Page 15 of Finding London

London

“When multiple spa days, a mani-pedi, and the latest silver Prada handbag don’t bring a smile to my face, it’s time for a little self-reflection.”

—London Wright

I’ve been at my parents’ new home in Louisville for the past week, licking my wounds and healing my broken heart. Okay, fine…it’s my ego that needs healing. I get it. I can’t possibly love Loïc. I don’t know him, so I can’t be in love with him. But my self-confidence took a few blows at Necto a week and a half ago.

I think the thing that bothers me the most is that a small part of me agrees with Loïc. I am a rich, spoiled brat. I’m not used to being turned down by a guy, and it sucks. It pisses me off. Yet it shouldn’t. I’m not God’s gift to mankind. Of course there are going to be guys out there who just aren’t into me. Why should that upset me? It’s common sense. There are plenty of others who would want me…who do want me. Why can’t I focus on that?

Nonetheless, I find myself at my parents’ lavish house, getting pampered to soothe my bruised ego. Yet it isn’t working. When multiple spa days, a mani-pedi, and the latest silver Prada handbag don’t bring a smile to my face, it’s time for a little self-reflection.

My mom has sensed my gloomy mood, and as always, she has tried to cheer me up with stuff. I know she means well, and normally, her efforts work, but this time is different. It’s as if Loïc’s rejection woke something up in me. It’s difficult for me to make heads or tails of it, but I’ve changed. I’m not the same girl I was almost three weeks ago at the sorority car wash. I find myself wanting more. I want to do more, feel more, simply be more than the self-centered rich girl I am.

I don’t know how a rejection from the hottest man in the world led to this desire to change everything about myself…but, for some odd reason, it just did. I take that back. I don’t want to change everything. I know that, deep down, I’m a good person. I care about others, I’m kind, and I’ve never let my financial status in life make me feel entitled. Fine…that last part might not be true.

Whatever.

The point is, I want more out of my life. I think this empty feeling in the pit of my chest has less to do with a boy not wanting me and more to do with the fact that his dismissal of me altered the way I feel about myself. I will not accept anyone making me feel this way. The truth of the matter is, if I felt whole, it wouldn’t matter who rejected me. It shouldn’t change the way I felt about myself.

So, I’m going to fix that. I’m going to become the confident, whole person I want to be. I’m not exactly sure how, but I’ve come to the conclusion that the first step is to get a job.

I graduated from one of the best colleges in the country. I’m capable of securing employment. Why did I spend that time getting a degree if I wasn’t going to use it? It’s time I stop taking Daddy’s monthly allowance and actually work for the life I have. Of course, I mean, I’ll stop taking it when I have been working for a while and am making good money. Why struggle if I don’t have to? Baby steps here.

“You shouldn’t scrunch your brow like that, sweetie. It will give you premature wrinkles.” My mom’s dark chocolate eyes assess me from the entryway.

I relax my face. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was.”

She makes her way over to the chaise lounge where I’m currently sitting. I watch her as she shortens the distance between us. She’s always so put together. Even today, when we have no plans to leave the house, she’s dressed to impress, her makeup perfectly applied. Her long brown hair is pulled up into a twisted updo. She’s going to be fifty next month, but she doesn’t look a day over thirty. Of course, she’s had some surgeries to help her in that endeavor. But, plastic surgery or not, she’s a stunning woman. When we’re out together, people often think we’re sisters. I’ve been told I look exactly like her, and she’s beautiful, so I can’t complain about the comparison.

“Baby, what is it? You’ve been so down all week.” She sits near the end of the chaise beside my legs. She places one of her freshly manicured hands on my leg and squeezes gently. “You can tell me, honey.”

“I don’t really have anything to tell, Mom. I just have an unsettled feeling. I think I need to get a job.”

“Do you need more money? You know your father will give you more.” She sounds concerned.

I shake my head. “No, I have plenty. I’m kind of bored. I think a job will give me some purpose, you know?”

“I understand that. I try to keep busy, too. I have to with all the alone time I have. Even if you don’t get a paying job, you can volunteer or organize a charity event.”

My mom’s life has consisted of organizing parties, charity events, and social functions. She’s right in that she always seems to be busy. Then again, she’s always alone, especially since Georgia and I went off to college. Even now, my father is traveling for work. He’s gone a lot.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say in an effort not to dismiss her suggestions. “I think it would be fun to use my degree. You know I love writing and reporting.” I got a degree in journalism, and it’d be nice to use it.

She laughs. “Yes, you do. Do you remember how you used to report on everything? You’d run around the house, using your sparkly pink hairbrush as your microphone.” She holds an invisible brush/mic in her hand and imitates my younger self, her tone serious, “This just in. It appears Mom is currently making beef fajitas for dinner when she was planning on chicken cacciatore. Is something going on behind closed doors in the chicken industry that made her change her mind? We will be live at six with more on this story. Back to you, Bob.” Mom removes the nonexistent microphone away from her mouth and puts her hand back in her lap.

The two of us start laughing hysterically.

“I was so annoying,” I say through my happy tears.

Mom wipes the sides of her eyes. “No, you were adorable. Still are.”

I take a deep breath and let out one more chuckle, thinking back to my childhood. “That report must have been when you still cooked.”

When I was in eighth grade, my parents hired a full-time chef to make our meals for us.

“Thank heavens we got a chef. I’ve always hated cooking.”

“You were good at it though.”

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