said ‘you done good,’ or something.” He looks perplexed, like he doesn’t understand.

  I open my mouth to explain, then think better of it. Thomas obviously went back on the drink reward thing. I knew it wouldn’t last long.

  We stand again in silence, Logan staring at the ground, me looking out into the street. I feel his eyes move from the ground and up to my face, and I only have to turn my head slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes have that intensity in them again, and I find it doing the same thing to my insides as it did the other day. Very confusing.

  “Did you have something else to say?” I ask, breaking the spell.

  “Not really,” he says, and I laugh. “Why are you laughing?” He eyes me dubiously, since no joke was intended.

  I huff out a breath through my nose. “You’re weird, Logan.”
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  This gets me a smile. Not one of his bright, award-winning ones—but bigger than normal. I feel that tingling sensation move through my body.

  I take in a deep breath to steady myself and decide my best course of action is to extricate myself from this situation. “Well, if that’s all, I guess I’ll head back inside,” I say, reaching for the door.

  He grabs my arm, pulling me back.

  “Yes?” I say, looking down at his hand on my arm, an instant warmth radiating from his touch. My eyes move up to his, and I see an intensity there. But it’s gone in a flash.

  Logan lets out a breath, as if allowing some moment to pass, and then releases my arm. “It’s just that . . .” He adjusts his stance as he tries to say whatever it is he wants to say. His hands are doing that nervous thing where he doesn’t know exactly what to do with them.

  “Yes?” I have no idea what he’s thinking or what he wants to say, but it feels like it’s important.

  “It’s . . . nothing,” he finally says.

  “Okay.” I don’t believe him, but I don’t feel the need to pursue it either. “See you later,” I say as I open the door and go back into Hester’s.

  He doesn’t try to stop me this time.

  Chapter 15

  Saturday went by in a blur. I did all my normal things—at least on the outside, life for me seemed normal. But on the inside, my thoughts were moving all around at a rocket’s pace.

  Alex and Thomas were still trying to get me to change my mind as we were leaving Hester’s last night. But I’m sticking with Newport Nathan. Well, for now, at least. I’m keeping Tucson Nathan as my runner-up.

  Because we don’t have a lot of time at our disposal, the station has already set up a Skype meeting for Newport Nathan and me today, Sunday. Right now, actually. Which would explain this pestering desire to vomit. I’m sitting at my dining room table drumming my fingers on the dark walnut wood, wondering if I’m going to be able to do it.