Lily and Dunkin
: Naming Things

Inside the cool, sweet, oily-smelling air of the Dunkin’ Donuts, the boy buys two iced coffees and hands me one. I don’t usually drink coffee, but I’m happy to have something to do with my hands. He also buys himself a jelly doughnut, but I shake my head when he points at the racks of doughnuts behind the counter.

At our little table, he takes a loud slurp of coffee. “Ahh,” he says, “liquid energy.”

He sounds so confident and genuine. I sip my coffee. It needs sugar, but I don’t get up to get any.

“So?” he says.

“So?” I say, but understand what he really wants to know. Ask him his name. What school he goes to. Anything to avoid the question.

“Did I…? Weren’t you…?” He ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed.

I wait for a full question that doesn’t come.

People walk into the store.

“You want to go somewhere else?” I ask, feeling my cheeks get warm just thinking about telling him in such a crowded space.

“Definitely,” he says, sliding out of the seat, holding his Dunkin’ bag with his doughnut and his sweaty cup of iced coffee. “I always want to go somewhere else.”

I try to figure out what he means as we venture back outside. Heat rushes over me like an ocean wave.

“Is it always this hot here?” he asks as we walk. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I slurp the bitter coffee. “Only until November fifteenth.”

“That’s incredibly specific,” he says. “Does God, like, have a calendar or something and on November fifteenth, He turns on the cosmic air conditioner down here?”

I like the image of God turning on a cosmic air conditioner. “Something like that.”

The boy takes a long swig of coffee and swipes the back of his mouth with his hand, the one holding the Dunkin’ bag. “Because, really, I don’t know how I’ll survive this heat until…November fifteenth?”

“For starters,” I say, motioning toward his legs. “You might want to rethink your choice of pants. Shorts work better.” Though a skirt or dress works best.

A flash of hurt crosses his face, and I want to apologize even though I don’t know what I said wrong. Maybe there’s something the matter with his legs. Maybe he has scars from burns or something. I sip my bitter coffee to keep from saying anything else.

We end up back where we started, where I first dumped a pile of terrifying leaves on his head. I open my arms wide and announce, “This is Bob.”

The boy looks around. “Where?”

I touch the bark of my banyan tree. “This is Bob.”

“You named a tree?”

I rap my knuckles on Bob’s sturdy trunk. “Named him after my grandfather.”

The boy nods. “That’s cool. Did your grandfather work with trees or something?”

I laugh. “Nope. He started a T-shirt shop—We’ve Got You Covered. My dad helps run it now with my grandmom.” Just mentioning Dad makes my stomach tighten. Maybe I’ll print him out information about hormone blockers from the Internet. Again.

“That’s different,” the boy says. “Cute name.”

I sit on the sparse grass near Bob’s trunk. The boy sits beside me, stretches out his long, corduroy-covered legs and runs his hand over the grass. “You know, the grass here is tougher than where I’m from.”

“St. Augustine.”

“No, I’m from New Jersey. Where’s St. Augustine?”

I laugh. “The grass is called St. Augustine.” I run my hand over it. “Built to be hardy and withstand our crazy heat. St. Augustine is also an old city in Florida, a few hours north of here.”

The boy raises his eyebrows. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

I feel myself blush. “Your name.”

An emotion flashes across his face. Hurt? Disappointment? I said something wrong again, but what?

“I…don’t like my name.”

Neither do I.

“It’s…” He runs a hand through his dark, curly hair. The gesture reminds me of Dad.

I won’t make fun of it. Promise.

“My name’s—”

He sounds like he’s in pain. I glance at the bag in his hand and blurt, “Dunkin.”

“Huh?”

“Your name. It’s Dunkin.” I point to the bag. “Right?” I ask, hoping he’ll play along.

“Now I know you don’t know everything,” he says. “It’s definitely not Dunkin. It’s—”

“It can be Dunkin.” And suddenly, I don’t want to know the name he doesn’t like. “Or at least, I can call you Dunkin if you don’t like your actual name.” I understand not liking your actual name.

“I like the name Dunkin,” he says, holding up his Dunkin’ bag. “I really like it. A whole lot. Get it? Like the hole from a doughnut. Ha!” His voice gets quicker and clipped, probably from drinking all that coffee. “Dunkin’s cool. It’s really cool. I’ve got to tell my mom. I’ll bet Phineas will like it, too.”

My brain feels like it’s working through a swamp, trying to keep up with Dunkin’s wild rush of words. Who’s Phineas?

Dunkin takes his doughnut from the bag and holds it with the square of wax paper. “Can I ask you something?”

I take a deep breath. Be brave, Lily. Be brave.

“You want a bite of my doughnut?”

I laugh and nod, feeling my hair fall back onto my shoulders. It’s so hot. I wish I’d put it up in a ponytail. “That’s what you wanted to ask?”

“Nope. This is: What’s your name?”

“It’s complicated.” I surprise myself with my answer. Usually, I say “Tim” or “Timothy” but think Lily. I guess I’m tired of thinking the truth but saying a lie.

“It’s Complicated,” he says, tapping his chin, which I notice has some stubble on it. He must already be shaving. I touch my own chin, panicked because I feel a new hair. I have to get hormone blockers! “It’s Complicated is an unusual name,” he quips.

Who is this tall, funny guy? And why did he have to wait until the last six days of summer to walk past my house? He’s expecting me to tell him my name. A perfectly reasonable request. “My name’s Timothy.” Fail. “Tim. But I don’t really like it.” Better. Tell him why. “It’s just…a dumb name. It doesn’t suit me. I don’t know.” You do know!

Dunkin nods like I’ve said something meaningful, but I know I’ve told him nothing that matters.

“Look, I know I don’t know you,” he says. His right knee is bobbing, which reminds me of my talk with Dad this morning, of his impatience with me. “But I have to ask you something. And it might sound crazy. Okay?”

I hold my breath, squeezing my hands into fists, and barely nod.

“Weren’t you, um…” He takes a big bite of doughnut and talks with his mouth full. “Wearing a dress this morning?”

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.