Page 50 of The Boyfriend List
"He's… he's almost seventeen now.” It’s hard to believe it’s almost been ten years since his mom died and he was adopted by his uncle. "I miss him. He’s basically been a little brother to us since his mom died.”
London yawns, then stretches and places his arm around the back of the sofa. Why is that move so distracting? He's not even touching me... but if he moved an inch forward, he would be. The promise of that touch, the warmth radiating from him, makes it hard for me to think straight, so I lean forward.
"That's so sad. How did his mom die?"
"It was during a hurricane. She got pulled under when she was on the beach with Eddie," I say. "I was supposed to be babysitting him that day, but I went out with my friends instead."
Eddie misses his mom every day. So do I.
"I never knew that, Gloria. I'm so sorry," London says, turning to face me. His dark eyes seem to pierce through mine.
"I blame myself all the time for that," I say, the guilt choking my words with tears. "If only I'd agreed to go babysit him instead of going out with my friends, maybe she would still be alive."
"And maybe you'd be dead, Gloria. You can't think like that." A furrow deepens between London's brows.
"Why not? I'm not important. That was hismom."
"You were just a kid. You couldn't have known. You can't blame yourself for what happened. Yes, Eddie's mom is dead, but it was a natural disaster that took her life, not you."
I shake my head. "I don't want to talk about this."
I realize with a start that I'm echoing his words from earlier, but I don't care. If it wasn't my fault—if I'm not responsible—then it will simply have been a tragedy. An unpreventable tragedy. And in my life, nothing is unpreventable if you prepare hard enough.
I don't realize that he’s turned the TV off until silence blankets the room. Instead of trying to persuade me like others have when I've discussed this topic, London lets his arm fall from the back of the couch to rest on top of my shoulders. I lean over and rest my head on his chest. The rise and fall ofhis breathing soothes me, like white noise lulling my mind into contented comfort.
Yet every nerve in my body sparks at the weight of his arm around me. Even though we just hugged moments ago, even though I've touched him before, it’s not enough. His fingers rub soothing circles on my upper arm, and I wish I was wearing a tank top instead of a t-shirt so I could feel his skin against mine.
I wish we weren't just friends, and that he wasn't cooking me dinner as a favour or a friendly gesture.
But loving London would be disastrous for my neatly organized life and five-year plan. Because there's no way, after what he's told me, that he'll ever want what I want.
And I’ll have to live with this kind of heartbreak, of never knowing him the way I want to, instead of the heartbreak of loving him and having my dreams shattered.
Chapter Eighteen: London
I'm reviewing a section of the California tax code when a pained yell slices through the air. Our normally quiet office is stirred into chaos, the sounds of typing and printers whirring replaced by frantic footsteps and concerned questions.
I whip my head over to Reginald's desk, where a cluster of people are gathered around. You'd think it was strange that the IT guy's desk would be in the middle of a law firm, but he commandeered the middle desk and none of us have the heart to kick him out. Plus, someone is always forgetting their password or needing to access files in a folder they can't find.
When the crowd doesn’t disperse, I join them to see what's going on.
"Reggie! Are you okay?" My heart lurches. Reginald is unconscious, slumped over in his desk chair with one hand clutching his chest. "Somebody call an ambulance!"
Gloria rushes over, her hand finding mine. "Everyone make room! Give him some space to breathe."
Reggie's eyes flutter open, and he wheezes, "My… heart…"
Panic seizes me. Reggie isn't just a coworker—he's a surrogate uncle to me, to all of us at the firm. I would never have guessed he had heart issues. He's always seemed so much younger than his age, like he’d outlive all of us.
"Let's get him some water, and check his bag for medications," Gloria directs. When nobody moves, she gives orders to each person around the desk.
"Reggie, you'll be okay," I say. "I'm on the phone with the ambulance and they should be here soon."
"No… ambulance," he says. "You two… take me."
Gloria and I exchange worried glances. I clear my throat. "Is it the cost? I'll cover it."
I don't even know if Reggie has medical insurance. I mean, I think McMann and Ma has a pretty good benefits package, but maybe it doesn’t cover ambulance rides?
