Just a Name

by Becky Monson

“Oh. What were you going to say?”

  “I was going to say that I’ve always thought we were friends.”

  “You lie,” I say, exasperation in my voice.

  “I never lie.”

  “Well, you just did. You didn’t even like me until after I broke up with Nathan.” I look down at my hands as I ponder what I just said. My eyes move back up to his. “Why was that?”

  “I liked you just fine,” he says.

  I reach across the table to slap him on the arm, but he stops me, grabbing my hand away. A tingle shoots up my arm at the contact. He lets go quickly, pulling his own hand away awkwardly. I feel my cheeks start to burn. Dang it.

  “You—” I clear my throat and then swallow hard. “You did not like me. At all.”

  “I did.”

  “Then . . . why? Why were you so aloof? I didn’t even think you could formulate a sentence until a month ago.”

  In all the time we spent together, I could count on one hand how many times we talked. Like really talked.

  “Oh, wait,” I say before he can say anything. “Boundaries.”

  He nods his head slowly.

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Just . . . boundaries.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I don’t have an answer.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  I stop talking, twisting my lips side to side as I think. I came here for a distraction, and I’m distracted all right. Befuddled. Perplexed. And I shouldn’t like any of this, I should hate how I’m feeling right now. I don’t feel fully in control of anything when I’m around Logan, yet . . . I don’t know if I need to. I’m not compelled to try to control the situation—how I react, which way the conversation will go. I feel like I’m along for the ride. Like I want to see how this will unravel. This is a very foreign feeling.

  “Base jumping,” Logan says when I don’t say anything.

  “What?” I pull my brows down. Then, realizing what he means, I shake my head vigorously. “Hard pass.”

  “Do you even know what that is?”

  “Um . . . jumping . . . off a base?”

  This earns me half of a smile. There was actual sightage of teeth.

  “I’m going to find something,” he says.

  “I don’t think you can.”

  The smile grows wider. Not the full smile, but enough that the hairs on my arm stand up and goosebumps follow quickly after.

  I should probably tell him his search is all for naught. I’m going on this trip. I’m in too deep now. And besides, this whole spontaneity thing wasn’t even why I agreed to it. But I find I don’t want him to stop. I like getting texts from Logan.

  Which is a thought I’d never expected to think. Ever. Obviously, I have some sick, deep-seated problems with people not liking me. Or at least this person sitting across from me.

  “You’re smiling again,” I say, which makes him stop. Dang it—I’ve got to stop mentioning it.

  “My bad,” he says.

  We sit there in silence for a bit.

  “Okay,” I say, making my way out of the booth to stand. “I’ll let you get back to work. I have work to do as well.” I raise my paper coffee cup at him. “See ya,” I say, and he nods his goodbye. A trace of a smile still on his lips.

  Chapter 17

  “What do you want to do when we’re in London?”

  It’s Sunday evening, T minus two weeks until the big trip, and I’m on the phone with Nate. We’ve been talking on the phone or Skyping fairly often since the night I told him he was going.

  I like Nate. He’s easy to talk to and seems pretty normal. I’m, of course, still leery since I barely know him. But I find when I talk to him my mind is put at ease, I just forget that ease every time we hang up. Then my brain takes off at a wild gallop with deadly scenarios playing on repeat in my head.

  Stupid Jim.

  “Um, I’m not sure,” I say reluctantly. Do I let the crazy out yet? Tell him I have an entire itinerary?

  “Should we just see where the trip takes us?” he asks.

  That sounds like a complete nightmare. “Well, maybe,” I say, knowing there’s no maybe about it.

  This is the first trip to London for both of us, so it will literally be the blind leading the blind. Nathan had already been twice before to London and once to Paris. Even though I was glad he had been there before—because he could help navigate—I still planned the itinerary for our honeymoon. Down to the Tube stops.

  Maybe I should have let him help plan. I see the error of my ways now. Sort of. I mean, I am who I am. And he knew that for the two years we were together. But it doesn’t matter because it’s in the past and everything happens for a reason and blah, blah, blah.

  “You seem like the type of woman who has a plan,” Nate says.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know. I just get that vibe from you,” he says.

  “Well, yeah . . . I mean, I like planning stuff.” I shrug a shoulder even though he can’t see me—like I’m a cool girl. A cool girl with a side of micromanaging, controlling, non-team-playing. Allegedly.

  “I like that,” he says.

  I smile to myself. “You do?”

  “Sure,” he says. “When I’m training people at the gym, they have to have a plan if they want to stick with it.”

  “Right,” I say. “When do you train people?”

  “Oh, well, we all train at my gym,” he says after a beat or two. “I’m a hands-on kind of boss.”

  “Gotcha,” I say, picturing Nate walking around his gym—helping his staff, making conversation with the regulars. I wonder if he might have some tips for me regarding my team and my overly handsy approach with them. Well, overly handsy sounds bad. Too handsy? Nope. I’ll think of a better phrase later.

  “How is owning a gym?” I ask. Owning a business never seemed like an option for me. I always felt like I’d run whatever I did into the ground by over-thinking everything.

  “Oh, you know—it has its ups and downs,” he says. I get the feeling he doesn’t want to talk all that much about work, which is fine by me. We’ll have plenty of time to talk shop on the trip.

  “So, what do you want to do in London?” I ask.

  “Well, I guess see the sights, eat the food. Oh, and go to a pub. I’ve always wanted to go to a real British pub. You?”

  “Same,” I say. Although the pub idea never crossed my mind. When he says pub, I picture a grimy, moldy-wood smelling small space filled with burly men with missing teeth, spilling their beer and yelling “argh!” at each other. So, pirates.

  I really do need to venture out more.

  “Man, I’m just so pumped for this trip,” he says.

  “Me too,” I say and feel grateful we aren’t Skyping so he can’t see my expression. It for sure doesn’t match my words.

  ~*~

  Later that evening I meet up with Quinn and Bree at Hester’s for dinner. It’s only the girls tonight, which I desperately need. Not that I don’t love having Alex and Thomas around, but it’s nice to talk about girl stuff without the peanut gallery (Thomas) piping in with a snide comment or feeling like we have to keep it tame because Alex will get all weird. He only has one brother, and therefore does not understand women. In fact, if he ever starts talking too much about sports, we just start talking about our periods and that usually shuts him up.

  “So, how’s it going with Nate?” Bree asks not long after we’re seated and the server leaves with our drink orders. Bree gives me a double eyebrow raise and a sly smile, full of insinuation and innuendo.

  “It’s going fine,” I say, giving her my best get-your-mind-out-of-the-gutter look.

  “Give me the deets,” she says. “How hot is he in person?”

  “Well, since we haven’t met in person, I wouldn’t know.”

  She bats my words away with her hand. “You know what I mean. Skyping is practically in person.�
��

  “Not really,” I say. “You can still hide a lot.”

  I’ve heard of relationships that have happened mostly via email and Skyping or calling, and I wonder how that would really work. I know it wouldn’t work for me. I need to be face-to-face with someone. I need to see them in their environment and I need them to see me in mine.

  Plus, everyone has skeletons in their closet. Even me. And some of them even my closest friends in the world don’t know about. Like the fact that I didn’t have my first kiss until I was seventeen. Or that my mom’s currently chilling in a correctional facility.

  “Has he taken his shirt off for you at least?” Bree asks, her eyebrows now doing a silly wagging thing.

  “What the H—he has!” Quinn says pointing to my face, which I’m confident has taken on a nice reddish hue.

  I reach up and twirl some hair around my index finger and then quickly stop myself.

  “Tell me everything,” Bree says, leaning in toward me.

  “You guys, he hasn’t taken off his shirt while we were talking, but he has been shirtless when we’ve Skyped.”

  Bree picks up her menu and starts fanning herself.

  I pull the menu out of her hands and set it down. She’s creating a scene. “Stop it,” I say. “Anyway, it’s not like I’ve seen much. He’s usually up close to the camera. I mostly see his face and his shoulders.”

  “How are his shoulders? I love a nice pair of shoulders,” Quinn says, wistfully.

  “He does have really great shoulders,” I say, deciding to just give in to this conversation.

  “Way better body than Nathan, though,” Bree says and Quinn laughs.

  “Yeah,” I agree. Nathan didn’t have a bad body, he was more lithe and lean. Whereas Nate is all toned and muscles.

  The differences don’t end there, though. Of course I’m going to pit Nate against Nathan, which isn’t fair to either of them. I shouldn’t compare, I know. But I can’t help it. They are different in a lot of ways, yet sometimes Nate does remind me of Nathan. Not in obvious ways. Little quirks here and there.

  “Tell me more,” Bree says.

  “Do you want me to give you his number after the trip?”

  “No,” she slaps my arm, lightly. “Well . . . maybe.”

  “Stop trying to take Holly’s man, Bree,” Quinn pipes in.

  “He’s not my man,” I say. I’m pretty sure Quinn thinks this trip is going to turn out like some Hollywood movie where we ride away happily ever after. That’s not going to happen.

  “Well, he will be your man,” Quinn says. “I have a feeling about you two.”

  Quinn has had a lot of “feelings” before and I’ve never put any stock into it, and rightfully so. I mean, after meeting Nathan for the first time, she was sure he was the one. We all saw how that turned out.

  My phone beeps, signaling a text, and I reach in my purse and grab it to see who it’s from.

  Nate: Look what I got at the mall.

  I smile when I see it’s from Nate, which prompts Quinn and Bree to be completely obnoxious and try to get the phone out of my hand to see what he said.

  I’m able to keep it away from them to see his next text. It’s a picture of a red T-shirt that has a crown at the top and says, “Keep Calm and Go on a Fake Honeymoon.”

  I bust out laughing when I see it and Quinn rips the phone out of my hand so she can see it too.

  “Oh, my gosh,” Bree says when she gets the phone. “This guy is hot and funny? Holly, I’m not going to lie, I kind of hate you right now.”

  “You want to switch lives with me?” I ask, looking at the picture again.

  “H yeah,” she says, and Quinn gives her a motherly nod of approval for not using the real word. I wonder how long we’re going to have to keep this up.

  “So you want to fall in love with a guy, have him ditch you three months before your wedding, and then go on your honeymoon with some random guy with the same name and have it all on the news for people to see?” I ask, the sarcasm oozing through my tone. The news, luckily, has died down. Not as many people are caring about it. Also, I turned off Google Alerts.

  “Sure,” she says. “Especially if he looks like Nate does.”

  “Keep your hands off,” Quinn says to Bree.

  “She can have him after the trip,” I say. “I give you my blessing.” Bree smiles brightly.

  “Hols, you can’t just give him away. He might be ‘the one.’”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “He’s not ‘the one,’” I say, imitating her voice, only making her sound like a man when I do.

  “You never know, Hols,” Quinn says, and my eyes dart to the ceiling and back down to her.

  “Well, this might be the rudest thing you’ve ever done to me,” a familiar voice says from behind me.

  “What are you doing here, Thomas?” Quinn asks.

  “I was getting take-out, but then I see you three sitting here all cozy-like.” He stares at the table, his eyes wide with accusation. “How dare you.”

  “I told you we’d be here when we talked on the phone yesterday,” Quinn says, shutting her menu and sliding it away from her across the table.

  “You most certainly did not.”

  “I did, and I specifically said you weren’t invited,” she says, folding her arms.

  “Of all the—”

  “Just sit down, Thomas,” Bree says, and Thomas pulls a chair out and takes a seat.

  “What did I miss?” he asks, his head bobbing around the table, searching our faces.

  Quinn takes a deep breath. “We were talking to Holly about her future with Nate Jones.”

  Thomas angles his body toward me. “How goes it with Number Two?”

  “He likes to be called Nate,” I say.

  “Number Two is better,” he says.

  “Whatever.” I sit back in my chair. “Things are fine.”

  “They’re better than fine,” Quinn says.

  “Ah-ha, are we starting to like this Number Two?” Thomas asks.

  “No,” I say, emphatically. “I mean, he’s not bad—”

  “To look at,” Bree pipes in.

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “But it’s true,” she says.

  I twist my mouth from side to side. “Okay, he’s good looking.”

  “He’s a total hottie,” Quinn says.

  I sigh. “He may be hot, but I’m still going to be happy when this is all over.” In fact, three weeks from now, I’ll be all done and maybe even meeting my friends here. I should make myself a countdown calendar. I’ll title it “Countdown to the End of this Stupid Vacation.” There will assuredly be no other countdown with that name.

  “It might end up being the best thing you’ve ever done,” Quinn says.

  “Or the worst,” Bree pipes in.

  “Thanks, Bree.” I give her my best sarcastic smile.

  “I’m just kidding,” she laughs. “It’ll be great.”

  “As long as you don’t muck it up with all your planning. Have you told Number Two about your trip itinerary?” Thomas asks, leaning his elbows on the table.

  “What? How did …? There’s no itinerary,” I say, appalled.

  “Lies,” Thomas says.

  “Holly,” Quinn and Bree both say at the same time, a chiding tone in both their voices.

  “Fine, there’s an itinerary,” I say, slumping back in my seat.

  “And did you tell him?” Thomas asks.

  “No, not yet,” I say. “I thought I’d ease him into it. Besides, he’s already pegged me for the planning type. He said so today on the phone.”

  “Anyone would peg you for a planner,” Thomas says, holding his hand out at me. I peer down at my outfit, which is a plain fitted white T-shirt and a cotton floral pencil skirt.

  “How does this,” I gesture to myself, “say I’m a planner? I’m not dressed like a stuffy librarian or something.”

  “Not that,” he says. “You’re too well p
ut together. With the hair and the makeup. I mean, look at Quinn over here.” He gestures at Quinn. “She’s got ‘I’ve given up on life’ written all over her.”

  “Hey,” Quinn says, slapping away his hand.

  Quinn does look a little worse for the wear today. But even in her current state—navy T-shirt dress, messy bun, minimal makeup—she looks better than most.

  “I’ve got a novel idea,” Thomas says, putting an index finger to his chin. “How about, for this trip, you let your hair down, Hols.”

  “My hair is down,” I say, reaching up and twirling some of my red locks with my finger.

  He smacks his lips. “Not literally, I mean metaphorically. Gosh, you all are so thick-headed sometimes.”

  “I’m not thick-headed,” Bree says.

  “You,” he points a finger at Bree, “are the most thick-headed of all.”

  She huffs at him, her mouth open, her eyebrows pulled in tight. Quinn and I don’t try to defend her because Thomas is right on that one. Sometimes it’s nice to have Thomas around to say the hard stuff.

  “But we aren’t talking about you, we’re talking about dear Holly, here. And I think for this trip, sister of mine, you need to chill with this whole stick-up-your-butt vibe.”

  Nope. I take back that thought. It sucks to have Thomas around.

  “Who invited you?” Quinn asks. “Oh, that’s right. No one.”

  “Please, you all need me,” Thomas says, leaning back in his chair, overly confident. “So, Holly, how about it?”

  “How about what?”

  “How about you go on this trip and vow not to do any of the crazy Holly things you do?” He holds his hand out moving it in a circular motion toward me. “No planning, no scheduling, no buying tickets in advance—none of it.”

  I nibble on my lip, feeling my heart pick up speed.

  “I hate to side with Thomas the a-hole, but you’re already doing something that’s not like you, Hols,” Bree says. “Why not go all in?”

  I look up to see all three of them nodding at me.

  I let out a big breath. I have a couple of options here. Tell them no. Or do what I normally do and tell them I’ll think about it to appease them, and then do what I want.

  “And none of this agreeing to it and then doing what you want anyway,” Quinn says.