Page 81 of The Boyfriend List
I want so desperately to believe her. But I still can’t hope that taking a flight across the Pacific will make me feel any better about my parents’ divorce.
I need to be here for my family—for Savannah. Even if it means cancelling my plans with Gloria.
“I love you. But I don’t think I can go on this trip.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going through too much right now.”
Tears glimmer in her brown eyes. “Do you want me to cancel, too, then? I can stay with you.”
“No. Absolutely not. Go be with your family. I’ll… I’ll be okay here. I need some space. From everything.”
She folds in on herself, rubbing her hands over her arms. “I see.”
“I don’t want space from you,” I say quickly. “Just…”
She sighs, getting up from the island and scraping her plate into the garbage. Weariness drags down her shoulders. "I understand."
“Gloria,” I say. “I’m sorry. I just… I feel like all I do is try to make other people happy and pretend and go along with their plans, just to please people. Whether it’s my siblings, or my parents, or just everyone. All the time. It’s exhausting.”
“And is that how you’d feel if you were going to the Philippines with me? Like you were pretending, putting on a fake smile just to make me happy?” Her frame is weighed down with sadness, but her eyes fix on me with a scrutinizing gaze.
I rub a hand over my unshaven jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe. Even this whole list… I was doing all these things to try and be the perfect boyfriend for you. And I can’t do that anymore.”
“You can’t dowhatanymore?” Her voice trembles, and she folds her arms over her chest. “Pretend to be the perfect boyfriend for me?”
I take a long inhale. No matter how good with words I may be at work, all my carefully constructed arguments fail me now. I can’t seem to get my feelings across in a way that doesn’t hurt hers. “No. I know I’m not perfect. I’ll never be, and I’m clearly not right now.”
Sick of the distance between us that seems to be growing more with each word out of my mouth, I stride across the room. “But I can’t keep pretending to be okay just to make others happy. I can’t keep pretending just to keep the peace. I’m sorry, Gloria, but I just need some time to myself to process everything that’s just happened. And it would kill me to know that you weren’t going on this trip and to the concert that you’ve wanted to for so long. To know that I was taking you away from your family because of my own issues.
“I want you to go and have fun, Ria. Even if I’m not there.” I tentatively place my hand on the small of her back, and she spins around to face me.
“I’d have more fun with you,” she says softly, smoothing her hands over the wrinkles in my shirt. But I know she agrees.
“And I’d rather spend a minute with you than a lifetime with anyone else,” I say softly. “But I have to go through on my own. Without trying to besomeone else—without trying to make anyone else happy. And I love you so much, but I worry that maybe…
“Maybe you don’t love the real me. Maybe you love all the boxes I checked off your list. The guy whose life I was stepping into so that I could get you to fall for me.”
The words come out in a rush of air, and I’m worried I’ve said too much. That she’ll agree with my deepest fears.
Gloria stares down at her French-manicured nails, and the silence stretches between us, my heart racing.
“You’re an idiot if you think that, London.” She lifts her hands from my chest, cupping my face. “I’ve known you for almost a decade now. If you don’t think I fell for the man you are, and not an act you were putting on, then you don’t know me at all.”
Her words sink into me, getting past my twelve-foot boundary walls and warming my heart. “I love you. I’m sorry I’m not coming with you on your family trip. And you’re right. I am an idiot.”
Her laughter warms the rest of me that’s still chilled. “I’ll miss you. Will you take care of my fish while I’m gone?”
“Of course. And Gloria, I’ll miss you, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Gloria
London leaves my apartment after breakfast, kissing me on the cheek and saying he hopes I have a nice trip. I can’t think of an appropriate response. Something like, ‘I hope your family knits themselves back together without your intervention so that you can still come to the Philippines with me’?
That night, I call Raina. “Is there any chance you’d like to come to the Philippines with me tomorrow and go to an SB19 concert?”
Silence. Then, “Can Kostas come too?”
“Of course.” I fold a t-shirt and stuff it into my suitcase.
“I thought you were going with London. Did you decide to open it up to me too?”
