Page 48 of The Boyfriend List
Chapter Seventeen: Gloria
When London said he would cook dinner for me, I was scared of food poisoning or breaking a tooth. That's why I made sure to eat a big breakfast this morning—tortang talong, a kind of Filipino eggplant omelette, with rice—before I came over this afternoon. I also brought backup ingredients for fried rice with eggs and spam. Just in case.
"Oh, ye of little faith," London says when he greets me at the door. He wears an apron that says KISS THE COOK and a smile as he sees my grocery bag filled with food.
"I'm hedging my bets," I say as I walk past him. "There's also egg waffles and bubble tea in here."
"Never mind, I take it all back," he says with a grin as he takes my bag from me while I untie my Keds.
He takes out the two cups of bubble tea, the still-hot egg waffle, and two straws, setting them on his small counter. Though his apartment is tinier than mine because it’s only a one-bedroom, it's clean and tidy.
"What dish are you preparing, Master Chef?" I ask as I survey his empty kitchen island before stalking over to his fridge. Its contents are pretty sad: a six-pack of energy drinks, protein shakes, ketchup, and a bruised apple. I also spy a steak defrosting in the bottom compartment and a warty green vegetable that I know is bitter melon.
"That's a surprise. Also, you brought your own rice? What kind of Asian do you take me for? Of course I have rice in my pantry," he says.
"Hey, all your lunches are boring sandwiches or takeout," I say. "Where did you get your apron, by the way? I can't imagine you willingly buying a 'kiss the cook' apron."
"Troy gave it to me for Christmas," he says with a beleaguered sigh. "He said it would come in handy one day if I ever brought a girl back to my apartment to cook for her."
“Has it?” I wonder if he’s cooked for any of his previous short-term flings.
“So far, you’re the first.”
An unwelcome blush suffuses my cheeks. I unload my grocery bag. "Am I allowed to help you cook or do I just have to watch quietly while drinking bubble tea?"
"Have you ever sat and watched me do something quietly before? " he says with a chuckle.
"There's a first time for everything," I protest. "Besides, I'm sick of talking. All I've done this week is make first-date conversation."
His laugh is strained this time. "You're a lawyer. Your job is literally to talk."
"Don't bring that up either, please." I drop my head into my hands, my voice muffled. "I think my romantic life is falling apart."
London pauses, sticking his head out of the fridge. "What was that?"
I mumble, “My love life is falling apart.”
He closes the fridge and walks over to me, leaning in. "Again."
"I think my love life is falling apart. Why does every man who’s nice on paper turn out to be one of Satan’s minions?" I lift my head from my hands. Maybe I’m exaggerating by calling them Satan’s minions. But they definitely aren’t Prince Charmings. Or is it Princes Charming?
London is quiet for a moment, then places a gentle hand on my back. Through my thin t-shirt, I feel the warmth of his fingers, the callouses onhis hands. I'm struck by the memory of him taking off his hoodie last week and handing it to me. When I thought he wasn't looking, I secretly buried my face in the soft fabric and took a whiff of his scent. I kept it and have been using it as a pillow.
He rubs soothing circles on my back. I want to melt into my chair—into his touch—and never leave.
"You're incredible, and any man would be lucky to have you. Just because you haven't found anyone yet doesn't mean you won't. Honestly, Gloria, I admire you for having the guts to go out and meet people even though all of these guys turned out to be duds so far." London's voice still bears the same tension as his laugh did earlier, like he's holding something back.
I latch onto his words like a newborn fawn flailing for balance. "You admire me?"
"Of course. I just can't tell you that all the time in case you get a big head," he says, laughing. It's lighter, freer this time.
"Are you sayingyoudon't have the guts to go out and date?" I prod. He hasn't made any progress on our bet that I know of. Maybe his so-called family dinners are just dates and he’ll swoop in and surprise me at the last minute by saying 'hey, actually I have a girlfriend I've been seeing this whole time!'
Then again, what woman would be happy with her boyfriend cooking dinner for his female coworker, dancing with her, or giving her his hoodie?
"Maybe it's not that I don't have the guts. Maybe I just don't think I'll find anyone who wants to be with me."
"Come on, London." My voice feels heavy with the shock of his admission, my response an automatic denial. "You have so much going for you. You're a fantastic lawyer and a wonderful friend, and you're definitely not hideous."
