Love & Other Disasters(72)

They had another Elimination Challenge tomorrow. But as they walked into the hotel lobby, Dahlia didn’t feel nervous, full only of a restless kind of energy.

They walked toward the elevators, but Dahlia paused, tugging on London’s arm as an idea sneaked into her brain.

They quirked an eyebrow but followed without question, until Dahlia paused before two massive doors.

“I think it’s empty.”

Dahlia held her ear to the ballroom doors for another second before trying a handle. To her delight, it swung open. She pranced inside, light on her toes. She turned to London once she reached the center of the dance floor, now completely devoid of wedding revelers.

“We missed the slow dance, last time we were here.”

London ambled over to her, scratching the back of their neck.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here right now.”

“That didn’t stop you last time.” She smiled. A bubble of laughter escaped her throat as a flash of memory lit up her brain.

“You should have seen the panic on your face when that slow song came on. I had to steal that wine for us to save you.”

“It was a bad song anyway.” London dug their phone out of their back pocket. “Do you have a better one in mind?”

She shook her head. “Your choice.”

London was quiet a moment, scrolling through their phone. Dahlia bounced on her feet, fine with waiting. Fine with stretching out this night as far as it would go.

“That dress you wore that night . . . ” London glanced up at her for a second. “That dress was rude, Dahlia.”

“I had never worn it before.”

“Really?” London’s eyebrows raised a smidge, a corner of their mouth lifting. They were pleased, she could tell, that they were the only one who had seen her wear it.

“Yeah. I bought it as a bit of retail therapy one day, before I flew out. I had visions of maybe making a new friend in LA who might want to go out on the town one night.” She smiled. “Turns out I got you.”

London finally made a selection and placed their phone on the ground.

Dahlia moved to put her hands around their waist but paused at the deep frown on their face.

“What? You don’t even want to slow dance with me when we are literally the only people here?”

“No, no, not that. It’s just . . . ” London waved their hand in the air angrily. “The sound quality of this phone speaker is atrocious. It’s an insult to Sam Cooke, honestly.”

Dahlia reached around their waist and squeezed, shoving her face into their chest. “I’ll take it.”

“Wait,” London said. “Aren’t I supposed to have my arms around your waist? I don’t know what to do with my arms now.”

She pulled back to look at them. “Isn’t that pretty gender role-y?”

“No. I’m taller than you. You put your hands around my neck, I put mine on your back. That’s how it works.”

Dahlia settled her face back into their chest, squeezing their torso even tighter.

“Too bad. I’m comfy here.”

She felt them shake their head, but their arms wrapped around her shoulders, their fingers brushing the back of her neck.

It was more of a slightly swaying hug than it was a dance, but that was how she liked it. She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against their shoulder.

“London,” she said quietly after a minute of listening to the lyrics. “I think this is a sad song.”

She felt them kiss her hair. “All the best love songs are.”

Dahlia didn’t know what to say to that. So she just held London Parker through another sweet, sad song.

In the middle of the third song, London trailed their fingers up the nape of her neck, reaching into her hairline, massaging her scalp. Her eyes fell closed.

“My dad has never used my pronouns,” London said.

Dahlia’s eyes popped open.

She tilted her head back to look at them, every other thought dropping out of her brain.

“What?”

London’s eyes were unreadable.

“I don’t know why I wanted to tell you that just now. But . . . there it is.”

“So he doesn’t . . .”

“Yeah. He thinks I’m going through a phase, or something. A three-year-slash-lifelong phase.”

Dahlia extracted an arm from their back, ran a finger down their cheek.

“London. I’m so sorry.”

“Julie has texted me some vague things about him recently. I think . . . ” London’s forehead creased. “I think me being out on the show has caused some drama, maybe.”

“And you hate drama,” Dahlia supplied.

“I really do.”

“The rest of your family . . . ?”

London nodded. “Yeah. They’re okay.”

“Good,” Dahlia whispered.

“Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about it. I just wanted you to know.”

“Okay.” She rubbed their neck.

“Will you talk to me more about . . . stuff that’s ever bothering you, too? Family stuff or life stuff or anything.”

London’s eyes were searching, serious.

Dahlia swallowed.

“Yes,” she said. Although feeling mopey about never being able to please her mother seemed like a small thing, just then.