36. Chapter Thirty-Five London
Chapter Thirty-Five: London
G loria’s been home for two days and like a coward, I still haven’t talked to her.
Well, that’s not entirely true. She sent me a picture of herself holding Raina’s new baby, Penelope, and I texted back an appropriately enthusiastic exclamation.
But I haven’t seen her. I haven’t asked to meet. She’s respected my need for time and space to process, though I assume she’s getting impatient with me.
But I need to talk to her properly. I should have picked her up from the airport holding flowers or something, but I can’t just reunite with her as if nothing has happened.
I need her to know how much she means to me. How I’ve changed my perspective about having kids. My talk with my siblings left me both feeling more hopeful yet more emotionally drained. I haven’t had the energy or the know-how to put towards reconciling with Gloria.
Which is probably why I’m desperate enough to take dating advice from Giorgio. A man who’s been on more dates—and been rejected more often—than anyone I know .
We meet at a cramped sports bar. He orders beer; I’ve sworn off alcohol since the wedding. I fill him in on everything that’s happened.
“You have to be kidding me," Giorgio says. "You had the perfect vacation planned with Gloria, you were finally going to meet her family and do all that lovey-dovey stuff, and you just backed out?"
"My parents are going through some hard stuff," I say. “Actually… Never mind.”
"Hey." Giorgio drops his usual swagger and bravado. "I know we give each other a hard time a lot, but we're still friends, London. You can tell me things."
Gloria's words flit through my mind. That I could let her in. That I didn't have to carry the weight of all my problems by myself.
I tell him about how I felt about my parents and my responsibilities toward them. “Now they’re getting divorced. Where does that leave me?”
"You think your efforts were wasted. Or that you failed," he says.
I nod. "How did you know that? When did you get so wise?"
"Hey, I've been known to wear a judge's wig on occasion. Of course I'm wise."
I roll my eyes and take another sip of my water. "It was a mop head."
"Judge's wig, mop head, same thing."
"And the judge's robes were a garbage bag."
He chuckles, taking everything in stride. "I'm a humble man of the people."
"Aren't you related to royalty?"
Giorgio shrugs. "Only on my mom's side, so it doesn't count."
"I told Gloria I needed space and time to process everything. But now that she’s back in L.A., I don’t know what to say to her. I hate how I left things, but how can I show her that I still love her?” I rest my head in my hands .
"You've been ‘processing’ this whole time. Maybe that's your problem. You haven’t actually done anything about your emotions."
"I took action. I checked off her freakin' boyfriend list."
Giorgio shakes his head. "You've been playing by her rules, by everyone else's rules. You need to play by your own."
I arch an eyebrow. "Wouldn't I just be playing by your rules if I did what you said?"
He knocks back his beer. "You're impossible. What I'm saying is, you can't keep letting everyone’s expectations for you dictate your life. What about what you want?"
A sigh escapes my lips. I order some truffle fries as my stomach grumbles. "Food. I want food."
That's not the whole truth. I want Gloria, the way I've always wanted her—in any way I can have her. Whether it's as friends or dating, I want her. She's always been my end game.
But I don't know how to tell her that even though I needed space, it was never from her . It was about everything else in my life spiralling out of control.
Giorgio says nothing, letting me simmer in my broodiness, as he orders a cheeseburger and a tray of nachos with black olives.
He's both perpetually ravenous and perfectly toned—and I don't think I've ever seen him at our company's gym.
Perhaps he works out at home, in a private gym plastered with mirrors and posters of himself.
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit, but Giorgio is charmingly full of himself.
"I want to be with Gloria, and I want to tell her how much I love her and how sorry I am that I didn’t go with her. No—I want to show her how much I love her."
"Then you've come to the right man."
I dunk a fry in ketchup. "Didn't you tell your cousin to get into a marriage of convenience with the first woman he saw?"
" No ," Giorgio says with a pssh of scornful dismissal. "He found Raina all on his own. All I told him was to find a woman to marry him so he could win our grandmother's approval."
I shake my head. "Like that's so much better."
"Listen, I may not have the best romantic track record myself, but I know a good match when I see one. And Kostas and Raina were a good match, just like you and Gloria are, which is why I'm agreeing to extend my love doctor services to you."
"Love doctor services? Geez, I don't want to know what kind of prescriptions you're writing," I mutter as I eat more fries.
"Hey! I'm not that kind of love doctor," Giorgio protests. "You want my advice? Don't wait around for the perfect opportunity. Create the perfect moment."
"Giorgio, you keep saying these things like they're easy."
"Remind her of why you love her. Tell her all the little things that you love about her. Write her romantic notes and stuff. Women eat that up."
"That has to be the first not-terrible thing you've said since we sat down," I say, absorbing his piece of advice. My mind percolates with ideas of how I could put his suggestions into action.
"See! I told you I was a love doctor."
"Please don't put that on a business card."
"Oh, a business card would be a great idea. I couldn't put my face on them, though, because men would immediately be discouraged by how much better-looking I am than them," Giorgio prattles on.
I choke on a laugh as I steal one of Giorgio's nachos. Whatever lab Giorgio was made in, I hope there aren't any more of him. One is enough .
"Thanks for your help," I say when we've finished eating the massive amount of food Giorgio ordered.
"You're welcome. Now, go get your girl."
I slap my half of the bill on the table. "I'm on it."
When I get home, I dig through my desk drawers and find a dozen little sticky notes in Gloria's favourite colour. Then, I start making my own list.
London Young's Love-of-my-Life List
Must have dark brown hair, especially if one strand is constantly slipping out of her braid, bun, or ponytail, in the most adorable way. I stick this one on a hair tie with a yellow flower on it that reminds of the black-eyed Susans she loves.
Must be an excellent cook. I attach this one to a small packet of her favourite candy.
Must love coffee. A bag of coffee beans gets this note.
Must be a diligent, intelligent, and brilliant lawyer who also loves words that almost rhyme. I stick that to an old copy of Black's legal dictionary.
Must be an SB19 fan. This one I put on a CD of their first album.
Must be able to put up with family drama with grace and love. I find a photo frame with the word 'family' on it and stick a picture of the two of us inside. I continue with the rest of the list, finding more and more small items that remind me of her.
Must be a fan of tropical fish.
Must love singing karaoke, especially Ryder Black songs.
Must reluctantly sing and dance to classic jazz songs in the car.
Must love her family.
Must have ridden a horse before even if she's not particularly good at it.
Must want to get married and have children.
She has to know how much she means to me.
Because Gloria Romero is everything to me.
She's the first ray of sunshine after the darkest stormy night, the honey in my tea and the balm to soothe my tattered, aching soul. She’s the heat and comfort of a roaring fireplace when you stumble in from the cold, frozen to the bone.
She's the inexplicable peace that fills me when the rest of the world spins wildly out of control.
And I need her to know that.