Chapter 20 #2
I’m not the one who gets flustered. It’s usually the other way around.
Then again, Brennan, I’m quickly discovering, isn’t like the “nice guys” I’m used to.
The ones whose true intentions reveal they’re more interested in the things I can do for them (money/fame/status) rather than in me as a person.
But with Brennan, I can tell his good looks and good nature go more than skin-deep.
Every part about him is as advertised. He likes science.
He likes helping others. And I still can’t figure out if he likes me, per se, but it’s clear he likes spending time with us.
Hopefully I’ll have more chances with him to find out.
Between encouraging Gavin to initiate conversation and making sure he and Callie had space, I barely had time to banter with Brennan today.
But somehow, as Gavin and Callie rejoin us, all smiles, it doesn’t feel like I missed out on anything.
“What were you two talking about quietly?” I ask Gavin as soon as we leave the building to walk back home. I’ve been dying to know.
His face reddens at the question. “You saw that?”
“What can I say? I’m observant.”
“Callie offered to show me how to harvest honey on her farm next week.”
“Like a date?” I jab him in the side with a finger.
“Ow.” He jerks away, avoiding my jab along with the question.
“It’s a date,” I squeal, determining for myself.
“She’s just showing me how to make honey.”
“I’m sure she is.” I waggle my brows at him.
“Grow up, El,” he says, but he’s unable to hide a smile.
And more importantly he’s unable to tell me definitively that this is not not a date.
Which makes it all worth the many missed opportunities with Brennan today.
I guess that’s the upside of being here longer.
I can work on my relationship status later.
But first I need to help Gavin with his.
As soon as we get home, I sit him down on his bed and tell him to listen up.
“Here’s what you need to wear,” I say, holding up an appropriately suitable—and, more importantly, suited to his body type—outfit for a first date.
“I told you, no makeovers.” Gavin has his hands up, warding me off.
“I know you did,” I say. “I just didn’t agree to it.”
“Elena,” he says.
“Gavin,” I say in his naggy voice. “Why do you always have to say no before yes? Just save us some time and do what I say.” I put my hands on his shoulders, gently forcing him into a sitting position on his bed so he can listen to the short but imperative presentation I have planned.
“From what I’ve learned about you these past few weeks, you are nothing like the uptight rule follower that your style would suggest. I’m just trying to make your outside accurately match who you are on the inside. ”
“These aren’t uptight. They’re smart,” he says defensively, motioning to his slacks and button-down dress shirt. “Dad says to dress for the job you want, not the one you have.”
“My point exactly. Are you going to a board meeting or a date?”
“A date, but—”
A wry smile appears on my lips when I finally get him to admit this is a date. “But nothing,” I say, cutting him off. “These slacks are boring; you need something more relaxed. That way she’ll be relaxed, and you both can be yourselves when you get to know each other better.”
He agrees with me, albeit begrudgingly, and takes the T-shirt and shorts I laid out for him.
“Now that you look more like you, let’s have you sound like you.” And because he has a confused look on his face, I explain, “You need help in the conversation department.”
He opens his mouth to argue with me, but soon after closes it when he realizes he has no argument. “Fine. How do I start the conversation?”
“You don’t. She does. Let her do the talking, and you do the listening.”
“That’s not what Dad said when I first started dating Sonya. He said I need to lead with authority. To take charge of the situation so she knows I’m a strong man who can take care of her.”
I purse my lips with a hand on my hip. “Did he also tell you to pee all around her so that the other territorial males would stay away?”
After letting my words sink in, he gestures for me to continue. “Point taken,” he says.
“Okay, so, first start by asking her questions about herself. Listen intently to her responses. Then—and this is an important step—when she finishes telling you something interesting about herself, follow it up with another question related to what she said, and whatever you do, do not, I repeat, do not follow up by relating it to something about you.”
He blinks. “That’s it?” he says after a beat. “That’s the secret?”
“You’d be surprised by how little it takes to be a decent human being.
Taking a vital piece of information about the other person and making it about yourself doesn’t make you a good listener.
It makes you a narcissist,” I say. “Trust me, Gavin. It’s the same reason why you shouldn’t wear a strapless dress with tan lines, why you shouldn’t wear tube socks with shorts, and why single men with no children shouldn’t drive panel vans—because that kind of behavior isn’t a good look. ”
“Okay,” he says, convinced. “So basically don’t do anything Dad told me to do.”
I wouldn’t have put it that way, but it happens to be true. So I agree with his assessment.
The tufts of his hair have finally grown out, but Gavin has not adjusted to the appropriate style the new length requires. “I don’t have time today, but next time I’ll do your hair.”
“No.” He puts his hands up firmly. “I have limits too.”
My eyes bulge just slightly at his sharp tone. “Got it. No hair.”
His brows furrow skeptically. “Why are you smiling, then?”
“Because,” I say, taking inventory of him, “my work is starting to take effect. You’re finally finding your voice.”
He rolls his eyes familiarly. What’s not familiar is the smile that accompanies it.
—
It’s been a week since I’ve officially run out of lavender bath salts, the only remedy that keeps me calm during this transition period.
And yet a noticeable peace washes over me that I haven’t felt in a while.
Hanging out with Callie, Brennan, and Gavin was not only unexpectedly pleasant, but it felt similar to the type of fun I used to have after going out to an event or a party.
Which I know doesn’t make sense, like comparing apples to apple martinis.
What’s even weirder is that today wasn’t even about me.
It was about Gavin. Helping Gavin become the person he wants to be has reignited my sense of purpose that’s been missing since we got here.
My life is starting to make sense again.
In Blaire, that is. Not sure what it means for my life back in LA.
By now more than two weeks have passed, and I’m no longer at the silent retreat I told my friends I was at. I wonder where they think I am.
Then I remember I don’t have to wonder. Today is maintenance day, something I just learned about.
It’s the one day a month when the use of radio waves is allowed.
I check the clock. The town will have cellular reception for one more hour.
So while Gavin is in the bathroom showering, I don’t waste any time.
I find my phone where Mom left it in the kitchen drawer and turn it on.
I wait impatiently for the screen to illuminate, silently praying the battery isn’t drained.
With my eyes clenched closed, I jump when a rapid succession of pinging comes from my phone with the messages and voicemails coming through. Success!
I start reading the messages right away.
The latest ones from my friends are time-stamped from the day we moved to Blaire.
Noticing that their texts were no longer being delivered since my phone was on airplane mode, I bet they stopped sending messages.
The rest of the texts are junk, so I ignore them and begin the daunting task of sifting through the barrage of voicemails.
I delete the ones that don’t matter, beginning with the least important ones.
First are messages from superfans with blocked numbers professing their undying love for me.
Gross. As much as I value each and every one of my fans, the weirdos don’t count.
Delete. Next is the bulk of messages from reporters and media producers wanting a statement or an interview.
Leeches. Delete. Then there are a handful of messages from people I haven’t spoken to in forever who are coming out of the woodwork out of gossipy interest. Ew.
Delete. One by one I swipe left on the messages of no importance.
When my inbox is cleared, I’m startled to realize that it’s not the only thing that’s empty.
Where are the calls offering to lend me a hand or a shoulder to cry on?
Or the ones calling me to go on an In-N-Out run or shopping spree?
Where are the calls asking me if I’m doing okay?
My mind starts to rationalize the radio silence from my friends.
I bet they’re busy vacationing, or their careers are pulling them in different locations around the world.
But when it comes down to it, every version of the truth I come up with leads me to the same conclusion.
No matter how busy people are, no matter how far they go, people make an effort if it’s important to them. Right?
When the water shuts off in the bathroom, I return my phone to the drawer in the kitchen. By the time Gavin comes out of the bathroom, I’m in bed, pretending to sleep. With my eyes closed, my mind is racing.
As all of my friends have aspirations to be public figures, I understand why they would want to keep their distance from me publicly.
But that shouldn’t stop them from sending me private messages.
Looking back I can see that my friends and I only hung out when there was an event to go to, a premiere to attend, or a party to make an appearance at.
I was the gateway to fun and exciting things.
Now that the paid events are gone, does that mean my friendships are too?
Was Gavin right? Were our friendships so shallow that I could easily be dropped as soon as I wasn’t needed?
Excerpt
“Confidence is the key to making any outfit shine, but when you wear it with a suit, no one will doubt your abilities.”
The American Dream Achieved: The Story of Dale Ok, Founder of It’s Ok!
Transcript
60 Minutes Interview with Gloria Ok
Interviewer: Why don’t we start at the beginning? Where did you grow up?
Gloria: I grew up in postwar Korea. It was an economically poor time.
My parents were recruited, along with Dale’s parents, to cultivate the land in Anbandegi, in the eastern coastal city of Gangneung.
It’s about a three-hour drive east of Seoul.
I have to say that because everyone thinks all of Korea is Seoul.
Kind of like people in Korea think California is LA.
[laughs] Anyway, when my parents first started farming, the government gave us a bag of rice every day we worked the uncultivated, mountainous land.
The inclined terrain made it impossible to use agricultural machinery.
We had to use handheld tools like shovels and pickaxes.
Interviewer: Sounds like it was tough.
Gloria: It was hard, but even harder was finding something to harvest. The landscape seemed impossible to grow anything.
We nearly starved. Then we discovered the moisture in the high altitude was the perfect climate to cultivate cabbage.
Today Anbandegi is famous for its cabbage, which is known for its sweet and rich flavor.
Interviewer: That’s quite a story.
Gloria: It is. You see, in failing, we learned how to succeed.