Page 98 of The Boyfriend List
"Technically, I just made a list. You happened to fit all the requirements," he says playfully. "You, and no one else."
I take a moment to absorb the warmth of his words before saying, "I got the job."
"I knew you would!" His eyes, already filled with love, flood with admiration and awe. "You're something else, Gloria Romero."
Next to us, Reginald clears his throat. "As much of a fan as I am of the two of you getting together, please keep the public displays of affection to a minimum of twenty seconds. This has been seven minutes too long."
London and I both laugh and let go of each other, though he still holds onto my hand.
"I'm going to miss working here," I say quietly as he sits next to me at my desk. "All the friends I've made…"
"Even Giorgio?" London teases.
I roll my eyes. "Maybe. But you, most of all."
He shakes his head. "You'll always have me, love."
Chapter Thirty-Seven: London
“Are you sure about this?” Gloria asks me for what feels like the fifty-seventh time on the drive from her apartment to my parents’ home. It’s been a few weeks since Sav’s disastrous wedding and the aftermath, and we were all surprised to hear that our parents have sought counselling instead of getting divorced. It shocked me even more when my mom called me a few weeks ago asking if Gloria would like to come to Thanksgiving dinner since she wants to apologize to her.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel at a red light. My other hand grasps hers, and I bring her hand to mine, kissing her knuckles. “I wouldn’t bring you if I didn’t think they had changed.”
And to my surprise, they have. One of Mom’s friends asked her to go to church around the same time that the divorce was filed, and apparently, Dad decided to go with her. The two of them have softened in their communication towards each other.
Dad’s harsher tones are sanded down to a more patient cadence. Mom’s complaints have been less and less frequent about him. It hasn’t been perfect by any chance, but… it’s more than I ever thought I would see in my lifetime. Mom even called the other day to tell me that Dad was mowing the lawn on a weekly basis.
“It’s just hard to believe without having seen it for myself. And since the last time I saw them didn’t exactly cast them in a good light,” Gloria says, biting her lower lip.
As we pull into the driveway, I squeeze her hand. “It’ll be alright. And if it isn’t, we can leave whenever you want. I’ll pretend to get food poisoning.”
“You’re not going to fake a heart attack?” she teases.
I roll my eyes in spite of the grin spreading across my face. “I’m not Reggie. Unless you want me to, so you can give me CPR?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. No PDA in front of your family.”
“Is that so?” I get out of the car and walk over to her side to get her door. When she clambers out of my car, I pretend to pull her into a hug. In reality, I seize the moment to tickle her sides, and she squeals, her laughter warming parts of my heart that I thought would always be cold.
“Yes!” she says, escaping my grip and running towards the front door with a mischievous grin. “Now come on. We’re going to be late, and the last thing I want to make is a bad third impression on your family.”
She even brought gifts for my family—a bag of Filipino snacks—even though I assured her it was totally unnecessary.
“They should be worried about making a bad third impression onyou,” I say. Thinking of my mom always makes a knot of complicated emotions tighten in my chest. “Especially my mom.”
The door opens after a few moments, Savannah and Micah standing there in matching Thanksgiving-themed sweaters with turkeys on them. “Hey, guys. Good to see you again, Gloria!”
To my surprise, Savannah pulls Gloria in for a hug. None of us are particularly touchy-feely—but maybe marriage has changed her? Gloria reciprocatesthe hug after a moment of surprised stiffness. Then, my sister turns to me and gives me a hug, one that shocks me more than it should.
Micah and I exchange greetings. Gloria keeps a tight grip on her gift bag until we enter the kitchen, where, to my surprise, Dad has his sleeves rolled up as he rolls out a misshapen pie crust, cans of pumpkin puree next to him. Mom is nowhere in sight.
“Hey, Dad.” The words still feel shaky as they exit my lips. “You remember my girlfriend, Gloria, right?”
“I do.” He wipes his hands on a kitchen towel and crosses the room to shake hers. “It’s a pleasure to see the woman who’s made my son so happy.”
I blink. Whatever I expected from my dad, it wasn’t this. Not that he’s ever been outright hostile towards me before—usually he would save his ire for Mom—but this kind of verbal affection from him is foreign to me.
“It’s good to see you again, too, Mr. Young,” Gloria says.
