Page 33 of Loving London

I don’t respond to her last statement. “Well, you two are still friends. Have you told her everything?”

“I haven’t told her anything about you, Loïc. She doesn’t know any of the details.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my story to tell. What you went through is a huge deal, and it’s very personal. It’s your story to share.”

“Huh,” I let out a small sound of understanding.

“Plus, we don’t really talk much anymore. I wouldn’t say we’re friends exactly.” Maggie shrugs.

“You don’t have to stop being friends with her because of me.”

“I know, and you’re not the only reason really. I mean, friends are in our lives for a reason. Not all of them are meant to be forever friends, right? I love London. She’s a great person. But our friendship just doesn’t work anymore. There are too many awkward silences, too many things we can’t talk about, you know?”

“I can see that. So, when’s the last time you spoke to her?”

“I haven’t spoken to her much since you broke up with her. But she did call me last week to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” I question.

“Yeah, she moved to Los Angeles. She got a new job out there. She sounded happy about it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

This is the most I’ve been able to talk about London since I got back. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little that she’s gone, but I know it’s probably for the best—for both of us.

I hope London is happy. She deserves it. I’ve come to the realization that happiness is no longer on my radar. For me, life is simply about survival. I need to find the courage to make it to tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that.

I feel like my life has been a constant battle ever since the day I lost my parents at the age of seven. Some days, I don’t feel like fighting this battle anymore. I’m so tired. But it’s on those days that I know I have to dig deeper and push through it with the hope that it won’t always be this hard.

London

“Loïc’s with me always, yet the weight of his absence is paralyzing.”

—London Wright

“Three weeks!” I scream at my computer screen. “Three weeks!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Londy,” my sister’s cheerful tan face speaks to me on the screen. “I didn’t mean to worry you or Mom and Dad.”

“Then, you shouldn’t have gallivanted off to a Third World country and left us hanging for three weeks with no word, George. That’s twenty-one long-ass days we had to worry about you,” I huff out.

“I understand, and I’m sorry. First of all, I don’t think Brazil is a Third World country.”

“Well, it’s certainly not the Hills, Georgia.”

“It’s not like I’m in a war zone. You guys worry too much. This is the earliest I could get access to the Internet.”

“I know they have Internet cafés down there—at least in the bigger cities,” I argue.

“Yes, and the two that I came across were closed down.”

“Well, that sounds promising,” I scoff.

“Would you stop?” Georgia chuckles.

“What about your cell? Don’t they have any towers down there?”

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