Page 29 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

“Bom dia, filhinha,” she replies—my little daughter.“Ready for some breakfast?”

“Mmm, whatcha got for me?”

“Whatever you want. We’ll see what Joel wants when he comes out.”

“Better get the coffee ready for him,” I tease. “He’s definitely a coffee guy.”

“Him and your dad both. Your dad has coffee at 10 p.m. and then wonders why he can’t sleep.”

“I had a pumpkin spice latte at 3 p.m. once and I was jittery at 11,” I say, shaking my head.

Mom laughs. “The coffee we had in Italy especially kept us up when we were in Rome, I remember.”

“Are you sure it was the coffee… or the broken air conditioner?”

“Istillcan’t believe it died the week we were there! Thirty-three degrees in the middle of the night,” she says, shaking her head.

I grin. “You even turned on the cold shower just to get some cool vapor into the room.”

Mom laughs. “You know me—I like to be savvy in all things.”

“You definitely come up with the savviest ideas I’d never think of. Also, thefunniest.I still remember when you tried to translate that Portuguese saying for Amaia,” I say, already laughing. “You meant to say, ‘My mother would roll in her grave,’ but you said,‘My mother would revolve in her tomb.’Like a rotisserie chicken!”

I burst out laughing at the memory.

Mom covers her mouth, laughing with me. “Not one of my best translations. I always get things mixed up: kidnapping and napkin, pressure cooker and cooker pressure, chicken and kitchen?—”

“It’s probably because you have so many languages in your head!” I giggle. “You’re fluent in three—and intermediate in, like, a million more.”

Being with her is always such a joy. We bounce back and forth so naturally. We’re basically Lorelai and Rory, and I love that.

After everyone is up and breakfast is had, I start getting ready for the day. But when I head back into the living room, Joel is having a conversation with my mom and dad—and I’m promptly shooed out of the room. My mom shot up an eyebrow at mebefore I left. That’s… suspicious. What sort of conversation could they be having that I shouldn’t be part of?

Since I’ve been staying on the sofa bed in the living room and Joel’s been in my room, I head into my room to finish getting ready. I grab my curling iron, because wearing my hair curly always feels like the best expression of myself. I’m bubbly, and my curls feel like my hair’s way of declaring my personality.

I want to put on some music. This was my teenage room where I would belt out songs while doing my hair. Because we’re on the fourth floor, we also have these beautiful French doors that open out and make me feel like I could be Rapunzel and let down my hair. I’ve always enjoyed this room, and doing my hair in here. My parents really chose such a great spot. I still miss America, but being grateful for the small things makes all the difference.

But since my phone is still in the living room, I can’t put on my music. I spot Joel’s phone attached to the charger and decide to put something on from there. But when I pick up his phone, a message pops up on the screen, and it makes me freeze.

Peter: If you’re looking to pop the question in June, I’ll try to be there.

POP THE QUESTION?! My mind short-circuits with visions of proposals and magical moments. I’m a romantic at heart. Proposals give me the happy giggles. But the fantasy lasts for literally two seconds before reality slaps me in the face. Because the man who might be planning to propose is not the man I want to spend my life with.

And suddenly, my mind is a whirlwind, my inner debate team has come to life:

“Well, if he happens to do it, I could just say yes and break it off later…”

“But that’s terrible, who wants to go through a proposal only to get broken up with?”

“But I can’t let him be humiliated if he doesit, right?”

“What am I even thinking?! THIS IS NOT THE DREAM! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

And because my inner debate team absolutely loves giving me a hot take on life, I think, “you’ve really avoided this for too long and now it’s about to get away from you.”

Panic mode on.

Apparently, Californiadiddo a number on him. He was so off before his trip and while he was there. He barely texted me, he did tipsy video calls, and there was just some undercurrent ofweirdgoing on. I couldn’t name it, but I knew it was there. Now he’s back, suddenly acting like we’re on some fast track to forever, and having secret conversations with my parents clearly ABOUT THIS and wanting to take things to the next level. WHAT HAPPENED IN CALIFORNIA?! Am I ever going to know?

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