Wanderlust

by Thea Dawson

  I hesitated over my last bite of sorbet. “Well, he’s nice, and I’d like to be on good terms with him. I don’t know. I just want … resolution, maybe?”

  “There you go.” He nodded sagely. “You never got resolution. You never truly called it quits, just drifted apart. So now you’re looking for a way to put this to rest, once and for all.”

  I sat in silence for a moment. There was some truth to that. “You should have been a shrink instead of a financial consultant,” I said.

  He shrugged. “It’s the same thing,” he said. “But I’ll warn you, sunshine—once he finds out you’re single, he’s even less likely to stay in touch with you. He’ll feel weird about having an old flame around now that he’s engaged. So make the most of this meeting with him. No pussyfooting around, thinking you’ll have a chance to go deep later.”

  “Um, actually, I was thinking I’d just let him keep thinking I’m engaged,” I added, feeling my face get hot.

  There was a rather long silence. “Why’s that?”

  I paused. The Plan was hard to put into words. “I just … I wouldn’t want there to be any complications. If we’re both engaged, then all we can be is friends. No one gets hurt.”

  “In other words, you want him to think you’ve forgotten all about him and moved on, preferably by being engaged to some completely fabulous dude, and rubbing his face into it.”

  “I have moved on.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I am over him.” I got up and began clearing the dishes. “Look, I’m heading to Thailand in a few weeks, and I’ll be in Southeast Asia at least until summer. We’re not going to be BFF, see-each-other-every-day-forever friends. We’re just …” I gave up. “Fine. You’re right. I want him to think I’ve moved on. If he’s engaged to some cute California girl, I want to be engaged to some hot, handsome dude myself.”

  “Well, now that you’re being honest about your dishonesty, I fully support you.”

  “You do?”

  “Sugarcube, I love intrigue and deception. I live for it. Why do you think I work in finance?” He shrugged. “Gossip’s been thin around here since Patrick left. This sounds like it could be fun.”

  “So … you won’t mind if I get engaged to you?”

  “Oh-ho!” He rubbed his hands together. “I like the idea of being engaged. We could go pick out silverwear patterns, maybe convince someone to buy us a Vitamix—”

  “For crying out loud, you already have a Blendtec, and you don’t even use that. Anyway, you’ll probably never even meet him. I just don’t want you to out me by accident.”

  “Well, as long as you don’t in me. I’ll never get a date in this town again if it gets around that I’m engaged to a girl.” He shuddered, as if the very word had cooties.

  “Deal.” I laughed.

  “But seriously,” he said, standing up and starting to pick up some of the plates, “be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt. This apartment doesn’t need a second mopey bastard in it.”

  I started to say that the whole point of pretending I was engaged was so I wouldn’t get hurt, but that sounded sort of cowardly, so I didn’t. “So you don’t think he’s going to call me?” I prodded.

  He shook his head. “No, I think you’re going to have to make the first move here, darling. It’d be nice if you had some kind of excuse. Any mutual friends in the area, alumni stuff, things like that?”

  My mother’s mention of the alumni social flashed through my mind, but a better thought followed right after. “Oh, I have his gloves!” I had actually forgotten about them until now, and quickly filled Stephen in.

  He rolled his eyes at me as if I’d skipped the most important part of the whole story. “Well, there we go! Get your laptop, roomie. We have an old boyfriend to stalk.”

  Chapter 9

  Jason

  Chip’s advice promptly forgotten, I arranged to meet Monica for drinks that Friday after work. In the meantime, I rummaged through a box of things I’d been meaning to take to Goodwill, and found a cheap pair of gloves. They weren’t great, but they’d be enough to keep frostbite at bay.

  In my office, Friday meant leaving at six rather than six-thirty or seven, but that afternoon I left at five on the dot, earning some dirty looks from my officemates, and a hard glare from Joe, my boss. I sighed to myself, but tried to look nonchalant as I sauntered out the door. That severance package was probably too much to hope for, anyway. As the first blast of lake-effect wind hit me in the face, it occurred to me that I should really research unemployment benefits more carefully. Would they transfer from Illinois to New York? How much would I be eligible for? If I took the job with my dad, I could make my nest egg stretch quite a while, but I couldn’t afford to overlook any other income I might be able to get.

  By five-thirty I was at the pub Monica had suggested, and looked around eagerly. I didn’t see her, but I grabbed a small table with a view of the door. I’d barely had a chance to get my coat off when I saw her come in. I waved her over.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said as we managed another hug, less awkward this time.

  “Not late at all,” I replied. She smelled of something faintly exotic, and a silky strand of her hair brushed my cheek as we hugged. I tried to breathe her in without being obvious about it.

  “I have something for you,” she said, reaching into her bag and putting my gloves on the table. “Bet you missed them!”

  “Nice work, running off with my gloves.”

  “It was a good excuse to track you down and make you have drinks with me,” she said with a grin. She peeled off her own gloves and her hat and shrugged off her coat—which, like a gentleman, I took from her to hang up—and I was finally able to get a good look at her.

  Her hair, which had reached halfway down her back in college, was shorter now, but still long, falling past her shoulders in chestnut waves. She wore a fitted black knit dress that showed off her slender figure and long legs. In concession to the cold, she wore ribbed tights and a pair of fur-lined boots. It was a quirky but flattering look, polished off with an unusual necklace made with layers of colorful ceramic beads. It lay above the scoop neckline of her dress and accented her creamy skin.

  “Cool necklace,” I said.

  “Thanks,” she said, touching it self-consciously as she scooted onto one of the high chairs at the little table. “I got it in Kenya.”

  “Awesome. I had a look at your blog. Sounds like you’ve traveled everywhere.”

  She nodded and her eyes lit up. “Not quite everywhere, but a hundred different countries as of last August,” she said with a grin. “It’s been pretty awesome.”

  We ordered a couple of drinks. It was easy to ask her about her travels and her job. She had plenty of fascinating stories. My own moves from the east coast to the west coast to the Midwest seemed pretty mundane in comparison.

  “Ever have any problems?” I asked. “Pretty girl, all alone in a strange country—seems like you’d be a target.”

  She shook her head. “Minor stuff. I’ve had my pocket picked once or twice, gotten ripped off plenty of times, but nothing really scary. Not crime-wise, anyway. Things like riding in a rickety van along cliffs in China, that’s scary.” She laughed. “Most places, honestly, I’m probably safer there than I would be getting across town in Chicago.”

  “Do you get lonely?”

  She shook her head. “No, you meet a lot of people on the road. I meet lots of other travelers, and sometimes I travel with them for a while. And I meet lots of local people, too. So many parts of the world, people are really friendly. They can tell I’m a foreigner, and they want to get to know me or practice their English so they’ll show me around or invite me to their house for dinner.” She caught the look on my face. “Why are you smiling like that?” she asked.

  I laughed. “In college, remember, you freaked out that time your roommate left your door unlocked—at lunchtime, no less—and now you’re all, ‘Oh, I’ve been pick pocketed once or twi
ce, I go over to strange people’s houses for dinner, no big deal.’”

  She blushed and shrugged a little sheepishly. “It really isn’t a big deal. There’ve been a few times, I guess, when my guardian angel’s had to work overtime, but mostly it’s been really positive.”

  I was surprised—and relieved—that she didn’t find a way to work her engagement into the conversation. Most engaged girls I knew never missed a chance to say something ridiculous like, “Oh, you just saw that movie? So did my wedding planner. In fact, speaking of my wedding planner …”

  Meghan had been like that. I’d found it both cute and embarrassing, and it made it all the more surprising when she’d dumped me out of the blue. In retrospect, I think maybe she wanted to get married more than she wanted to get married to me. I tried to put thoughts of her out of my mind, but reflexively, I glanced at Monica’s left hand.

  The ring gleamed on her finger like an elephant in the room. I didn’t really want to ask about her fiancé, but I knew sooner or later I’d have to say something to be polite. I finally forced myself.

  “So tell me about this guy!” I said, gesturing at her left hand. “Is he a traveler, too?”

  She started to blush, and looked nervous. I was torn between thinking how adorable she still was and fighting off a surge of jealousy at how she must feel about this guy.

  “Ah, let’s see … His name’s Stephen. Um, he’s tall and very good looking and nice …” She paused, looking down at her hands and blushing even more. “We met in Hong Kong. He’s a financial consultant, and he was working there for a couple of years. We met at a party. It turned out he’d grown up in St. Paul, and we even knew a few people in common. So that’s how it started. That was, wow, about five years ago. Now he works in the Loop, so here we are.”

  “Fantastic. I guess you’re going to settle down, then, after you’re married? You must be sick of the whole long-distance thing. He probably doesn’t have a lot of flexibility with his job.”

  She looked thoughtful. “Oh. Yeah. Yes. I, um, I’m really looking forward to it. You know, settling down, having a place of my—our own. I mean, we’ll still travel, we’ll just do it on a different level. A couple of weeks in style, not six months backpacking. That sort of thing.”

  She looked uncomfortable. Obviously, this was going to be a big change from what she was used to. I wondered if she’d really thought it through all the way.

  “How about you?” she asked brightly. “Anyone special in your life?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t like talking about Meghan, and I didn’t want Monica feeling sorry for me. “Nah.” I shook my head. “No one special.”

  She looked taken aback. “No one?”

  “Nope.” I shrugged. “Still a swinging single.”

  She stared at me as if she didn’t quite believe me. “Really?” She paused and laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I’m surprised. You’re a pretty good catch, after all.”

  I laughed too, but I felt I had to account for my single-ness somehow. “Thanks. I, uh, I actually got engaged about a year ago to this girl named Meghan, but it didn’t work out. We met when I was living out in San Francisco, but after I got the job here, well, she didn’t want to leave the Bay Area, and she didn’t want to do the long distance thing, so …” I paused, not really wanting to get too deeply into the whole Mess That Had Been Meghan. “It didn’t work out,” I repeated lamely.

  Monica looked truly stricken for me. She even went a bit pale. “I’m … Gosh, Jason, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s for the best. I know that’s a cliché, but it really is. It would have been a big mistake.” I tried to keep my voice light, but Monica still looked truly shaken. Maybe she was thinking how awful she’d feel if she and this Stephen fellow broke it off. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m over it. I mean, it sucked at the time, but it’s cool now. For the best. Honest.”

  She nodded absently. “Um … well, tell me about your job,” she said, obviously trying to change the subject. Which would have been fine, except that the only thing I wanted to talk about less than Meghan was my career.

  And here’s the part I’m not so proud of.

  Here was my gorgeous ex-girlfriend, my One Who Got Away, now engaged to some fabulously handsome, successful guy, and here I was, telling her how my own fiancée had dumped me. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her what a FUBAR my career was, too.

  I didn’t lie.

  I just left out the bad parts.

  “I work in accounts for an advertising agency called Duncan & Bourne.”

  “Hey, I’ve actually heard of them!” Monica said. “I thought it was a Madison Avenue company? It’s been around forever, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, they’re pretty well known. Founded in 1958. They’re based in New York, but they have branches here and in San Francisco. I was originally working for a different company out there, which unfortunately folded, so I applied for a position at Duncan & Bourne. The bad news was that I didn’t get the job.” I took a breath. “The good news was that they ended up offering me a better position out here.”

  I grinned and gave my modest-yet-triumphant shrug. It was a good story—at least it had been until I’d realized what an utterly miserable place D&B was to work.

  “That’s awesome!” Monica’s face lit up. “I mean, if I’ve heard of them, they must be a pretty big deal. Do you like working there?”

  “Well, you know, the hours are long, and there’s a lot of pressure to bring in accounts, but it’s incredible experience. I’ve learned a lot. Made connections.” I nodded as if I were carefully considering the many advantages of being a Duncan & Bourne employee. “I feel very lucky to be there.” Okay, that part was a lie. I decided to move the conversation away from work. “I have to admit, I really miss San Francisco, though. Great city. Have you ever been there?”

  She nodded. “A couple of times. I apartment-sat for a friend there, just last year, for a couple of weeks in between assignments. I really enjoyed it, but it was pretty pricey compared to what I’m used to.”

  “Not cheap, and getting more expensive by the minute, I’m afraid.” I wanted to get the topic of conversation off me, but I also sincerely wanted to hear more about what she’d been doing. Part of me was jealous that she’d been leading such an interesting life, but I also just liked watching the way her eyes lit up and how her gestures became animated. I liked listening to her voice and her laughter. “When were you there?” I asked, eager to keep the conversation going.

  Chapter 10

  Monica

  “Last May, I guess it was,” I mumbled. Crap! So much for The Plan, I thought to myself, struggling to keep up with the small talk.

  “Just missed you. I moved out here at the end of April,” he replied.

  I nodded absently.

  Especially after the elaborate story I’d told, I simply couldn’t think of a way to backtrack—Oh, just kidding! It’s really my grandmother’s ring!—without sounding like a total moron. I’d have had to confess that I’d been pretending to be engaged because I’d thought he was engaged, and when he asked why I thought he was engaged, I’d have had to admit that I’d Googled him. We could have been casting flirty glances at each other, making plans for another date, making out like teenagers in front of the whole bar.

  But no, I’d messed that up.

  What was worse was that he was becoming steadily more attractive the longer we talked. He still had that easygoing, relaxed sense of fun that I remembered from college. He’d filled out some since then, but I could tell he was still in really good shape. Back in college, I loved running my hands up and down his toned swimmer’s arms. Briefly, I pictured myself doing it again, but pushed the thought away and tried to focus on the conversation. He smiled a lot, and his green eyes twinkled, but he was attentive—I could tell he was really listening to me and enjoying our conversation. It was an extremely sexy combination.

  And I was engaged to my gay roommate.

  The waiter st
opped by our table to pick up our now-empty glasses, and gave us a questioning look.

  “You want another one?” Jason asked me.

  “Umm, sure. You willing to stick around a bit longer?”

  “Nothing I’d rather do,” he replied, that sexy smile lighting up his face.

  The waiter nodded politely in response to Jason’s request for two more of the same. Inside my head, I was screaming at myself.

  Okay, Destiny. You got me this far. I admit, I screwed up. How about giving me a hand and helping me out of this situation?

  “So,” he said, “tell me more about your adventures. Where’s one place you haven’t been yet that you’d really like to go?”

  “Hmm, quite a few places. There’s a Hindu temple complex on Java called Prambanan. I’ve been on the island twice, but both times I didn’t go there, which is sort of ridiculous. And I’d really like to go to Afghanistan, mostly, I guess, just to say I’d been there. But it’s not exactly tourist friendly at the moment.”

  “No, I hate to think of you traveling in places like that. What’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to you?”

  “Oh, gosh, let me think … once, when I was in Calcutta, I met this guy who invited me to his cousin’s wedding …” I rambled on about the two days I’d spent as an unexpected guest at a wealthy Hindu wedding, the irony of talking about a wedding in the wake of two non-engagements not lost on me. I segued into my story about being on a tourist bus from Laos to Vietnam, only to realize that it was actually run by smugglers, and the bus was stuffed full of contraband items.

  Jason shook his head in admiration. “This is just amazing. I never realized you had such an adventurous side.”

  I felt stab of … what? Anger? Resentment? You might have realized if you hadn’t been trying so hard to keep me from going anywhere, I found myself thinking.

  Maybe my feelings showed on my face; there was an awkward silence for a moment. I groped for something to say.