10. Chapter Nine Gloria #2
“What do you usually eat?” he asks. Am I frustrating him? Does he think I’m entitled for not liking the restaurant he chose?
I shrug. “I usually cook for myself, so I don’t go out much. Usually I’ll have Filipino or Chinese food.”
Sometimes, London and I will eat dinner together and I’ll make Filipino dishes for him that remind me of home.
He doesn’t cook much, subsisting on cold sandwiches, boxed salads, or canned soups.
But when he does, we enjoy comparing Filipino foods like lumpia to Chinese spring rolls, or siningang with hot and sour soup, or mixing the two cultures together in a fusion that oddly works.
“Oh.” Lindon’s expression changes just the slightest bit. Now I really feel like I’m annoying him.
I want to change the subject. I don’t know why I’m expecting him to know me better than London, a guy I’ve known for almost a decade. I know I shouldn’t expect Lindon, a white guy, to understand how I feel about my culture’s cuisine.
“Have you been to this restaurant before?” I ask.
“A few times. Usually I bring women here on first dates.”
I expect some kind of jealousy or indignation to rise up in me when he says that, but none does. Of course it wouldn’t. What right do I have to be jealous over a guy I barely know?
“Since you’ve been here, why don’t you order for us? I’m sure you know what’s good. I have to use the bathroom.”
I practically shove the menu at him and walk briskly away from my date. It’s just a restaurant choice. Not a big deal. Why am I turning one culinary difference into a marker of incompatibility ?
In the bathroom, I dab at my lipstick even though all I’ve had is water, check my makeup, and reread my list that I’ve already memorized.
I should ask him about his hobbies. Maybe he collects something interesting like…
pet rocks. Okay, not pet rocks. And hopefully not flashy race cars or gambling debts.
“I ordered for us,” Lindon says when I return to the table.
“What did you get?” I ask. Please, don’t say something gross . Maybe this is ironic of me, since back home I regularly eat meals consisting of pig’s snouts and offal, but I don’t consider those things to be half as gross as the thought of eating snails.
“I got the steak with fries for both of us. Is medium rare okay?”
“Oh. Thanks. Medium rare is great.” A safe, normal meal. With a safe, normal guy. Who is not London.
My phone buzzes with a text, and the signature ringtone tells me it’s London.
London
How’s the date? Do you need me to rescue you yet?
I roll my eyes as I read the text, because how could he have known how I was feeling right at this moment?
“Sorry, that was my friend. He’s just making sure I didn’t need anything,” I say, texting back.
Gloria
Not unless boredom is a terminal illness.
“He?” Lindon repeats, arching an eyebrow.
“Men and women can be friends,” I say defensively. I hope he’s not one of those guys who insists that in all male-female friendships, one party has romantic interest in the other. Because London and I are just friends.
“I didn’t say otherwise. I was just… surprised. ”
“Why would you be surprised that I have male friends?”
“I just thought you’d be more, I don’t know, traditional than that. Not all… modern and progressive.”
I frown. “What’s so ‘modern’ and ‘progressive’ about being friends with men?” And what does he mean by traditional?
“You just seemed like the kind of girl who wants to get married and have kids, not screw around with a bunch of random guys.”
“He’s just my friend. We’re not screwing around or anything like that.” I’m keenly aware of how my skin heats, my voice rising despite my attempts to keep it at a normal volume. Going from never been kissed to being accused of hooking up with a bunch of men is insane.
“Oh, come on.” He spreads his hands out in a gesture of placating me. “You really mean you don’t have a bunch of male friends who are waiting in the wings to ask you out if this date goes wrong?”
“London isn’t ‘waiting in the wings to ask me out.’ He’s like a … like a brother to me.” The lie sits uncomfortably in my stomach. London is nothing like a brother to me, even if he did act protective when I told him about this date.
“And there’s no rule that says men and women can’t be friends.
” My cheeks flush, and I feel strangely defensive of my relationship with London.
As if Lindon’s words have pierced through me and seen the thoughts I used to harbour about London, the crush I had on him in college.
“Are you telling me that you don’t have female friends? ”
“No.” His answer is immediate, his tone brooking no argument. “I don’t.”
I blink. “I’m sorry that you have such a low opinion of women that you can only see them as potential hookups.”
I push my chair back from the table, grab my purse, and march toward the door. Lindon couldn’t be further from the truth. As if London would ever want to date me .
“Gloria!” He stands up, but doesn’t run after me. “You’re really going to leave, just like that?”
“Yes,” I snap. “And for the record, I hate French food.”
Stomping toward the door, I pull out my phone and text London back.
Gloria
Date just ended. Meet me at Scoops?
His reply comes only a few seconds later.
London
I’ll be there in twenty.