Speak Now

by Becky Monson

  “You liar,” he says, a sly smile spreading on his face.

  “Excuse me?” I crunch my face up, disdainfully. How dare he?

  “You still bite your lower lip when you lie,” he says, the grin remaining.

  Crap.

  “Oh, okay. Fine.” I roll my eyes. I start walking back to the table, and he follows me. We sit down.

  “I guess I was thinking this was a bad idea,” I say, placing my purse in my lap.

  “Why does it have to be a bad idea?”

  “Because it just feels like a bad idea. With our history and all. I keep thinking that if the tables were turned and I was marrying you,” I pause and swallow hard at the notion, “and there was someone from your past whom you were striking up a friendship with . . . well, I think it feels a little shady.” I look down at my lap and stare at the buckle on my clutch. I nervously start rubbing my fingers over the cool metal.

  “I thought the same thing,” Ian says.

  My head shoots up. “Huh?”

  “I thought the same thing, which is why I’m having Maureen meet us here.” He looks at his watch. “In five minutes.”

  “Say what?” I think I’ve been hoodwinked.

  “Look,” Ian says, leaning in toward me, “I want you in my life, Bridge. But if we’re going to do this friend thing, then Maureen needs to meet you and get to know you, so everything is on the up-and-up.”

  “Okay,” I nod my head slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”

  Yes, the up-and-up. If I know Maureen and she is okay with Ian and me being friends, then we might actually pull off this whole friend thing. There’s still one small problem with that. I’ve been having fantasies about them breaking up and Ian marrying me.

  This could be awkward.

  I don’t have time to think too much about it because Ian’s eyes move toward the door as Maureen walks in. She’s tall—very tall—and blonde, and pretty. And she’s carrying a sort of briefcase. It’s expensive looking and matches her outfit—a slim skirt and matching blazer with a white button-down blouse underneath. She looks smart. Oh, no, she’s probably a lawyer. She’ll grill me and ask me questions, and Ian and I didn’t have time to discuss what was on or off limits. I feel the sweat pooling in my underarms.

  Ian stands up as she walks over to the table, and I follow suit and stand up, as well.

  Wait, why am I standing? I look like a complete idiot. Ian looks over at me, confirming with his face that my choice was dopey. I want to sit back down, but it’s too late. I’m already standing.

  “Hello,” Maureen says in a throaty, take-me-to-bed voice. “You must be Bridgette.” She smiles as she holds out her hand to shake mine. I reach out and shake her hand vigorously. A little over-vigorously, unfortunately. She gives me a strange look.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, a little breathless. Nervousness attacks me from all angles. She tries to remove her hand, and I relinquish after realizing I have it in a death grip.

  I’m so freaking nervous. I hate it when I’m nervous. “Sorry for the standing thing,” I say as I sit in my chair. Maureen gives me an odd look, possibly questioning my sanity. I don’t blame her.

  “So, I finally get to meet someone from college.” She looks at Ian and smiles. “I swear, Ian was so vague about college that I wondered if he even had friends.” She laughs, and then Ian laughs, and then I laugh because everyone else is laughing.

  Oh, hell. This is awkward.

  “Yes, well, I was pretty much his only friend,” I say, trying to calm myself so I can act like a normal human. I don’t think it’s working. I shrug, uncomfortably.

  “I had more friends than just you,” Ian says, trying to defend himself, not taking notice of my ungainliness.

  “Well, let’s see, there was me,” I say, ticking off a finger as I start to count Ian’s friends, “a string of other women,” Ian rolls his eyes at that, “and Brandon.” My eyes go wide after I say that name. Oops. I didn’t want to bring up the whole Brandon situation.

  “Whatever happened to Brandon?” Maureen asks, completely ignoring my comment about the string of other women, which I now realize was totally inappropriate. I suck at this.

  “Um,” Ian scratches his five-o’clock shadow, which looks as if it came in way before five o’clock. “I haven’t spoken to or seen Brandon since I graduated.”

  I could kick myself for even saying that name. Brandon’s the huge elephant in the room. The huge, regrettable elephant.

  “Why didn’t you keep in contact with him?” Maureen pries. I silently pray she will drop it.

  “I didn’t feel like it,” he says plainly. “Brandon was not a good part of my life.”

  My stomach sinks big-time. He still hates me for that, obviously. Heck, I still hate me for that.

  “So, Bridgette, where do you work?” Maureen asks as she settles back in her seat.

  “I work in catering,” I say simply. No need to elaborate.

  “Oh, right, you work for the company that catered our engagement party,” she states as she recalls that bit of information. I was never officially introduced to her that night, so I suppose Ian gave her that bit of info.

  “And you?” I ask, not wanting any more questions from that night. I definitely didn’t act normally and neither did Ian.

  “Lawyer,” she says simply and looks to Ian. Right. Of course she’s a lawyer. The grilling could happen at any second. I feel sick.

  “Yes,” Ian says, smoothing out his gray chambray tie with a couple strokes of his hand. “Maureen is a very talented contracts lawyer.” He reaches his arm around the back of her chair, a look of pride on his face.

  He’s proud of her. Of course he is. Why does that make my heart hurt a little?

  “That’s great,” I interject.

  We sit in silence. This was such a bad idea, all around.

  “So, Bridgette, why don’t you tell me some stories about Ian at college? I feel like I know so little about that time in his life.” She smiles brightly at me.

  Little does she know I’m the reason he hasn’t told her that many stories. This could not get more uncomfortable. I look over to Ian, and he doesn’t look like he’s feeling awkward. Rather, he looks happy to be here. Has he lost his mind?

  “Well, let’s see.” I shift uneasily in my seat. This is ridiculous. It’s not like I don’t have a million stories to tell. We met as freshman, became friends instantly, but never dated until our senior year. So there are plenty of stories to tell without any of the dating drama added. “Well, there was one time when he made me set him up with my roommate, and it was a disaster,” I finally say. Yes, this is safe. Allude to the fact that Ian and I never dated or felt anything for each other. That is what I should do.

  “Really? That’s the story you are going to lead with?” Ian looks over at me, questioning me with one raised eyebrow.

  “What? It’s the first one that came to mind,” I say, reflecting back with eyebrows high.

  “No,” Maureen puts a hand on Ian’s arm, “I want to hear it.” She dips her chin once, giving me the go-ahead.

  Ian rolls his eyes. “It’s not that great of a story,” he says blandly.

  “Would you shut up and let me tell the story?” I ask, slapping his arm with my hand.

  “Yea, Ian, shut up and let her tell the story,” Maureen echoes.

  “Fine.” He leans back in his chair, folding his arms.

  My nervousness starts to lessen as I go into the story about Ian and my freshman roommate, who turned out to be a nut job. That one seemed to go over well. Maureen was laughing. Ian wasn’t even trying to shut me up with his facial expressions like I kept expecting him to. On the contrary, he was actually interjecting comments and trying to make the story sound better than it was. Before I know it, I’m telling all kinds of Ian stories. There were fun ones that I had forgotten about, and sometimes I would let him tell his part of the story, and we would banter back and forth. Maureen took it all in, laughing and asking q
uestions. I almost felt okay with it all. Almost.

  “What was the chick’s name who was a vegetarian?” I ask Ian after we finish telling Maureen about the time we got kicked out of the library.

  Ian’s eyes do a little nervous dance that I’m unable to read.

  “A vegetarian, huh?” Maureen looks to me to finish the story.

  “Yeah, she was a vegan, actually. It was unintentional. Ian had no idea, but once he found out, it was over. He said he could never be serious with a vegetarian,” I say. I feel something in the air change as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

  “Maureen’s a vegetarian,” Ian says, gesturing with his hand toward her.

  Oh, holy crap.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I say, feeling incredibly stupid. “I mean,” I fidget with the buckle on my clutch, nervously trying to think of a way out of this, “obviously Ian is no longer the ignorant fool from college.” I’m trying desperately not to convey the feeling of total idiocy that has taken over me. I so blame Ian for this. He should have warned me.

  “Yes.” Maureen turns her head to look at Ian. “He’s definitely grown up.” She looks at him, amusement in her eyes. She’s clearly not offended by this whole exchange, thank goodness.

  “Well, this has been enlightening,” Maureen says, weaving her arm through his. She pulls herself close to him. They look at each other, and it’s not the kind of look you expect between two people who plan to spend their lives together. There’s no look of cheesy, goofy-eyed love, but something more like a mutual respect, which I suppose is good. But now that I think of it, there hasn’t been a look of love exchanged between the two of them this entire time. Maybe that’s just what their relationship has settled into. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

  “Sorry,” I say, giving Ian a sheepish grin.

  “No, really, thank you for sharing.” She winks at me and I know it’s meant to be a kind gesture, but it makes me feel kind of small . . . and very young, even though we are most likely the same age.

  “Anyway, I’ve got to get going,” Maureen says, standing up from her seat. “Gotta get back to the office. It’s going to be an all-nighter again, I’m afraid,” she says, looking at Ian for his response. He doesn’t say anything. He simply gives her a thin smile. “Bridgette, it was wonderful to meet you.” She holds out her hand again for me to shake, which I do, this time with less nervous gusto.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I say as I start to get up from my chair to leave, as well.

  “Oh, don’t go because I’m leaving,” she says as she sees me start to stand up. “Stay here and keep my fiancé company. I fear with all the hours I work, he might get a wandering eye. You’ll watch out for him, won’t you, Bridgette?” She winks at me again.

  I let out a nervous laugh. I’m probably the worst person to babysit her future husband.

  I try to look away as she leans down and kisses Ian on the lips, but I catch a glimpse in my peripheral vision. Curses. That was not something I wanted to see.

  I watch as Maureen saunters off, turning around to give us one last wave as she goes out the door.

  “So, that was Maureen,” Ian says, after a small bout of silence.

  “You could have warned me she was a vegetarian, you know.” I scrunch my face in annoyance.

  “Sorry about that,” he chuckles.

  “Whatever,” I mutter. “Anyway, she seems like good people,” I say, trying to remember if she even said much during the entire conversation. It was mostly Ian and me relaying old college stories and skirting around the ones we shouldn’t tell.

  “She is.” He nods his head a few times. “So now that you’ve met her, do you think you can put this whole ‘we can’t be friends’ thing to bed?”

  “I guess,” I say with a little shrug. Honestly, even after meeting Maureen officially, I still don’t think it’s appropriate. Maybe saying that we can be friends will be enough for Ian to let it go. Like maybe the fact that I’m fighting it so much is truly what’s bothering him.

  “How did you meet?” I ask, picking at a tiny string that’s hanging from the hem of my shirt.

  “Mutual friends introduced us,” he says, thumbs twiddling in his lap.

  “How long have you been together?” I’m not sure why I’m prodding into a relationship I don’t really want to know about.

  “About two years,” he says, looking down at his fidgeting hand.

  That was about the same time I met Adam. Ian and I were both in the same city, doing nearly the same thing, neither of us knowing we were both here. Funny where life can take us. If I had run into Ian before I met Adam, how different would our lives be now? Would it be me marrying him? It’s probably best not to entertain such thoughts. They won’t lead anywhere good.

  We’re silent for a bit, Ian staring off into the café, looking lost in thought, and me toying with the same string from the hem of my shirt.

  “Does she make you laugh?” I say without thinking. Where did that come from?

  “Huh?” Ian says, caught off guard by the question. I know the feeling. I too, was caught off guard.

  He bobs his head a few times as he realizes what I’ve asked. “Yeah, she does. I mean, we don’t have the same exact humor. We have fun together, but not as much fun as you and—” he stops himself. He doesn’t need to finish the thought.

  “Good, I’m glad you have fun together,” I say, completely ignoring his faux pas.

  We smile at each other. There’s a nostalgic look on his face that I’m sure is mirroring my own.

  “Sorry for bringing up Brandon,” I say. I don’t want to bring his name up again, but I feel like it needs to be said.

  He waves a hand, dismissing it. “It was a while ago, Bridge,” he says, giving me a small smile.

  “Yes, I know it was, but I feel like you deserve an explanation.” I shrug my shoulders. I’m not even sure it would help anything, except maybe my own conscience.

  “I don’t,” he says. “All is forgiven. Let’s not waste any more time on that guy,” he adds, his lips pulling up to the side in a half-smile.

  “Okay,” I say, letting it go, but not really wanting to.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Ian says.

  “I’m glad I did. It was good to meet Maureen, too. She’s pretty. You’re clearly marrying out of your league,” I tease.

  “Nice,” he says, giving me a smirk.

  “Hey, I just tell it like it is.” I start to punch him in the arm, but he grabs my hand to block it. His hand lingers on mine.

  “Um,” I swallow hard, removing my hand quickly. “I guess I better go.” I stand up, grabbing my purse with my left hand, as I steady myself with my right hand on the table. I turn to head toward the door, only I pivot the wrong way entirely, and as I try to right myself, I spot something in the back corner of the café. Actually, I spot someone.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I say in a near-whisper.

  “Bridge?” Ian asks, and then looks over in the direction I’m looking.

  “No,” I say in a stage whisper, quickly pulling Ian so our backs are turned to the offending corner. “Don’t look.” My eyes dart around the room, probably very crazy-person like. Did I really see what I think I saw?

  “What’s going on?” Ian asks.

  “Do me a favor,” I say, my lips to his ear. “Turn around slowly, and tell me what you see in that back booth in the corner.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it,” I demand, still using my stage whisper.

  “Okay,” he says reluctantly. Slowly he moves his body so he is standing slightly to the side, toward me, his torso leaning on my arm.

  I will not pay attention to the hard stomach muscles I can feel through his dress shirt. I. Will. Not.

  “What do you see?” I whisper.

  “Um, which table?” he asks, his head moving around.

  “Could you please try to look a little less obvious?” I say, my eyes widening at him with disapproval. “You are a horrible stalker.�
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  “Yes, that’s usually your job,” he say, leaning in even closer.

  “Shut up,” I say, getting impatient. I need to get confirmation, and then Ian and I need to hightail it out of here so we don’t get caught. “It’s the very back corner.”

  “The girl with the long, dark hair?” Ian asks, and I wait for him to make a typical comment that I’ve come to expect when anyone of the male species first lays eyes on Serene.

  “Yes, tell me what she’s doing,” I demand. Ian’s torso is still up against my arm. I can feel his chest move up and down as he breathes. Stop it, Bridgette. I need to concentrate.

  “She’s snuggling up to some guy, it looks like,” he says, keeping his face on me, but moving ever-so-slightly so he can spy effectively.

  “Oh, screw it,” I say. Grabbing Ian by the waist, I turn him slightly and then, standing in front of him, I pull him into a hug. He nuzzles his chin into my neck just like old times and for a split second I forget my real purpose in hugging him.

  “Now get a good look,” I say, once I’ve taken a deep breath to shake off the fact that we are so close, chest to chest, a not-so-genius move on my part.

  “Um, okay,” I feel his chin shift as he moves his head to get a good look. “She’s definitely snuggling with some guy. Oh, and —”

  “What,” I say into his ear, interrupting him.

  “Well, they’re no longer just snuggling,” he says, pulling out of the hug and gesturing for me look. I take a quick glance and then turn my head back. There’s no room for misunderstanding here. That’s definitely Serene, who’s now in a full-on make out session with someone that is definitely not Adam.

  “Hurry,” I say, as I grab Ian’s hand and head out the door of the café.

  “What was that all about?” Ian asks, as the door shuts behind us. We’re still holding hands.

  I look down at our adjoining hands and quickly let go. How easy it is to step back into old habits with Ian.

  “That was Serene. The current fiancée of my ex-boyfriend. But that was not my ex-boyfriend.”

  “Oh,” is all Ian says. “When did you break up?”

  “Um,” I say, feeling like my head is jumbled up, “like over four months ago.”