Speak Now

by Becky Monson

  “Where were you?” Justin asks, as I walk into the back. He’s wiping down trays and stacking them on carts to be wheeled out to the catering truck.

  “Saying goodbye to Ian.” I grab a tray and follow suit.

  Justin gives me a disapproving click of his tongue and mutters “fraternizer” under his breath. I ignore him.

  “By the way, I’ve changed my mind,” he says as we work side by side.

  “Changed your mind about what?” I shoot him a curious look.

  “I’ll go with you to Adam’s thing on Friday,” he says without looking up at me.

  “You will?” My eyes widen with skepticism. This is Justin. He only says truths about fifty percent of the time. “Why? What made you change your mind?”

  “Well, I thought about it,” he says, putting down the tray he’s finished cleaning, “and I thought—my friend Bridgette needs me. How could I let her down in her time of need?”

  “Really?” I look at him, disbelieving.

  “Nah, I think it’s gonna be a total train wreck, and why should I miss out on that?” He winks at me, and I give him my best dirty look in return. “Plus, I get to pretend to be your boyfriend for the night. We can ogle at each other and give each other cheesy nicknames. It’ll be fun.”

  “And what nickname will you be giving me?” I question him hesitantly.

  “I think I’ll surprise you.” He smiles a big mischievous grin.

  “I think I’m worried.”

  “No worries, Snookems,” he smiles, giving me a quick hip check.

  “Oh, geez,” I roll my eyes, but giggle a little, despite not wanting to encourage him.

  CHAPTER 4

  University of Connecticut, Freshman Year

  “Bridge, huh?” I looked up to find a pair of striking green eyes staring down at my chest. His hand reached out for mine.

  “Uh,” my eyes moved to the chest area of my charcoal-gray tee shirt, and I realized he wasn’t a total perv. My nametag.

  Yes, this was perfect. Obviously, the first person to help me would be a hot guy. Strike that, one of the hottest guys I’d had the pleasure to lay my eyes on. I looked down at my current situation, on the floor with both knees scraped and bloodied. This was not good.

  Why had I thought this “fresh start” at college would be a chance to reinvent myself? Tripping and falling just before walking into freshman orientation was not the kickoff I was hoping for.

  “So your name is . . . Bridge?” he asked, as I gave him my hand and he helped me stand up.

  “Bridgette,” I said, finding my balance. “I get lazy sometimes. Poor penmanship.”

  He was taller than me but not by a ridiculous amount. My guess would put him around six feet. Nice build. Solid, strong shoulders. He wore jeans, a white tee, and flip-flops. Very surfer meets preppy. He had dark brown hair with a bit of a cowlick in the back that was both endearing and frustrating at the same time. And his eyes. Holy crap. I don’t think I’d ever seen green eyes like that. His face was boyish, with a bit of scruff. I instantly wanted to rub my hand on his face, but I stopped myself. No need to add to the crazy.

  I looked down to find his nametag, which wasn’t there.

  “Oh,” he said, noticing the trail my eyes had made. He held up the rectangular figure, pulled the backing off the sticky paper, and slapped it on the left side of his chest. “Ian,” he declared, pointing to the tag.

  “You okay?” he asked, looking down at my legs, and my eyes followed his. Luckily, my jean shorts were not hurt by the fall, since they ended well above my knees. I feared for my favorite pair of black sandals as the blood was now dripping down, headed that way. How lovely.

  “Um, I guess not,” I said, opening my bag to try and find a tissue or anything to clean myself up with. It was a brand new bag for school, so I knew my search was in vain. But I said a silent prayer that something would magically appear.

  “Come here,” he said, pointing to a bench only a few feet from us.

  He helped me walk over to the bench and, putting a hand on my lower back, helped me sit. I tugged nervously on my dark blonde side braid as he reached in his bag and pulled out a little red container.

  “You carry a first aid kit? A boy scout?” I asked, eyeing him dubiously.

  “Let’s just say I have a mom who’s a little over-the-top,” Ian said, a slight grin appearing on his face.

  “I guess I should be thankful for that,” I said, as I watched him open the first aid kit and dig around.

  He pulled out the supplies he needed and then, putting his arm underneath my knees, he lifted my legs and placed them in his lap.

  “This might sting,” he said, after he opened up an antiseptic wipe. He carefully started to clean one of the injured knees.

  He wasn’t kidding. I squirmed in my seat and took a deep breath.

  “Sorry,” he said, with an intonation that indicated he was, in fact, sorry, and not just saying it.

  “It’s okay,” I whimpered as he moved to the other knee.

  He was very gentle, to say the least. And with his eyes downward, working on my knees, I could stare at him without getting caught. He had a nice head of hair, nice and thick. Also, a fantastic jawline. It was a good view.

  “There you go, good as new,” he said, gesturing toward my newly bandaged knees.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking down at them. “And thank your mom as well.”

  He smiled at me. “I would pass on that message, except it would only feed her need to keep smothering me with this crap.” He tapped the kit with his finger.

  “You from around here?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.

  I was well aware that my legs were still propped in his lap, and for some strange reason, I didn’t want to move them. I was comfortable there. I also noticed he took no action to move them himself. Sitting with Ian like this was strangely nice. I don’t think I’d ever experienced instant comfort with a stranger like that.

  “I’m from Goshen,” I said.

  “Goshen?” he asked, as all people not from Goshen usually did.

  “Small town. About an hour and a half west of here,” I said. “You?” I asked, remembering my manners.

  “New Haven,” he said simply. No explanation there, everyone knew where New Haven was.

  “So, what brings you to UConn?” he asked.

  “Uh, school?” I scrunched my eyes at him. “Isn’t that why everyone comes here?”

  “Yes, obviously.” He oozed sarcasm. “I meant, what are you studying?”

  “Studying . . .” I said slowly, realizing something was missing.

  “My classes!” I quickly removed my legs from his lap and started looking around frantically, trying to find the single piece of paper that had my schedule on it.

  “You mean this?” Ian held up the wrinkled paper. I think it might have taken the brunt of my fall. Well, along with my knees.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” My eyes closed for more seconds than the normal blink. I breathed a sigh of relief. I reached out my hand to grab my blessed schedule, but Ian quickly swiped it away.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said, studying the paper.

  “Give it back,” I said, trying to grab it from him, but he kept moving the paper away every time I came close to reaching it. He was being almost as annoying as my sister. But being a pest was her job.

  He finally relinquished my schedule after a few moments.

  “So tell me, Bridge from Goshen, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “I can’t really say,” I told him, after agonizing for a few seconds about how to answer that. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”

  “Well, don’t go into dance,” he said, pointing to my knees. I could feel heat instantly on my face.

  “Yes, thanks for that,” I said and rolled my eyes.

  “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked him, now curious.

  “Rich,” he said simply. “Not exactly sure how I
’ll get there, but that would be the end result.”

  I nodded my head. This would likely be the answer from about ninety percent of the student body. The rest would probably be of the save-the-world variety.

  “I have a proposition for you,” Ian said, mischief in his eyes.

  Oh, no. Whatever he had to say, I prayed it wouldn’t ruin what I had thought of him so far.

  “A proposition?” I asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

  “Not that kind of proposition.” He scowled after reading my face.

  I stifled a laugh. The look on his face was too funny.

  “Okay, what do you propose?” I asked, folding my arms and sitting back.

  “Do you know anyone on campus?” he asked, scratching his jaw while he talked. It was sexy.

  “No, you?” I asked, when my brain finally registered that he had asked me a question. I was lost for a moment. That jaw. Damn.

  “No one,” he stated. “So, Bridge from Goshen, I say we should be friends,” he said, tapping me on the knee with one quick touch. It left a non-visible imprint.

  I scoffed at him. “You can’t just say ‘let’s be friends,’ I hardly know you. It doesn’t work like that.” I won’t lie, the word “friends” did make my stomach sink in a stupid girlish way.

  “Doesn’t it?” Ian asked, a single eyebrow raised in my direction.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said.

  “Well, I think it does. And I think you and I should be friends.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. He looked innocent enough, but what if he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Gram had warned me about those kinds of people.

  “I promise I don’t bite,” Ian said, as if reading my mind. He held up his hands in surrender.

  “Okay,” I finally said. Even if he eventually turned out to be a creeper or a weirdo, it would be nice to have a friend for now. I was feeling slightly homesick, and I had only been here for fewer than twenty-four hours.

  He rubbed his hands together, like we’d just made a deal of sorts.

  “But,” I said, holding a pointer finger up, “our friendship is on a trial basis for now.”

  “A trial basis?” He furrowed his brow.

  “Yes, a trial basis. Let’s give it two weeks and reassess,” I said, the corner of my mouth turning up slightly.

  “Sounds like a good business deal,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand.

  “Yes,” I said, shaking his. I liked how his hand felt in mine, and apparently my heart did too, as it was pounding furiously in my chest.

  “Friends,” he said, still shaking my hand.

  “Friends,” I echoed.

  CHAPTER 5

  The sound of my phone vibrating against the nightstand next to my bed wakes me up. I blink my eyes hard trying to clear them of sleep so I can see the screen on my phone. It’s a text . . . from Adam! I sit up and click on the message.

  Heard my mom is making you come to dinner to meet Serene. :)

  I quickly text back:

  Not making me. I want to come.

  I lie. I don’t want to have dinner with him and his new girlfriend. Well, actually I do in a sick sort of way, so it’s not entirely a lie after all. I hit send, and not long after, my phone vibrates in my hand.

  Means a lot to me that you are still part of the family.

  Me too.

  So is the Justin you’re bringing your friend from work? Are you dating now?

  Oh, gosh. Oh, crap. I suppose I’m in too deep now. I’ve got to keep up pretenses. Plus, if he’s asking, does that mean it bothers him?

  Yes. :)

  I text back.

  I sit there tapping my fingernails on the back of my phone, waiting for a response. My phone vibrates. All he sends back is a smiley face. Not sure what to make of that.

  I fall back down on the bed, thinking about yesterday. About Adam . . . dating someone. I probably should have expected this to happen at some point. But I didn’t. I’ve been hoping against all hope he would figure out it’s me he should be with. Although, sometimes dating someone else can help you realize that, as well. I’ll just have to hope that this is the case. Also, seeing me with Justin might speed up the process, too. Well, that is the hope, at least. Thank goodness Justin agreed to go. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t. I couldn’t have gone by myself. The image of me going there alone makes me quiver slightly with embarrassment. What a pathetic sight that would be.

  Without warning, Ian appears in my head, and I smile to myself, thinking about how amazing it was to run into him last night. It wasn’t how I’d dreamt it would be, but these things never go as planned, do they? Well, they never do for me, at least.

  I decide it’s time to get up. Taking my phone with me, I open my door and walk out of my room.

  “You here, Grams?” I ask fairly loudly. I look down at my phone and see it’s nearly 11 a.m. At this time of the morning, I can usually find Gram sitting in her favorite chair watching The Price is Right or reading a book on her Kindle. But sometimes she goes out for a walk or plays bridge with some of the other ladies in our building.

  “In here, Bridgette,” I hear her say. I go around the corner to find her in the living room, reading. “Just give me a second.” She holds out a long, slightly wrinkled finger. “I need to finish this chapter. I’m almost done.”

  I plop down on the couch nearest her, and while I wait, I look around the bright room. I do love it here, although I wish Gram would update it a little. The décor is very 1980s. I’ve tried to drop hints, but she’s not catching them. I may have to come right out and say it. Heaven knows she’s got the money for an update. Not that I should ever complain. I get to live in an upscale neighborhood, in a beautiful apartment building, rent free. I’m the envy of all my city friends with their stuff-everyone-into-a-studio-to-save-money type of living.

  Gram and my grandpa, whom I called Pops, used to fight over this place—whether to get rid of it, or whether to keep it. Pops hated the city, but Gram loved it. She still does. When Pops passed away three years ago, Gram sold their large four-bedroom, three-bath home in Goshen (for a mint, I might add) and moved her life into the city. Her children (mostly my dad) protested, but she said there were too many memories in that house, and she wanted to live someplace where there weren’t so many reminders of Pops. Plus, she always liked to wind Pops up by saying things just to say them (“I’ve decided to be a Republican!” or “I’m going to get my navel pierced!”). Living in the city was one more jab aimed at him, even though he was in his grave.

  Gram shuts the case to her Kindle and places it in her lap. “How are you doing this morning, my dear?” She smiles pleasantly.

  “Eh, not as horrible as yesterday,” I shrug. Gram was here to witness the blubbering fool who came back to the apartment after the lunch I had with Carla.

  “Give it time. You’ll get better.” She nods her head positively.

  “You act like you know from first-hand experience,” I raise my eyebrows, inquisitively.

  “I’m not free of heartbreak, my dear. I’ve had my fair share.” She winks at me. “I did lose your grandfather, after all.”

  Oh, right, stupid, inconsiderate me.

  “Oh, Grams, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “No apologies,” she cuts me off. “Enough with the serious tone. I’ve got to tell you what happened on The Young and the Restless yesterday.” Her eyes brighten.

  “Oh, yes, fill me in.” I haven’t been able to see it for the last few days, and heaven knows, if you miss an episode you may miss a huge plot turn.

  She fills me in on what happened, and I listen intently. I love that we can spend time together like this. What grandmother out there still likes to watch soap operas, and with her granddaughter no less? I’m pretty sure most grandmothers would find the sleeping-around shenanigans in soap operas to be revolting. But not Grams. She loves it all. Well, she acts like she doesn’t approve, but I think that’s only for show.

&nb
sp; “. . . oh, and then I have to tell you what happened to Ian and Jessica—”

  “Oh! Speaking of Ian,” I interrupt, remembering I haven’t told Gram about seeing Ian last night.

  “Sorry to cut you off, but you’re never going to believe who I ran into last night,” I smile, thinking about seeing those beautiful green eyes again.

  “Well, don’t leave me wondering. Who?”

  “Ian Davies! Remember from college?”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting,” she says, cocking her head thoughtfully to the side.

  “You don’t have a clue who I’m talking about, do you Gram?” I know the look on her face well.

  “I think I just need a little reminder. The mind isn’t so stable these days.” She taps the side of her head with her index finger.

  I guess I shouldn’t find it incredibly disconcerting that she doesn’t remember. She only met him once or twice. Although, all I talked about for the first year I lived with her was Ian. But then Adam came along, and he’s pretty much all I was able to talk about after that. Poor Gram. Who wouldn’t want to repress all this boy crap I spew? I need to work on finding other things to discuss besides men. But not now.

  “Ian was the guy who was my best friend in college.” I look to see if her memory has been jogged. Apparently, not sufficiently.

  “Remember, we were friends freshman through junior year, and then it turned into something more when we were seniors? I brought him to Goshen a few times.”

  “Okay, yes, yes I do remember now. Handsome fellow, with the green eyes.” Her face lights up as she remembers. I think as you get older, your mind starts to pick and choose what information can stay in and what needs to go to make room for more. For her, Ian was just a blip in my life, a memory that could be easily replaced. For me, Ian is one of those people who will be burned into my brain forever. Just like Adam. You never forget the people you love. Especially the ones you give your heart to.