Page 8 of The Boyfriend List
“That’s awesome.” I glance over at her, and she seems less than enthused about it, though. “Wait, you don’t seem excited. I thought you wanted a promotion.”
She chews on her lower lip for a second before stopping herself. As the car jolts to a halt at a red light, she digs around in her purse and pulls out a tube of something pink and applies it to her lips. “I don’t know… Lately I’ve been feeling kind of bored at work.”
I chuckle. “We work in a law firm, Gloria. Most people wouldfind itreallyboring.”
“Yeah, but these days, I’m not excited to go to work. I don’t know if what I’m doing actually makes a difference in people’s lives. I’m good at it, but I always thought when I got a job, I would have a sense of purpose. Like I was working for something greater than myself. Instead, I feel like I’m doing the opposite of what I wanted to do when I started law school.”
I ponder her words as the traffic ahead of us starts to slowly inch forward. “It’s normal to feel that way. I mean, no one loves their job. You can’t always expect to find meaning and fulfillment in your career.”
“Where do you find purpose, then?”
“My family,” I say automatically. It’s true in ways that are painful to think about. No matter how messy and dramatic they can be, I find meaning and joy in making my parents happy, in meeting their needs, in trying to make peace between them. “But tell me more about your job dissatisfaction.”
“Why, are you gunning for that promotion and hoping I’ll quit?” she teases.
The thought of not seeing her almost every day if she were to quit sends a spike through my heart. “Far from it. And who else will you practice mock-court cases with if you go work somewhere else?”
“Ah, you’re right. Where else can I see Giorgio bang a pencil-sharpener gavel?”
“What kind of legal work did you want to do when you got into law school?” I ask Gloria. We never discussed long-term goals in college, too focused on the next short-term milestone like passing a test or a difficult class. Now I regret that.
“Pro bono work, or environmental advocacy. Something that means more than helping a CEO avoid getting sued, you know?” She taps her finger against her chin in deep thought. It draws my attention back to her lips, which are now tinted a pale pink.
I shouldn’t notice her lips. Especially since I thought I buried my feelings for Gloria deeper than the Marianas Trench.
“I see,” I say, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “Maybe you could volunteer for a legal clinic, or try working for a nonprofit.”
I’d be sad to see her go, but if it’s her dream to work somewhere other than McMann and Ma, I’d never want to keep her from her happiness. Even if it leads her away from me.
“That’s a good idea.” She perks up some, and so do I when I see her smile.
We spend the rest of the drive chatting about nothing in particular: the SB19 concert she wants to go to, the latest bubble tea shop opening up near her that she wants to check out, and some celebrity gossip she heard about her cousin’s husband, Ryder Black. By the time we pull into the parking lot of her apartment building, any tension has dissipated, and so have those pesky romantic feelings.
At least, that’s what I tell myself when I park and get out of the car to open her door for her while she gathers her things.
“You don’t have to do that,” Gloria says, like she does every time I grab the door for her.
“I know.” But I want to. I want to take care of her. Even if it’s only as a friend. “But it relieves the guilt of my mom yelling at me for not being a gentleman.”
Gloria laughs, though it’s slightly strained. “See you at work on Monday.”
Chapter Three: London
After dropping Gloria off at her apartment, I didn’t go home. Instead, I headed to family dinner in the childhood home Perry and I have nicknamed “the Young residence.” It gives us about as many warm fuzzies as you would expect from a building with that title.
Pulling into the wide driveway and parking my Toyota Matrix between Troy’s Silverado and Savannah’s Mini Cooper, I spy Perry’s motorcycle in my rearview mirror. I didn’t even need to look to know his Kawasaki Ninja was behind me; the engine roars loudly enough for the whole block to hear him coming. Tonight’s family dinner features a special announcement from my dad, which is probably why Perry deigned to show up for once.
The mid-century modern home looms over me as I get out of my car and walk up the gravel driveway toward the sleek, flat-roofed house. It’s beautiful if you like modern architecture—all wood and glass, with an open-concept design on the inside that makes you think you can see through the house. But all you see is the presentable parts, hiding the ugly corners.
“Hey, London.” Perry approaches me from behind, his feet crunching on the gravel. “Long time no see.”
Perry is the black sheep of the family, and not just because he refuses to go by his given name of Paris. (Since being nicknamed Perry the Platypus was cooler than being called Paris Hilton in school). Our dad, a trial lawyerwho turns his nose up at careers that earn fewer than six figures a year and thinks motorcycles are speeding death traps, hates Perry. And his motorcycle. Ironically, Perry works in healthcare as a nurse.
He also rarely returns home. He’ll come back for holidays and birthdays, but he’s not here every week, like I am. But he has no reason for his absences, since he lives closer to our parents than any of us.
“Hey Perry. How have you been?” I ask him as we walk inside the house. I shouldn’t resent him for getting away from our parents. I would do the same if the guilt wouldn’t eat me up inside.
“Awesome as always.” Perry floats through life like God designed a cloud just for him to sit on. Nothing seems to ever bother him, not even our tumultuous family. “Work’s been keeping me busy, but I have a new girlfriend.”
