Love & Other Disasters(91)

“Sounds like her.”

The elevator dinged at their mom’s floor.

London smashed her into their chest in a slightly awkward, half-drunken hug before she stepped away from them.

“London?”

Charlotte turned once she’d stepped into the hallway.

London looked down at her expectantly. She smiled.

“You got this, baby.”

And then the doors closed.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


The set was a mob scene.

Not in the suffocating staging area where London and Lizzie had been waiting for what felt like hours. London could do with some more chaos back here.

But they could see out onto the main floor from a crack in the temporary walls set up around them. Their pulse pounding in their ears, London watched everyone pour in.

The set had been transformed to make way for a live audience. All of the cooking stations had been removed, with the exception of two mega stations for London and Lizzie, which were situated directly across from each other. They’d made the judges’ table even higher and more grandiose, so all three could loom over the cooking process for the entire three-hour cooking period.

And behind the two mega stations, black risers had been installed to seat the family members and former contestants. London watched Ahmed walk in now, talking with Ayesha. With a pinch in their gut, they saw Cath. Jacob. Jeffrey.

London’s eyes scanned around the room. She had to be here soon.

They were ninety-eight percent positive she would be here soon.

Lizzie sat quietly in the opposite corner, as she had been all morning, studying notecards and apparently practicing some type of inner Zen.

Good for fucking her.

London scratched at their neck. The white chef’s jacket that was adorned by contestants only during the Final Face-Off was itchy as hell.

There.

London stopped breathing.

London’s family walked in with Dahlia. Dahlia was laughing with Julie until she saw Barbara, at which point she zoomed across the floor.

A flurry of expletives ran around London’s mind like foul-mouthed bunnies on speed. How was she laughing and smiling with Julie? When had they even been introduced to each other? Holy mother of pearl. She was here. She was smiling. She was wearing a black-and-white-striped top, off the shoulders, and this flouncy black tulle skirt with Chucks, and she looked so hot even from here that London felt like their skin was going to melt off.

With a loud, awkward gasp, air refilled London’s lungs. Lizzie looked up, a quizzical look on her face.

Fuck Lizzie.

London jiggled their leg. Okay. Breathe. They couldn’t focus on Dahlia right now.

They watched their family settle into the front row.

London wasn’t supposed to leave the staging area, but they had decided, at some point between last night and right now, that there was something they needed to do. They slipped out the back door, and they searched for Janet.

“Parker, you’re supposed to be waiting for the final call,” she said with irritation once London tracked her down not too far away.

“Please,” they said, knowing she was about to punch them. “I need you to do me a tiny favor.”

“Are you serious right now?” Janet stared at them over the top of her skinny violet frames. “You know how many balls I have in my court at this very moment? Yours, for one.”

“Do you see that guy out there? Standing near Cath?” London rushed out. “Tall, hair the same color as mine?”

“The dude who looks just like you but old. Yeah, London, I see that dude.”

“I need to talk to him. Can you send him back here for just, like, five minutes? Please?”

Janet gave London a dead stare before promptly walking away with nothing more than a shake of her head. Even after six weeks of taking direction from the woman, London still wasn’t certain if this was a yes or a no.

But two minutes later, their dad stood in front of them.

His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his khakis, and he wore a chagrined look on his face. A hungover look. London didn’t care.

London had to spit out these words now, before they lost their nerve. If they didn’t, they worried they’d accidentally swallow them forever.

“London,” their dad started. “Look, I’m very—” And then he stopped. He sounded startled when he asked, “Are you wearing makeup?”

London closed their eyes. Which were adorned with green eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. They had convinced some PAs to let Julie come on set with them, early this morning, to do it the way they liked.

And they would not let their dad distract them.

“Just . . . stop. Don’t say anything.” To London’s own shock, their voice sounded steady. “I’m talking now, and you’re listening. Okay?”

Their dad shut his mouth. To London’s relief, he nodded.

London inhaled deeply. They briefly shut their eyes.

They could do this.

“Dad, you start using my pronouns or else I’m done. You don’t see me anymore.”

Their dad frowned, let out a small disbelieving huff. “Now, London—”

“I don’t come over for Sunday suppers,” London continued. “You won’t be allowed in my apartment. I won’t see you at special occasions. I know we live in the same town, and we might run into each other occasionally. But you’ve had three years, Dad. And every single time you use the wrong pronoun, what I hear is that, even though I feel better about myself than I have my whole entire life, you don’t respect me. You don’t see me. Sometimes, it feels like you don’t love me. And yes, people slip up with pronouns all the time. It’s natural to make mistakes. But every time you misgender me, it’s purposeful, and it fucking hurts.”