3. Chapter Two London
Chapter Two: London
I ’m packing up my briefcase at the end of the workday when an unfamiliar piece of paper slides out of one of my files.
It’s got a jagged edge, like it was ripped out of a notebook, and lines of handwriting fill the page.
The top line is in Gloria’s handwriting: THE BOYFRIEND LIST . My eyes greedily roam the page before I can stop myself.
This is obviously a personal note. I don’t know how it got mixed in with my papers, but I shouldn’t keep reading.
Yet I can’t help staring at the list. Half of the items are written in a different hand, making me think she made this list with a friend—Raina, maybe?
Gloria’s handwriting is neat as always, with little circles over the letter i ‘s and j ‘s in place of dots. I scan the items, smothering a laugh at some of them. She’s written a myriad of qualities, some more eccentric than others.
Some of the criteria apply to me, like not wearing ripped jeans. But why am I letting myself consider whether I could live up to Gloria’s boyfriend list? In all the years that we’ve been friends, she’s never shown any interest in me.
She’s never given me any sly hints that she wants to go out with me, never brushed her hand against my arm during a late-night study session or gotten jealous of other women. Gloria is obviously not into me .
Because I can’t ride a horse, do water sports, or sing karaoke. If she’s looking for that in a man, I’m the last person she would pick.
I lead a life that’s steady, predictable, and under control. It’s carefully cultivated, after all the chaos of growing up with four siblings. Not to mention parents who tolerated each other’s presence enough to have five children, but not enough to make their marriage a happy one.
The most exotic thing about me is my name. Our parents named all of us—Troy, Brooklyn, Paris, and Savannah—after cities they’ve visited. I’m named after London, Ontario .
Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve scanned the list into my notes app and tucked the paper back into Gloria’s desk drawer, one she frequently opens.
It contains random notes, like grocery lists and reminders of doctor’s appointments. The perfect place for her to store a list like this. Except the results of this one are far more consequential than a reminder to buy milk and eggs.
Gloria’s making a list of things she wants in a boyfriend.
Which means she’s looking for a boyfriend.
Which means she’s not just trying to casually date men named Jebediah. Or Jebob. Or whatever his name is.
Which means…
I might lose her.
Even if I never had a chance with her. I shouldn’t even want a chance with her, given everything that’s wrong with my life.
The thought of her dating anyone else makes me want to punch a brick wall.
You can’t date her , my logical mind whispers. She wants a family.
My gaze latches on to item number 15: He has to want marriage and a family. I’m clearly not her ideal candidate. Even if she was attracted to me, I could never give her the things she needs. Gloria has always wanted a family. And I never have.
My parents fought incessantly, my siblings ignored it or didn’t care, and I shouldered the burden of being my parents’ marriage counsellor and emotional garbage disposal.
I couldn’t risk doing the same to a child. And I couldn’t risk doing that to Gloria.
So it’s selfish of me to try to fulfill her boyfriend list when I can never be her boyfriend. Or her husband.
I close the drawer and make my way back to my own desk, thinking about my own attempts at relationships.
I’ve tried dating other women, but they never compared to Gloria.
I just dated them to get my siblings to stop teasing me for being single.
I could never have been attached to them the way I am to her.
I didn’t need to scan the list with my phone. I’ve already memorized it and seen all the ways I fall painfully lacking, with my dull hobbies and my turbulent family.
It would be selfish of me to waste her time on false hope. Selfish of me to keep her from dating a man who’s healthy and whole and unburdened by familial baggage.
But what if I was enough? What if I could be the man for her? What if, despite all my flaws and foibles, I could be the man she wants? Needs? Deserves?
What if I could change?
“Hey, London!” Gloria comes back to her desk, and I startle. “Ready to go?”
I grab my keys. “Yep.”
“You okay?” She eyes me oddly. “You seem kind of… jumpy. ”
“Me? Jumpy?” I shove my keys in the pocket of my pants—dry-cleaned charcoal slacks with a razor sharp crease—and smooth imaginary wrinkles out of my shirt. “Not at all.”
“Whatever you say, Birmingham.” She nudges me slightly with her elbow, and I feel that touch down to my bones. Guilt suffuses me as I think of how I read her private document. That could have been a page out of her journal. “Let’s go sit in L.A. traffic for forty-five minutes, shall we?”
On the drive home, we listen to her favourite band, SB19, a Filipino boy band Gloria loves. We typically alternate between her favourite songs and my favourite music—classics from the American songbook, Dean Martin and Sinatra and Nat King Cole—on the drive.
“How did your quarterly review with the boss go?” I ask Gloria. The real question that burns on my lips is why did you make a list of qualities you want in a boyfriend?
Gloria clears her throat. “Good. She told me that a spot for senior associate is opening up soon.”
“Did she offer you the position?” I say.
“She didn’t, but she told me I’m definitely in the running for it… even though McMann wanted to give it to Giorgio.”
“That’s awesome.” I glance over at her, and she seems less than enthused about it, though. “Wait, you don’t seem excited. I thought you wanted a promotion.”
She chews on her lower lip for a second before stopping herself. As the car jolts to a halt at a red light, she digs around in her purse and pulls out a tube of something pink and applies it to her lips. “I don’t know… Lately I’ve been feeling kind of bored at work.”
I chuckle. “We work in a law firm, Gloria. Most people would find it really boring.”
“Yeah, but these days, I’m not excited to go to work.
I don’t know if what I’m doing actually makes a difference in people’s lives.
I’m good at it, but I always thought when I got a job, I would have a sense of purpose.
Like I was working for something greater than myself.
Instead, I feel like I’m doing the opposite of what I wanted to do when I started law school. ”
I ponder her words as the traffic ahead of us starts to slowly inch forward. “It’s normal to feel that way. I mean, no one loves their job. You can’t always expect to find meaning and fulfillment in your career.”
“Where do you find purpose, then?”
“My family,” I say automatically. It’s true in ways that are painful to think about. No matter how messy and dramatic they can be, I find meaning and joy in making my parents happy, in meeting their needs, in trying to make peace between them. “But tell me more about your job dissatisfaction.”
“Why, are you gunning for that promotion and hoping I’ll quit?” she teases.
The thought of not seeing her almost every day if she were to quit sends a spike through my heart. “Far from it. And who else will you practice mock-court cases with if you go work somewhere else?”
“Ah, you’re right. Where else can I see Giorgio bang a pencil-sharpener gavel?”
“What kind of legal work did you want to do when you got into law school?” I ask Gloria. We never discussed long-term goals in college, too focused on the next short-term milestone like passing a test or a difficult class. Now I regret that.
“Pro bono work, or environmental advocacy. Something that means more than helping a CEO avoid getting sued, you know?” She taps her finger against her chin in deep thought. It draws my attention back to her lips, which are now tinted a pale pink .
I shouldn’t notice her lips. Especially since I thought I buried my feelings for Gloria deeper than the Marianas Trench.
“I see,” I say, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “Maybe you could volunteer for a legal clinic, or try working for a nonprofit.”
I’d be sad to see her go, but if it’s her dream to work somewhere other than McMann and Ma, I’d never want to keep her from her happiness. Even if it leads her away from me.
“That’s a good idea.” She perks up some, and so do I when I see her smile.
We spend the rest of the drive chatting about nothing in particular: the SB19 concert she wants to go to, the latest bubble tea shop opening up near her that she wants to check out, and some celebrity gossip she heard about her cousin’s husband, Ryder Black.
By the time we pull into the parking lot of her apartment building, any tension has dissipated, and so have those pesky romantic feelings.
At least, that’s what I tell myself when I park and get out of the car to open her door for her while she gathers her things.
“You don’t have to do that,” Gloria says, like she does every time I grab the door for her.
“I know.” But I want to. I want to take care of her. Even if it’s only as a friend. “But it relieves the guilt of my mom yelling at me for not being a gentleman.”
Gloria laughs, though it’s slightly strained. “See you at work on Monday.”