The holiday parties we throw for our staff are typically pretty calm. Lots of good drinks and food but overall just a good chance to meet and mingle with people we don’t always have dedicated time for during the work week. It’s also a good opportunity to people watch.
Which is how George and I spend most of this year’s holiday party watching Dwayne and Tiff be...Dwayne and Tiff. I’m not really sure what they’re arguing about now, but even when they’re keeping their voices relatively quiet, it’s clear by their pinched smiles that they’re ready to lay into each other.
“It kind of looks like they want to tear each other’s clothes off,” George says next to me.
“Definitely,” I agree. “But the question is when? When will these two cross the line into…who the fuck knows?”
“Something serious, probably,” George corrects me. “You think?”
George shrugs. “It could take years without a little help. Perhaps he’s into her and Tiff is just not, you know? Without a little push, they might make it last forever.”
I laugh. “Why, Chef Jones, that sounds like you’re plotting. When did you become such a romantic?”
“Well, Mr. Beltran, I do believe we have a very plottable dilemma on our hands,” she says with a devious twinkle in her eye.
Tiff and Dwayne start walking toward the patio, their voices somehow getting louder and their conversation about...artichokes? Escalates.
“Perhaps,” I say. “But how do we help them reach their…potential?”
George takes a long sip of her wine. “I think what we need is to get them to reevaluate their initial assumptions of each other.”
I nod. “It is hard to see Dwayne with a woman he’s described as a ‘hyper-opinionated shrew.’”
“Well, ditto to Tiff trying to date a man who is, and I quote, ‘more boring than my Nani explaining that time she got lost on the L.’”
“Ouch,” I say.
“So, there’s some damage control to be done there,” she concludes while watching them.
For a moment, she seems to be lost in thought and I wonder what it is that’s keeping her away from the present, and us. Since she came back from Paris, there’s something missing between us—or maybe there’s a wall.
You’re looking too much into this, Agustin .
“Clearly, we’ll have to work hard to get them together,” I say, erasing the doubts regarding our friendship.
We’re solid.
“But have you noticed that they always find an excuse to leave a room shouting?” she mentions.
“Huh,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.
George blinks quickly, like she does when she knows she’s going to regret thinking about something.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Well, it’s probably nothing…”
“I’m listening.”
“It just...” she pauses, finishing her wine. “It seems very convenient to me that they always leave the room when their argument gets worse.”
I cross my arms. “That’s called being polite.”
“Oh, it is,” she says. “It’s also polite to leave the room before you’re about to fuck.”
I take a deep breath, what the fuck? Why didn’t I think of this myself?
“You’re saying our friends are using fighting as foreplay?”
“Yep,” she states quite matter-of-factly, as I stare in the direction where we lost visual of them on the back porch.
George shakes her head. “I know what you’re going to say, that’s ridiculous.”
“Well...there’s one way to find out,” I say as I take her hand, pulling her toward the patio.
“No, no, no, no,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to confirm my suspicions. Ewww, who wants to see his bare ass and my friend’s…eww.”
“It’s just so weird—” I argue, agreeing with her. We’re not going to check what they’re doing. “But is it implausible?”
George glares at me half-heartedly. “Yeah, they’re probably already sleeping with each other.”
I grin, and the thought crosses my mind that it’ll be fine as long as they stay away from George’s kitchen. “It happens more times than you think. Two people hanging out together...eventually something changes and poof. Love.”
George smirks. “Do you think it’s possible?”
“For some, yes. Look at those two love birds,” I say, taking a sip of my beer. “Who knows? Maybe by this time next year, they’ll be tying the knot.”
“Just that fast?” she asks, her easy demeanor falling. “Do you think it’ll happen to you?”
“Me? Nah, you said it once. I’m in love with love but no one else.”
“Of course,” she says with a flat tone.
I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong when she excuses herself. I stare after her as she briskly walks away from me.
What did I say?
Twenty-Seven
Auggie
A few months later, George and I are having brunch together at one of my dad’s brunch restaurants. They’re still relatively new but have taken off in popularity ever since their opening.
This location is my favorite because it’s on the second floor of a building that faces the mountains. We get the best views all year round here, but spring is when it finally gets warm enough to enjoy the outdoor seating.
I’ve made it a point to have brunch with George every week since she returned from France. Even though we live and work together, it can be hard to get time to just hang out by ourselves.
Our plan for today was to optimize our very limited TV watching time. There’s only so many hours of free time in the day and an overabundance of programs to watch ... and often rewatch.
That’s the original plan anyway. Currently, we’re talking about Cat, who sent us a video from last night of her and her boyfriend Tyler. In Vegas.
“Dad’s planning his funeral already,” I say, trying to understand why Cat decided to elope.
“You didn’t see it coming?” George asks.
“Of course not, did you?”
I mean, we’re talking about my baby sister. Maybe she’s not a baby anymore but why in the world would she just head to Vegas instead of letting us organize her wedding? The asshole didn’t even ask my father for her hand in marriage.
“This is a different era,” George says. “People live together because they love each other—without needing a marriage certificate.”
“They could’ve done that, not just fly to another state and get hitched by Elvis,” I protest.
“Elvis wasn’t there; I have the video to prove it.”
I glare at her, while she just laughs.
I smile.
Her laugh is one of the things I like the most about George. It fills the room with light and warms my heart. That’s been happening since the first day I met her. If there’s one thing I like to see is her smile.
George clears her throat, straightens her spine, and sets her hands on the table. “Question.”
I arch an eyebrow because what in the world do we need to talk about work on our off day?
Because what else would include such a serious face and blank gaze.
“Fire away, I’m full of answers,” I say.
“Have you...ever thought about marriage?” she asks slowly, almost hesitantly.
I laugh. What?
Where is this coming from? Cat’s latest crazy stunt, I think.
“Marriage?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Well, I was just wondering if you’d ever considered getting married and having a family,” she adds. “I mean, Cat did it and one day Ben will jump on the ship. What about…”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and then looks around and smiles sadly. “You.”
I sit back, frowning and hating her smile. Sadness isn’t her. She’s my sunshine in the middle of a storm. But what do I answer?
Marriage has crossed my mind a few times before. Mostly in abstract terms like ‘if I got m
arried, I hope she’d have a good sense of humor’ or ‘if I had a wife, I hope she’d be like George.’ But seriously considering getting married?
“I guess I can’t say I have.”
“Like...at all?” she asks, almost nervously.
I don’t understand. Why does it matter if I’m not in a rush to get married?
“Look, I’m not even thirty. All things considered, I already dealt with children and they’re out of the house. Right now, marriage just...doesn’t seem like the thing for me,” I try to explain.
She frowns. “Why not?”
Because I own a restaurant, I have to work for my father, and I plan on opening a few more restaurants in the future. In short, I’m already happily married to my work.
“Because marriage takes a lot of time and dedication—”
“What’s wrong with that?” George asks. “Do you have something against marriage?”
I run a hand through my hair. George swats it away. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to not messing with my hair when I’m stressed.
“Nothing,” I say. “Marriage can be beautiful.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“It’s a commitment I’m not sure I can handle,” I say.
“Continue…” George prompts.
“Well, my lifestyle requires very specific circumstances and accommodations,” I say firmly.
My schedule is crazy. I’m constantly on call while I’m at work.
“Besides,” I say. “I’m not exactly the marrying-type.”
She blinks. “Why not?”
Because who could put up with never knowing if I have time for them? Who could put up with sharing me with my entire family, the restaurants, and my immediate staff?
Who would understand that what George and I have is so incredibly precious to me and not feel threatened by that?
I’ve experienced that several times. George has been the reason of my breakups because women can’t understand why she’s so important.
Also, who would even like me long enough to get to know me and love me with all my faults and red flags?
I can’t dump that on my best friend, especially when she has no fault in this at all. I love spending all my time with her.
“Okay, you want the truth. Here it is, I’m just not marriage material. But so what?” I say out loud. “I don’t need a relationship to be happy. They’re overrated. Good for those who find love and all that shit. I’m happy the way my life is.”
George looks at me like I’ve punched her in the gut. She stands up, grabbing her things. I try to stop her, but she doesn’t hear me.
I finish brunch by myself, wondering what just happened.
Twenty-Eight
George
Tiff and Dwayne get engaged a couple of years after they met. This is great. Two people met by chance, fell madly in love, and are now celebrating their engagement.
I should be thrilled that two of my closest friends not only found each other, but are happy and going to spend the rest of their lives together.
So, why am I miserable at their engagement party?
And why am I so annoyed that Auggie insisted on closing Desert Rose for a night so we could have the party here?
I’m not jealous of Tiff and Dwayne, per se. I want them both to be happy. But I think it gets under my skin that they were able to find love in my restaurant and I can’t...
That they’re celebrating in the same place I thought Auggie would propose just a couple of years back.
Upset is a casual word to describe how I feel about the whole Auggie debacle. I’m not mad at him, but at myself. I can’t believe I expected to find love in the restaurant Auggie poured so much of us into. Hoping he’d fall in love with me.
Wishing I could say, “remember the time when we met and we were in your basement and you gave me that breathtaking, out of this world kiss? I stopped you and told you I needed a best friend, not…more. Well, I’ve been thinking, could we add the more now?”
At least, I think that’s what I said, breathtaking kiss. Or was it a toe-curling kiss? Yes, those were the words. It’s hard to remember when it happened so long ago. We’ve dated other people since then. Well, not many. I stopped after Sean.
It’s useless to think about the past or how to fix what is not broken according to him. But all I see is a shattered friendship and a hopeless heart from my perspective. I don’t know why I thought getting him to notice me would be easier or why I thought I’d progress with him at this point.
Someday, he said in one of my dreams. Somehow, I feel that’s never going to happen.
All I’ve got is a very successful thirty-year-old best friend who doesn’t think he’s marriage material. He already raised two children and he’s ready to live his life as a bachelor—like his father.
I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He used to be the world’s biggest romantic. He still loves Valentine’s Day and loves hearing people talk about how they met their partners. Obviously, it’s me.
Why did I think we’d be perfect together?
When did I let myself believe that just because I was in love, he’d fall?
This reminds me of Sean. He was nice, handsome, and successful.
When we broke up, he said, “You’re a great girl, George, but I can’t spend the rest of my life with someone who is incapable of falling in love with me.”
“Can I have your attention,” Auggie says, clinking his champagne glass. “I’ve had the great pleasure of personally knowing Dwayne for four years now. Before that, he was a highly revered colleague that I would’ve been lucky to have five minutes in the same room with. Now, I’m lucky if I see him less than seven days a week.”
People laugh around me as Dwayne pretends to be offended.
“Tiffany Shankar didn’t start with our staff until well into our first year of operation,” Auggie says. “But I knew she was an excellent chef and had stolen the title of ‘Georgia Jones’ best friend.’ Which at the time, meant she was either a phenomenal woman who treats her friends like the treasures they are, or we were going to have serious issues.
“I’m happy to report that Tiff is one of the most spirited and accomplished people I’ve ever met. The kind of woman who could challenge and love my friend Dwayne in ways he could only imagine.”
Auggie turns to Dwayne and Tiff as he says, “Love is one of the most powerful forces in this world and true love is so rare to find. It fills me with great joy that you two found each other. Every day I get to watch you grow as people, and as a couple, is an immense pleasure. If I could say one thing—”
“Get on with it!” Tiff shouts.
“—it’s to spend every moment you can with the person who makes you the best version of yourself. I think you’ve found that in each other and I wish nothing but the very best for you two.”
Auggie raises his glass. “Here’s to the happy couple—to Tiff and Dwayne.”
People shout cheers all around me. The party erupts back into chatter. I hardly notice, heading toward the bar.
The worst part about being in love with Auggie is knowing he’s no less in love with love than when we were kids in college. It’s wondering what I did wrong to make him stop thinking that love was for him.
✩✩✩
Maine is, admittedly cold, but beautiful. They have some of the best seafood in the country. So when Tiff says she wants to revamp the seafood section (again), the first thing Auggie says is, “Sure, George and I will do some field research and some family stuff.”
Apparently, Diego’s poking around the Portland, Maine, scene. Auggie says he isn’t sure if he’s looking to buy, build, or…who knows. But a free trip for him and his friends is okay in Auggie’s book as long as he knows he can repay his debt.
It’s a dance they’ve been doing for too long now. Diego offers and Auggie refuses. Auggie gives and doesn’t take because he doesn’t know how to. It was sweet at twenty-two, but at thirty-one I think he needs to learn that
he isn’t a one-man army.
Maybe I’m just tired, but it feels like everything on the social side of my life has become predictable up to this point.
We’ve spent all day on a lobster boat, learning from locals how they work. Later tonight, we’re going to one of the high-end restaurants in town. I spend a lot of that boat ride with motion sickness.
Auggie notices before it gets too bad. He tells me to lean against his shoulder and close my eyes. He narrates some things for me when I miss them. He even records some of it, telling me we can watch it together later.
The part of me that works hard to get over him is annoyed because of his gestures. The other part is swooning by his attention. This is getting to be too much for my heart to handle. Why can’t I fall out of love and find a guy who’ll want the same things I do?
I shouldn’t complain. This trip isn’t bad. The Maine seacoast eases some of that tension in my neck. Tension from whipping my head too fast every time Auggie catches me looking at him. Half the time I don’t know why I bother. I could stare at him forever and it wouldn’t phase him. The other half of the time, the half that gets me into trouble, is when Auggie’s...confusing.
Just like now, he does things that are so kind and thoughtful.
How am I supposed to interpret his actions as platonic?
What am I supposed to do when Auggie’s actions scream love but his words say ‘I love my friend.’
Why can’t you just love me the way I love you?
We get off the boat at sunset. Despite being a bit disoriented, I’m mostly in awe of the scenery. The sky bleeds in shades of mauve, wine, and topaz that dance off the waves. Boats are coming back in from a long day out at sea, glistening in the twilight. I could stare at this horizon forever.
Auggie puts an arm around my shoulder, hugging me from the side.
“Look at that sky,” I say.
Someday, Somehow Page 13