“Weird question, but what name do you want to be called?” I blurt without an ounce of finesse. He chuckles softly. We start walking again, shifting our eyes to the ground, the road, and our surroundings.
“I decided to go by Daniel in fifth grade when kids were calling meJudy. Once I got into high school, I didn’t care anymore, but it was a little late to tell the whole baseball team and everyone I knew to change it back. My mom and Aunt J, really most of my family, still call me Jude. Sometimes JD because they never got used to Daniel, and that was a compromise.”
“On any given day people call you Daniel, Danny, DC, JD, and Jude. Isn’t that confusing?”
“Nah, I’m used to it. You forgot Uncle DD.”
“Oh, yeah. Why does Kami call you DD?”
“No idea.” He laughs. “When a baby names you, you just accept it.”
“What am I supposed to call you?”
Dang it.I walked right into that one.
“Daddy?”
I roll my eyes when he laughs but can’t hide my smile.
It’s what any of the guys would say. Annie too, probably. I let go to elbow his side and he swerves out of reach but comes back to reclaim my hand.
“For a while, I thought you knew, because when I play ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ in the car you always change it to ‘Hey Jude,’ but I didn’t know if you did that because of me or the song.”
“Madly in love with the song,” I say as he hip-checks me.
“Well, I know you set ‘Hey Jude’ as my ringtone. You must think about me every time you hear it. Want to analyze that?”
“Nope. But I hear that ringtone a lot. I wonder why.” I bump him back. Anyone watching us would think we’re drunk, weaving back and forth on the sidewalk. I lean my head against his arm. “No one else calls you Jude, but I can? It won’t be weird?” Uh-oh, here comes sleepy Lucy. It’s a good thing I don’t drink.
“You’re plenty weird, but I answer when you flip the light switch, so odds are good that I’ll answer to my first name or anything else from you.”
“Okay, then. You’re my Jude.”
What am I saying?
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“I’m all yours, Punk.”
“Mine, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
There should be a joke or something right here. I got nothin,’ so I pull his hand to me and squeeze.
I can confidently tell the others I love them. Sam even makes Jace and I say it when we argue, and it’s been strangely therapeutic. My family isn’t all that affectionate, and apparently my face gives off “don’t touch me” vibes since I was called Grizzly Bear in middle school.
But it’s different with Jude. Possibly because I was already in his arms when we met.
He puts a cold energy drink in my hand when I’m half asleep and plans his day around helping me, though I’d never ask. That says more than Sammy’s full-body attack hug or shouting “Love you, Lu Lu” across the Social Sciences parking lot.
It says, “I know you.”
Romantic or not, something’s different.
We get to our townhouse village and amble across the well-lit parking lot. We must’ve clocked a snail’s pace, because everyone seems to be inside for the night.
I’m dangerously tired. My defenses are low, my judgment is cloudy, and in this state of mind, it’s hard to remember why I’m committed to a man who rarely shows any commitment to me.
