Page 80 of The Boyfriend List
But what if that’s just what I was made to do?
I put my phone down again, unable to think about this. The ambient glow of the fish tank in the corner soothes my tired soul. Rosy barbs—the tropical fish I bought Gloria so many years ago—dart back and forth in their aquarium. I watch the meditative rhythm of their movements until my eyes glaze over.
Taking off my glasses, I carefully lay them on the coffee table and rub my eyes. Then I stretch back out on the couch and toss and turn with Gloria’s too-small throw blanket over me, until I fall into a fitful sleep.
When I wake up again a few hours later, my head is pounding, my lips are cracked, and my throat feels like sandpaper when I try to swallow.
The events of last night come back to me in a flash; the wedding, my parents’ argument, and… I touch the corduroy fabric I’m sitting on.
This isn’t my bed. This isn’t even my couch.
And I certainly wouldn’t be smelling garlic fried rice andlonganisasausage cooking if I were in my apartment.
I grab my glasses, heave my tired frame off the sofa, and make my way to the bathroom. I feel like an uncoordinated baby panda lurching down the hallway. I flick the light switch on, splash cold water on my face, rinse my mouth with the bottle of mouthwash I see on the counter, and try to salvage the remains of my suit.
I ditch the tie, shoving it into my pocket, and rake my fingers through my messy hair. My hangover hits me harder now that I’m fully awake, a wave of nausea roiling my stomach. Why did I have so much wine last night?
A few moments later, a knock sounds at the door. “Are you okay in there, London?”
“Yep.” I open the door, and the force of spinning around nearly makes me topple over. I try to turn it into a sexy leaning-against-the-doorframe move, but I’m sure it looks more like I’m clinging to the doorjamb for dear life.
“I made breakfast. There’s hot water and a bunch of tea bags. I know I don’t have as many types of tea as you do, but—”
I press a finger to her lips, mimicking her gesture from last night, which feels so long ago. “It’s perfect. Thank you. For everything.”
She pulls me into a hug, nestling herself into my body with a sense ofrightnessthat pulls my world back into alignment from the crazed chaos it’s been for the past twelve hours.
“You’re welcome. Now come eat, the food is getting cold,” she chastises.
“Careful, you’ll start to sound like your mom,” I tease.
Gloria rolls her eyes but grabs my hand as we walk to the kitchen. I make an Earl Grey, then sit down next to her. “Speaking of my family, we need to iron out our trip details.”
“Right.” As we pick up our cutlery, my stomach tightens, closing up like a fist. The thought of being around Gloria’s family makes my heart race, and not in an excited way. I gulp my tea, forgetting that it’s piping hot as it scalds my tongue.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Gloria frowns.
“Fine.” I answer too quickly. All of her best friend senses are going off.
“I’ve never seen you drink your tea that fast. Don’t you usually take one sip, forget about it, then have to reheat it in the microwave?”
She knows me too well. “Only at work.”
“I’m just worried about the trip.”
“Why?” She sets a hand on mine, where it rests next to my mug. “My family is going to love you.”
“And mine hates me,” I say. “Or at the very least, each other.”
“London…” She sighs, tracing patterns over the back of my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how difficult this might be. But I want to be there for you. Maybe this trip will be a good distraction, like you said.”
Maybe it will. But part of me knows better. My family will still be waiting for me when I get back. And even if I want space, our problems will still be there when I step off the plane. I’d rather confront them head-on.
Gloria’s brown eyes spark with hope. The last thing I want to do is crush that.
“I’m not sure I can take this trip with you, Ria,” I say softly. “I’m going through too much right now… I don’t want to be a burden to you on your fun family vacation.”
“London, you could never be a burden,” Gloria says insistently. “Not to me.”
