Page 28 of In For a Penny
“What does ‘pretty much everyone else’ mean?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“Um, everyone? You were the only one who didn’t cancel. But you were so excited, and I was organizing it, so I felt bad canceling, too.”
Record scratch sound.
“So…it’s just you and me? Alone? Together? Going alone on this day trip together alone?” I ask nervously, unsure exactly why I feel this sudden panic. I’m sure I sound like an idiot.
Josh tilts his head at me, looking at me like I’ve gone crazy, which I pretty much always have been, so not sure why this would be a surprise for him. “I mean, yes? Is that a problem?”
YES. Yes, it’s definitely a problem because, lately, it’s been a bit hard to breathe around you, and you’ve gotten to know me too well and anticipate my needs and be too supportive. I don’t think I can handle the amount of intimacy and positivity that you provide in my life. We tend to talk about serious and profound issues, and I don’t feel like spending an entire day alone with you, because I know you will be able to break me down emotionally, and then I’ll bond with you, and you’ll leave me. So yes, this is a problem.
“No, it’s cool,” I say with a shrug, padding in the direction of the platform.
Neither of us said anythingon the two-hour train ride to Salisbury, our first stop on our way to Stonehenge. We decided to walk around and tour the town before visiting the ancient monument and stretch our legs, during which time he proceeded to ask me constantly whether I was okay. I kept replying that I was fine, just tired. He didn’t seem to believe me, but I honestly had no idea what was going through my head. I had quite a long time to try and analyze my feelings during the train ride, but I was coming up short.
We arrived in town about a half-hour ago and have been walking around the square. What once used to be one of my favorite parts of our friendship, the ability to spend time together in companionable silence, seems to have left the building for the day. The truth is, this feels way too much like a date—and a bad one at that.
Josh is trying hard to make up for my weirdness by attempting to spark conversation, by commenting on the number of people in the square, or by telling me about the history of the town of Salisbury. The awkwardness is painful. Bless him for trying, but I’m so in my head I can’t process anything. I know I’m overreacting, but my mind keeps having this strange reaction to Josh where I want to spend time with him, but I immediately panic at the thought and have no idea why.
I nearly cry from relief as we enter the Salisbury Cathedral and are forced into silence as we roam the sizeable medieval church. In here, he won’t be able to force conversation. Visitors are requested to keep their voices down and keep conversation limited.
We originally came in to see the Magna Carta, but I’m suddenly captivated by the Gothic architecture. The cathedral had not been on my bucket list of things to see in the U.K. by a long shot, but it has now officially become one of my favorite spots. In the middle of admiring its incredibly tall and narrow nave, I forget about the fact that I seem to be on a faux date with my best friend as I feel him come up behind me.
I smile and turn to face him. My excitement is genuine. I love that we came here. I love that he thought to take me here. I love that he knows me like this.
I hate that he knows me like this.
I catch some of his grapefruit-and-melon scent—fruity but manly and comforting—and stare up into his bright eyes—more gold than green today. My breath hitches a little as I get the sudden urge to be held by him in the middle of the cathedral.
Abort! Abort!
“See?” he says in hushed tones, dragging me away from my reverie. “I’m so glad I didn’t cancel the whole trip. I knew you’d love this. That’s why I wanted to come in here before heading up to Stonehenge.”
I feel like someone has punched me in the gut, so I turn back to look up at the high ceilings, avoiding his gaze. I took art history in high school and college and had always had a thing for Gothic architecture and medieval times. It’s not an interest I’ve shared with him—or anyone, for that matter—so I have no idea how he would be so confident I would enjoy it. But that’s the thing about Josh, isn’t it? I don’t have to share everything about myself for him toknowme. I have to wonder whether he’s psychic, just really intuitive, or whether I’ve been opening myself up to him more than I realized.
“Come here,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and dragging me in the opposite direction. “Let’s go find the Magna Carta and check that baby out.” I tense under his arm, and he releases me, frowning a bit.
The scariest thing is that I think I know him that way too.
“It’s literally just a bunchof rocks. You know that, right? Apile o’ rocks.”I look at Josh as he pulls out his phone and takes another picture of the Stonehenge monument. “Like, I get the significance of it all; I swear I do. I just don’t understand why you insist on taking photos of it from every freaking angle. You’re making us look like tourists.”
He laughs at me as he continues to snap away. “They’re more boulders than rocks, I think. And also, you do realize that everyone here is a tourist? Other than the people who actually work here, we arealltourists.”
I try to hide my smile and roll my eyes jokingly at him. “Whatever,” I say. “You’re just giving me hardcore, American-tourist vibes right now, is what I mean. All that’s missing is your Teva sandals with socks and a fanny pack.”
“Iaman American tourist.” He flashes me a smile and proceeds to snap yet another shot of the prehistoric monument from a different angle. “But don’t worry, I’m definitely not a socks-and-sandals type of guy.”
Thank God.
By some holy miracle—which I am attributing to God’s divine intervention, given that we had just visited the Salisbury Cathedral—the awkwardness from this morning has all but disappeared. We are back to our teasing and relaxed selves, although I am dangerously close to hangry levels.
I need to be fed—and soon.
“Sorry, I know I’m acting grumpy. I think it might be Penny’s lunchtime. I need to be fed soon.” I laugh sheepishly.
“Here,” he says, pulling something out of his back pocket and tossing it at me. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we passed a bunch of really cool food trucks I’m curious to try. Will that hold you over for the next half hour while we wrap it up?”
I look down at what he’s handed me—another granola bar.
