Page 21 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

I joked that East London is where it’s at (translation: it’s where my student budget has sentenced me). We’re on completely opposite sides of the city, but that doesn’t really matter—not in London. It takes at least 30 minutes to getanywhere. Especially if you’re tucked into East London on the DLR line like I am. My campus is in Stratford, so I live about 15–20 minutes away. Convenient for uni. Not so convenient for, well… everything else.

Of course, I work on theoppositeend of London. At Hollister White City. And yes, I’m fully aware that’s a logistical nightmare.

There’s a Hollister in Stratford, but I knew the managers in the Hollister White City, and I didn’t want to risk not getting a job so I just asked them to transfer me without interviewing. That was a bad idea because they ended up putting me in the stock room. I loved my job at Hollister being on the shop floor. Talking to people is just such an energy booster for me. My mouth doesn't get nearly enough airtime in the stock room. Some days, I’m this close to talking to the cardboard boxes just to stay sane. I’m considering interviewing at Hollister Regent Street.

So, apparently, I find myself in West London often. Weekly, even. Not that that matters anyway. But ever since our team night, Nathan has found subtle reasons to message me. Okay,maybe they’re not actualreasons, but he definitely has been messaging me almost on the daily. And I can’t lie—I look forward to those messages. But again, we’re friends, so that’s okay. Right? Right.

Joel called me from California the other night. A little tipsy. A little apologetic.

“Hey, Nat. It’ssoooogood to see you,” he laughed, eyes just slightly glassy.

“Hey. What have you been up to?” I asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Just been out with some of the guys,” he said, then hesitated. I saw a flicker of guilt cross his face. “Sorry things have been weird.”

“What’s going on?” I tilted my head.

He sighed. “I’ve been feeling a bit guilty about something.”

Nope. Good conversations never start like that.

“I was out with some of the guys… and we ended up at a club that wasn’t exactly PG.”

“Oh,” I managed to squeak.

“Nothing happened,” he rushed to add. “But I thought I’d let you know.”

I shrugged it off. At least outwardly. But inside? That cracked open the rug I’ve been neatly tucking my feelings under. Honestly, ever since team night, everything I’ve been avoiding has been inching back into view. Still… I don’t know what to do with all of it. I hate conflict. And the thought of hurting anyone makes me physically sick. Plus, I’m not even sure Ihavefeelings for Nathan. He’s just a friend. And there was a spark. That’s all.

Joel’s call helped, in a way. Being remembered takes the edge off the ache. But then the ache came back—heavier, somehow. Because being remembered isn’t the same as being chosen. And I’m not sure I feel chosen anymore. The more I think about him willingly going to a club like that—a place that objectifies women—the more unsettled I feel. I appreciated his honesty, I really did. But the truth is that it did nothing to keep me feeling secure. Instead, I felt small.

And suddenly, things feltoffagain.

Why would he be okay with that? That makes me so skeptical. I don’t know how I feel about that.

Sounds like it’s time I shove it back under the rug.

Now, Nathan has just messaged asking about our Young Adults night at church. I did a solo singing performance, and the theme was love. I was all dolled up, with a pink maxi dress fit for a bridesmaid, and even my microphone stand was covered in fake flowers. It was very “Taylor Swift meets garden party,” and honestly, I loved it. I went through the performance with a friend, Chelsea, who was also visually directing the performance for a good few hours.

I sing on Sundays, but doing a solo performance has always freaked me out. My mouth goes dry like it’s stuffed with cotton, then decides to overcorrect and drown me in extra saliva. I know, gross. The anxiety over singing in front of people by myself is front and center even though I want to love it a lot. I’m also terrified I’m randomly going to burp into the microphone or choke. GAH. That’s probably been done before too so what if I’m next?! Oh no. BURPING AND CHOKING TOGETHER. I can see the headlines now:Girl Burps Through Emotional Love Song.Ugh.

So, I was a little terrified but it was really helpful that Chelsea was able to run through it with me.

After the performance, she greeted me backstage with a big grin and a water bottle.

“You crushed it.”

“I actually feel pretty good about that, thanks to you! All of your help made me feel a lot more confident about a solo. Also, no burping!” I announced, raising my hands in victory. “And only arespectableamount of salivating,” I added, waggling my brows.

“Hey, progress!” she said, laughing. She gave me a quick squeeze. “You looked beautiful up there. And you sounded even better.”

Looking over the video someone took for me, Ifeel surprisingly happy with it. I actually look confident. I kind of want to do a little curtsy.

Nathan is asking me to send over this video to him so he can see. My internet is taking forever to send it, and we somehow end up on me and my occasional jokey phrases. I like to keep things fun (or perhaps cheesy, but I don’t care: I’m living in the cheese wheel of life). I embrace the cheese.

But then the video finally sends.

Nathan: Yes! You were absolutely born for that. I love it

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