Page 32 of The Boyfriend List
“This is my friend, Gloria,” he says, introducing me.
I crouch down to shake their hands. “It’s nice to meet you guys.”
“I’m Queenie,” says the girl wearing a purple shirt. Her dark hair is slightly longer than her sister’s, and tied into two pigtails instead of one braid.
“And I’m Hattie,” says the other one more shyly.
“Can you guess their real names?” London asks me as he takes the girls’ backpacks and carries them to the car. Queenie and Hattie run ahead of us, clearly excited to go horseback riding.
“Aren’t those their real names? I guess Hattie could be short for Harriet…” London’s family’s names are all weird. I mean, who names their sonParis, like they’re in a Greek tragedy or a Shakespeare play?
“Queenie is short for Queens and Hattie is short for Manhattan,” London says in a stage whisper. “Because having a dad named Brooklyn isn’t enough.”
I snort-laugh as I open the back door of the car to buckle the girls into their booster seats. I haven’t hung out much with little girls—almost all of my younger cousins are boys—so I’m slightly apprehensive about today.
In the car, we don’t end up listening to theFrozensongs on repeat. To my surprise, they request theLord of the Ringssoundtrack.
“You guys have seenLord of the Rings?” I ask, turning around in my seat and craning my neck to face them.
Queenie nods, folding her arms across her chest. “Duh. I’m not a baby.”
I chuckle. Still, the score lifts my spirits and puts me at ease. Raina and I once spent a rainy afternoon watching the whole movie series together, since she insisted it was part of my cultural cinematic education. I miss our movie nights.
“What kind of music do you like listening to?” Hattie asks. She has her face pressed up against the window like she can’t wait to see the horses.
“Oh, I like bands you guys have probably never heard of from the Philippines, like SB19 and BINI. Or Ryder Black.”
“Did you guys know she’s related to Ryder Black?” London says, making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror.
I roll my eyes. “He’s married to my cousin, Isla. That’s nottechnicallyrelated.”
Sure, I get free VIP passes to all of his concerts, but I keep that between me and Raina.
Thegirls squeal with excitement and request that we turn on Ryder Black songs instead, which ignites a groan from London. He reluctantly acquiesces.
It’s funny to see him wrapped around his nieces’ fingers. I wonder what he would be like as a father. Then I shake my head at myself. He’s made it abundantly clear that he never wants to start a family.
“We’re here!” London declares as I’m about to fall asleep on the drive, lulled by an acoustic Ryder Black ballad and the gentle rocking of the car. So much for the instant milk tea.
I jolt awake, bleary-eyed. Flipping down the visor, I check my reflection in the mirror: slightly messy hair and a seatbelt imprint on my cheek, but otherwise, I should be fine.
We help his nieces out of the car. The ranch is beautiful, all desert landscaping and sagebrush. It’s so unlike where I grew up, and lacking the oppressively stultifying humidity, but it’s filled with natural beauty. Leafy acacia trees shade the dusty paths and in the far distance, I can see the mountains.
We get introduced to the horses—Thunder, Ember, Honey, and Misty—by an employee named Eli. He seems to recognize London and his nieces, but when his eyes land on me, he says to London, “Is this your girlfriend?”
“We’re just friends,” London and I blurt out at the same time.
Just friends. Who share ice cream. And see each other shirtless. I mean, not that he’s seen me topless.
“My bad,” Eli says, and makes no further comment. The girls, however, latch onto it and start teasing London and asking him why I’m not his girlfriend.
“We just don’t like each other that way,” he says, his tone clearly exasperated.
The four horses are standing patiently, some of them eating something from their trough and two others sniffing us.
Thunder is all-black, reminding me of the horse inBlack Beauty.Ember has a caramel colour with a white spot on his—her?—forehead. Misty is a beautiful dappled grey colour, with wide eyes and a gentle demeanour. Finally, Honey is bluish-gray, with ribbons braided into her mane. I was never a horse girl growing up—I never even saw horses in real life, let alone rode one—but this scene is making myCanterwood Crest-loving younger self jump up and down.
“So Hattie, you’ll be back on Ember, and Queenie, you’re going to ride Misty today,” Eli says. “London, do you want to try Honey or Thunder this time?”
