Love & Other Disasters(89)

London sat back in their seat, taking another sip of water. Godspeed to anyone who had to suffer the wrath of Charlotte Parker when she looked like that.

London’s dad was undisturbed. He brought his wineglass to his mouth once more. After a big slug, he shook his head.

“Of course. I’m always the bad guy. Fine. Someone has to be. I’m just trying to look out for you, London. You’ve always been so flighty. If it’s not one thing, it’s the other, and you’re far past the age of finding yourself. You need to grow up one of these days.”

“That’s rich,” Charlotte muttered.

London looked at their dad one last time. Part of them wanted to feel sorry for this man, drunk and childish, so deeply thrown by the slightest deviation from societal norms. And they would have, if they were sitting across from Lizzie, or Khari, or someone else who didn’t matter. But this man had held London in his arms when they were a baby. This was the man who had gleefully kicked London’s ass at Trivial Pursuit during family game nights, year after year, ruffling their hair and smiling with his whole face when he said “Better luck next time.” This man had shared late-night hot chocolates with London on nights when neither of them could sleep. They had watched rom-coms together in the den; their dad always pretended they didn’t make him cry, that his allergies were just flaring up. This man had come to every major event of London’s life.

And he wasn’t going to ruin this one.

“Okay,” London released Julie’s hand to push themself back from the table. “Time to go.” They drained their wineglass before they stood but left their half-eaten tagliatelle on the table. It wasn’t as good as Dahlia’s pappardelle, anyway.

“London, honey”—London’s mom reached over to grab their hand—“please. Don’t go like this.”

“Can I come with you?” Julie asked, throwing her napkin on the table.

“No, no.” London attempted to give her a reassuring smile, attempted to pass it around to everyone else at the table, to Sara and Jackie, who were both staring at London, frowning, concern etched into their brows. London couldn’t make themself look at their mom. “It’s okay. I promise. I just have a big day tomorrow.”

London patted the top of Julie’s head, a gesture that had always pissed her off ever since sixth grade, when London went through a growth spurt that officially left them two inches taller.

“I’ll see you soon. Thanks for dinner.”

They took a deep breath once they were back in the driver’s seat of the Nissan, allowing themself one forehead thump against the steering wheel. They wished Dahlia were here. They weren’t much in the mood for driving.

They pulled their phone out of their pocket. Sixty new Twitter notifications since the last time they’d checked. Thirty-nine from Instagram.

No new texts.

They put the car in reverse and drove out of the parking lot.

London couldn’t sleep.

The finale was in ten hours, and every anxiety-ridden thought London’s brain had ever possibly conceived since flying to LA over a month ago was now parading through their brain.

London was proud of the visibility they’d achieved for their community on Chef’s Special.

But right now, in the dark, the clock ticking away until the moment they would step onto that set for the last time with the world watching, that visibility felt heavy on their shoulders.

They knew that those who didn’t like them would discredit them either way. If they lost, they would have had it coming. If they won, then it would be rigged in favor of political correctness.

But what if London lost in front of everyone who wanted them to win?

How would that trans kid in Kentucky feel?

Quietly, London got to their feet. Their habits of the last week were still ingrained in their system. Their body was itching to walk.

They would just go get some of that awful green tea from the lobby they’d drunk too much of this week. Walk around the corridors for a bit.

But London didn’t even make it as far as the tea station. Because when they walked through the lobby, they were stopped short by a familiar short profile, a dark bob of hair with a streak of silver, sitting at the hotel bar.

Automatically, London walked toward her. They sat down next to their mother.

“What are you drinking there?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then lowered again. Her creased forehead smoothed, and she smiled.

“A hot toddy. If I consume any more wine tonight, I’ll be passed out for your big day tomorrow. Please.” She pushed the warm glass along the counter toward them. “Drink it.”

A hot toddy actually sounded perfect right about now. London took a sip.

“So you’re in love, huh?” Charlotte Parker asked.

London choked on the rum. Once they had recovered, they cast her a sidelong glance. “We’re just jumping right in then, huh?”

“Will we be able to meet her anytime soon?”

London ran a finger along the countertop.

“Hopefully.”

They took longer sips of the toddy. It slid down their throat, warm and comforting.

A moment passed, and then Charlotte sighed. She reached up a weathered hand and rested it on London’s cheek.

“Oh, baby,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”