10. Chapter Nine Gloria
Chapter Nine: Gloria
As I do my makeup, I wish Raina were still here. When we got ready for karaoke nights, we’d sing into our hairbrushes, play air guitar, and dance around the apartment. Now, though, I’m getting ready alone, with only Ryder Black’s voice accompanying me through the Bluetooth speaker.
After completing my careful makeup application and applying setting spray, I lay out three outfits on the bed. Lindon could turn out to be the perfect guy for me, so I have to find the perfect outfit.
As I rummage through my closet, looking for a clutch, I hesitate, my body tensing. What if I have my first-ever kiss tonight ? With Lindon? What if he kisses me and I’m horrible at it, or I have lipstick smeared on my teeth, or bad breath ?
It seems embarrassing to have never been kissed at the age of twenty-six, but I was raised in a fairly conservative family in the Philippines.
We attended Mass every Sunday, and midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.
I wasn’t allowed to even look in a boy’s direction until I turned twenty-one, and by then I was already out of the country.
Once I started at UCLA, sharing a dorm with Raina, I still didn’t date, preferring to focus on my studies.
My mom’s warnings about how boys distract from school kept me from giving guys a second glance.
When I wasn’t in class, I was in the library with a pile of textbooks.
Law school was filled with even more studying and less time for socializing with other law students, aside from London.
If I spoke to anyone, it was the professors, hoping they would put in a good word for me at an articling position.
The only guy I ever befriended in college was London.
And that was because we shared the same biology course in university and a lab bench.
On the first day of class, I remember we were doing some kind of experiment that involved chemicals that the professor had warned could cause infertility and a decrease in testosterone with prolonged exposure.
London and I had joked around and I’d threatened to flick some of the chemical on him.
His comeback had been to tell me that he didn’t want kids anyway.
That had deeply surprised me. Growing up, there wasn’t any explicit pressure to have children, but it was assumed that one day, no matter how successful or rewarding my career was, I would have a family.
Never having one—especially for a guy like London, for whom I also quickly learned that family seemed to be everything—was unthinkable to me.
I’ve never pried into his reasons for not wanting children. I’d put my brief crush on him out of my mind and heart, telling myself that even if he felt the same way, we wanted different things.
A text notification buzzes on my phone and I check it.
Lindon
Hi Gloria! I’ll meet you at the cafe in half an hour, is that okay?
I text back quickly.
Gloria
That’s perfect! See you soon.
Scanning my three outfit options, I decide on the middle one.
The first is too attention-grabbing: a bright, fire engine red dress that Raina insisted I have, with feathers skimming the knee-length hem.
The third is too boring and businesslike—a grey blazer with a black pencil skirt and a white blouse.
But the second one should be perfect for tonight. It’s a simple black dress with a below-the-knee hem that flares out perfectly. Sleeveless, but I’ll pair it with a black wrap. Putting it on quickly, I add pearl earrings and a pearl pendant, then check my reflection in the mirror one last time.
I look pretty good. I think. At the very least, I won’t embarrass myself by being underdressed. And Lindon should be the perfect man, based on the spreadsheet.
So why do I feel so nervous ? I walk down to the elevator in my three-inch block heels. Exiting the apartment lobby and making a right for the small cafe where we agreed to meet up, I take a deep breath and check my watch. I’m two minutes early.
To my surprise, so is Lindon. He looks just like his picture—tall, blond, and good-looking in that Golden Retriever kind of way, with a friendly demeanour and blue eyes—and I breathe a silent sigh of relief.
He’s wearing a blue sport jacket over dark wash jeans and a white button-down shirt. “Gloria? ”
“That’s me.” I roll my shoulders back and give him a close-lipped smile in case I do have lipstick on my teeth. He extends a hand and I shake it, feeling like this is a business meeting instead of a first date.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re even more beautiful in person,” he says. I won’t let compliments sway me, though. I have to interrogate him first.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Should we get going? I don’t want to be late for our reservation,” he asks, prompting me toward the waiting cab idling on the sidewalk.
As we slide into the cab, he gets the door for me and sits next to me in the back, before telling the driver the name of the restaurant we’re going to. It is French— L’Oiseau Rouge .
Oh, shoot. When London teased me earlier about the fancy restaurant we were going to, I didn’t think it would turn out to actually be French.
Hopefully, it’ll just be a place where the menu is in English and they don’t use French names for all the dishes.
I’m not sure why the thought of the French language sends me into such a panic—maybe because I once mispronounced the name of a wine in a class presentation, and everyone laughed at me.
I take another deep breath. Everything will be fine. Lindon probably won’t laugh at me if I mispronounce French. He’s been nice so far.
“Are you okay? You seem a little… tense,” Lindon says, looking over at me.
“I’m fine,” I say, a little too quickly. Darn. Why is it so easy to talk to people at work and present court cases and so difficult to know how to behave on a date? “I’m just, ah, thinking about work.”
He chuckles. “Relax. I promise not to ask you for legal advice. Why don’t we just get to know each other a little bit?”
Right. Of course. I’ll just treat this like a networking event or something. “Sure. I promise not to give unsolicited legal advice, either. Tell me about yourself. Did you grow up in L.A.? ”
Lindon spins his life story for me, telling me about how he grew up in Tulsa, Oklahoma but moved out here to go to school, and found a job here that he loves.
He has two siblings, both of whom stayed in his hometown, and his parents are retired school teachers.
Despite the restaurant he chose, he seems down to earth and easygoing.
I find myself mentally checking off items on my list as we pull up to the restaurant. Has a good relationship with his family . Hmm… that remains to be seen, but he didn’t talk about them like he hates them, so there’s a plus, right?
Can ride a horse . Maybe I should ask him what growing up in Oklahoma was like.
“So, what was your childhood like? Did you ever ride horses or, I don’t know, shoot guns?” I say, hoping I sound playful and not like an interrogator.
He chuckles as he helps me out of the car. “Have you seen the musical Oklahoma ? Is that where you get your idea of what Oklahoma’s like?”
“Maybe,” I say, even though I’ve never seen it and only have a vague idea of the plot. I think it involves a cowboy?
“Well, I have ridden a horse and shot a gun before. But I’m not going to take you to do either of those things because I’m awful at both and I would probably embarrass myself with my poor horsemanship and horrible marksmanship,” he says as we walk toward the restaurant.
He doesn’t place his hand on the small of my back or hold hands, which I find reassuring.
First-date PDA and navigating the conversation is beyond me.
“But you are capable of those things?” I press, just for the sake of the list. I can hear Raina telling me to ask him about his favourite ice cream flavour next.
“Why, do you have a thing for cowboys?” he says, tipping an imaginary hat at me as we wait in line behind the hostess stand .
I scan the waiting crowd: most of them are middle-aged or older, and some even have glasses chains. I feel like a child at an adults’ party, even though I’ve been an adult for going on eight years now.
“A lady never tells.” I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this is just a first date. It’s not as if Lindon will find out about my list and think I’m crazy.
The hostess leads us to a cozy booth in the back next to the window. It’s a little intimate for a first date, but hopefully I can start to enjoy myself without the pressure to impress him.
Lindon and I make small talk as we scan the menu.
Well, more like he asks me questions and I give one-word answers.
The menu is written almost entirely in French .
All the titles of dishes are in French, and the descriptions don’t exactly help me even though they’re written in English, since they list words that I’ve never heard of before like polenta and peppadew .
“Do you speak French?” I ask him hopefully.
“I took it in high school and did an exchange program in Paris my junior year of college,” he says, causing my shoulders to relax from their hunched posture.
“Sorry, was it presumptuous of me to bring you to a French restaurant? I thought it would be a classy establishment… And I thought all women liked French food…”
I like French food like croissants and eclairs and pain au chocolat. Not whatever moules aux frites and escargot is. Wait, I think I know the last one. It’s snails. My gut churns at the thought of eating snails.
I smile at him and try to surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palms on the white tablecloth. “No, it wasn’t presumptuous. Just, um, different from the food I normally eat.”
How could I have expected him to know about my Francophobia? It’s not like he knows me; we’ve barely had a few conversations between matching on Hinge and meeting now. If anything, I should have suggested a few restaurants I liked.