Someday, Somehow

by Claudia Burgoa

  I’ve always wanted to travel the world. But after I became friends with Auggie, I knew he was the only person I wanted to see it with. I would spend hours, procrastinating on responsibilities, daydreaming of the countries we would see, people we would meet, and food we would try. I imagined us traveling the entire world over a few years before coming back home and settling down.

  That was the dream then. Now I know I’ve seen a lot of the world without him. And I’ll keep doing that, just like I have to get on with my life without him.

  “Excuse me, George,” the sous chef, Hans, says.

  “Yes?” I say, turning to look at him.

  “You have a bit of flour on your face,” he says with a warm smile.

  I blush. “Oh, thanks. I’ll...get to it eventually.”

  “There’s no rush,” he says as he dusts some off my face lightly. “It coats your face, but it doesn’t mask your beauty.”

  I blush again.

  Hans is cute, almost celebrity-level cute. But he still sits in this unfortunate limbo where he’s too much like Auggie but he’s also not the same at all. I think if Hans and I go out, I would never get over Auggie for real. I might spend the rest of my life using men who remind me of Auggie as a crutch for not getting over him. I can’t do that to myself.

  Hans asks me how I like Rome so far. I appreciate the distraction from my love life, so we chat for a while as we work.

  The distraction is nice.

  ✩✩✩

  A month later, I decide to take my day off and go see Venice. I didn’t see it back when I was living in Paris because Tiff won a bet we had, so we went to Prague instead. So, seeing Venice is at the top of my bucket list for this year.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t check the weather when I was packing and forgot my raincoat—the one I only use in Europe because neither the state I grew up in, nor the state I live in as an adult get much rain.

  It’s really a beautiful city. The buildings are tightly packed, but their windows and balconies look like they were hand-molded. Some of the brick on these buildings is just gorgeous. I can’t tell if some of them are naturally worn down or if their building owners applied the German smear technique at some point.

  I would normally stop to appreciate the buildings and inspect them to draw my own conclusion—but I can’t appreciate them when I’m half-lost and drenched by the rain.

  There has to be a shop or something that sells rain ponchos. I spot my hostel on the other side of the bridge I’m just passing. Yes, perfect.

  I run toward the hostel as carefully as possible.

  “Benvenuta,” the person behind the desk says as I squeeze the excess water out of my hair.

  His voice is sturdy, rugged. But I can’t be bothered to look up as I struggle with my backpack. Good thing I kept my phone in a waterproof bag, but let’s hope my clothes can dry by tonight.

  “Ciao,” I say. “Uh, Usted habla Inglés?”

  “Yes, but that’s Spanish,” the man says with a handsome grin.

  I laugh nervously. “I tend to find it’s easier to ask in Spanish around here. If the answer is no, then I can stumble my way through a Spanish-Italian conversation.”

  “Clever,” he says. “We don’t get many travelers who are as smart as they are beautiful.”

  I blush. Okay, this guy is going to have to calm down if he’s trying to flirt with me before I’m even presentable. I look up, ready to tell him off for professionalism, when I finally get a good look at him.

  He’s a modern day Adonis. If Fabio were thirty years younger, lither, and had the fashion sense of a Brooklyn hipster, he’d look like this guy.

  “Well, thank you,” I say instead, unsure what else to say. “I’m George—Georgia, that is.”

  His face perks up. “After the painter Georgia O’Keeffe?”

  “Yes, actually,” I say, beaming. No other guy has ever guessed. “And you are?”

  “Mario,” he says as he eyes me suggestively. “Let’s get you into your room. Perhaps I can give you a tour of Venice after the rain stops.”

  I nod quietly, slightly in awe of him. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

  Thirty-Five

  Auggie

  From: G. Jones

  To: Family

  Subject: Coming home.

  Hey guys,

  I wanted to let you guys know that I cut my sabbatical a few weeks short and I’ll be in Colorado next week.

  Love,

  George

  From: A. Beltran

  To: G. Jones

  Subject: Flight information

  George,

  It’s been ages, I’m so glad to hear from you. Why don’t you send me your flight information? I’ll be happy to pick you up.

  Auggie

  Thirty-Six

  Auggie

  Where is she?

  My nerves have gotten the better of me as I’m standing in front of the airport arrivals with a big sign that says, “Welcome Back George” and flowers. I left the ring at home. Cat’s right, proposing in the middle of the airport defeats the purpose of all my hard work. Also, I’m not sure how she’s going to react when she sees me.

  She never responded to my email or the dozens of voice mails I left while she was gone. Nor has she replied to my texts. It was Eli who gave me the flight information. She’s coming from Miami.

  Why would she fly from Rome to Miami?

  Maybe I should’ve waited at home for her and let Eli pick her up. Then again, I can’t wait to see her. It’s been almost a year.

  Eli talks to her every day. Their relationship didn’t break when she left—like ours did. However, Eli doesn’t tell me much about her. He hasn’t said anything, but I’m sure he knows I fucked up greatly.

  I keep checking every direction she could be coming from, but she wasn’t in the last two waves of people to exit. Maybe she’s in the one that’s trickling through now.

  I think I spot her until I realize that woman is too short to be George. I almost think I see her again, but then I realize that she hasn’t had her hair in locks for a few years. Before she left, she had pink strands highlighting her dark brown hair.

  Honestly, I have no idea what her hair would even look like right now. What if she got a tattoo while she was in Europe? What if she shaved her hair off because she needed a change? Actually...it doesn’t matter to me if she looks different. She always looks beautiful.

  I think I spot her in the middle of the crowd...yeah, that’s her.

  She is wearing locks and she has her glasses on, which means she ran out of contacts, but I was right. She does always look good. Even in a sweatshirt and shorts, she always takes my breath away.

  “George! Over here!” I shout.

  She turns toward me. Her eyes instantly light up. She waves enthusiastically.

  I wave back, walking quickly toward her. Almost running. I can’t exactly get to her with this crowd in the way, but I don’t care. I’ve waited too long to see her to wait another second.

  She looks over in the direction of the crowd, waving to someone else. Huh, I wonder if she saw me. She turns back to wave at me as I approach. I walk faster, pushing a few people on the way.

  She crashes into my arms...and it feels like my soul is back in its body for the first time in years. This is what I was missing from my life.

  She is everything.

  My everything.

  “Auggie, oh my gosh, I missed you so much,” she says into my chest.

  “Me too,” I say. “It’s been too long I—”

  “There you are, George,” some guy’s voice says behind us.

  Before I can tell this guy to fuck off, George breaks our hug. She smiles at this fucking model guy who interrupted us like he hung the sky.

  My heart stops.

  “Auggie, I’d like you to meet Mario,” she says, and he kisses her cheek. “We met in Venice.”

  Fuck, shit, fuck, she brought a guy home. She went to Italy and met someone else.

 
“Mario, nice to meet you,” I say tightly as I offer him a handshake. “Agustin Beltran.”

  “Ah, Auggie, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Mario says.

  “Agustin will be fine,” I say.

  “So formal, Auggie,” George says lightly and rolls her eyes.

  I know she’s passing off a warning as banter. But I don’t care right now, I’m being as polite as my body can muster.

  “Well, it’s been a while, but you may recall that I like to keep things professional,” I defend myself.

  It sounds better than who the fuck is this guy and following quickly by my punching him in the face.

  “Okay, weirdo,” George says. “Thank you for picking us up, I thought Dad would be the one taking us home.”

  “Let’s get your bags, okay,” I suggest stoically.

  My stomach is a swirling pit of nerves as I lead them to my car. How am I supposed to go home with my best friend when this dude is apparently tagging along?

  Shit, I need to breathe. Maybe if I can just get through the next few hours, Mario will make a fool of himself or disappear like some horrible nightmare. We go to baggage claim where I try to ignore their constant whispering and PDA. Is this some kind of torture? Punishment for being stupid?

  “Alright then,” I say to no one in particular once we gather their things. “Let’s get going.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Auggie

  Pulling into Dad’s driveway, I’m a little surprised George hasn’t asked any questions yet. Then again, she’s been sitting in the back seat with Mario just staring at each other like teenagers this entire time. She’s telling him about all the friends and coworkers she’s excited for him to meet.

  I’m trying to be fair since George is clearly into him but...really? This guy? Mario looks like a flight risk. He’s just here to have fun and get out. He shouldn’t be able to meet half of George’s friends because he won’t be around long enough to appreciate them.

  George wouldn’t have to introduce me to all of her friends. I’ve been there with her every step of the way except the last year but sue me. She wanted her space and I needed to be better.

  Screw everything, this is going to be a nice night. Mario is just a fling. A road bump, hopefully.

  “Wait, what are we doing at your dad’s house?” George finally says as I turn off the ignition.

  I wince. “Sorry, they really wanted to see you.”

  “Alright,” she says as she reaches to unbuckle her seat belt.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, tossing her my car keys before sprinting at top speed into the house.

  The living room lights turn on as a large group of our friends and family scream, “Surprise!”

  “She’s...George...Mario…from Italy! Boyfriend from Italy!” I say as I catch my breath.

  Everyone looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.

  “Just hide again!” I shout before turning off the light.

  George and Mario open the door a minute later. We jump out, yelling surprise again. But this time, I’m hiding among the crowd. Instead of being right by her side like I want to be.

  “Oh, wow,” George says as she scans the room. “Dad?! Grams! Aunt Nia...wow, everyone’s here.”

  Eli walks toward her, giving her a big hug when he does reach her.

  “Welcome home, cupcake,” Eli says. “I see you brought some souvenirs.”

  I don’t have to be next to them to know that he means Mario...and that George is about to die of embarrassment.

  So far, this reunion is going very smoothly.

  Thirty-Eight

  Auggie

  The awkwardness of our surprise guest dies down once Ben tells our cousin, Antonio, to start the music. People, thankfully, switch gears into party mode quickly. They trickle their way through the food, outdoor patio for music and grilling, and welcoming George home. Most of the employees from the restaurant are at the party, and they keep looking at Mario like he kicked a puppy.

  Something tells me I’m that puppy. Shit, I need more tequila. But staring at my glass...I just know it’s not going to help me.

  “Well, this is fun. Have anymore tricks up your sleeve, Auggie?” Tiff says an hour into the party.

  I glare at her. “Not now.”

  She crosses her arms. “I think this is the perfect time. C’mon, Cassanova, what’s your backup plan?”

  “I...don’t know,” I confess.

  “Are you going to try to win her back?” Dwayne says.

  My eyes scan the area until they land where George and Mario are. She’s talking lively and her smile shines, like a million watts of pure happiness.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Tiff asks.

  “I mean, I don’t know!” I whisper furiously. “I don’t know the guy. I don’t know them together at all. She looks so happy.”

  Happier than she could ever be with me.

  I observe them with envy and pain. I know why him and not me. He’s there but do they make sense together? What is their chemistry? They look good together, but they don’t seem like they’re really talking to each other.

  “Maybe his English is really bad and he can’t talk much,” Dwayne says.

  “Maybe he just got off an international flight and doesn’t feel like socializing,” Tiff says. “Maybe it was shitty to not let him opt out of the lightning round of ‘meet everyone in your new girlfriend’s life.’”

  “Perhaps,” I say with a shrug. “But it’s not exactly like George gave us a heads up.”

  She’s not talking to me. Did Eli know about this? I search for her dad and find him chatting with Dad and my abuela.

  “Everyone, gather around,” George says. “I have an announcement to make.”

  Antonio cuts the music as everyone trickles back into the living room.

  “First of all, I want to thank everyone who came today—from near and far—to welcome me back home. This is truly one of the best days of my life because I got to leave one of the best experiences I’ve had and share it with the most important people in my life.”

  There are murmurs of assent from the party crowd.

  “And now that we are gathered like this...I’m actually really relieved that you’re here to celebrate with us,” she says as she takes Mario’s hand. “I know I kept Mario all to myself—including the news that we were traveling together along Europe but…”

  My stomach drops. Fuck, celebrate? Celebrate what.

  “Mario and I are engaged!” George shouts. “We’re getting married in six weeks!”

  There’s nothing but silence for a long moment. Everyone is just staring at them in disbelief.

  “Uh, guys…” George says. “I said we’re getting married!”

  Tiff grabs my shot of tequila, downing it before she smiles.

  “Oh my God! That’s amazing!” Tiff shouts.

  The crowd dissolves into cheers and chants. Tiff starts laughing.

  “Aren’t you glad Cat talked you out of making this an engagement party?” Tiff says.

  “Babe,” Dwayne says. “...Okay, yeah, this is a little funny.”

  “What are you going to do, Romeo?” Cat asks, appearing behind me.

  Well, now is as good a time as ever to practice some radical honesty. Really assess my situation and accept the hand I’ve been dealt.

  “I have no fucking clue.”

  ✩✩✩

  I’m up early the next morning, eating breakfast in my own kitchen. I didn’t have the stomach to drink so I was able to drive George and me (oh, and let’s not forget fucking Mario) home. George walks into the kitchen as I’m tucking into her favorite buttermilk blueberry pancakes.

  George is walking around in a large Henley shirt. I want to be annoyed because it’s clearly Mario’s. But, predictably, she looks gorgeous. The shirt fits her like a dress, skimming her curves and accentuating her butt in a way that’s so unfair.

  It barely covers her
underwear, showing off her toned legs perfectly. I could get lost between those legs. I wish I could just take her right now—sweep her off her feet, carry her to my bed, bury myself in her, and worship her body for days.

  Thank fuck, this table is blocking her view of my—

  “Hey,” George says. “I hope it’s alright that Mario spent the night—”

  “Of course, this is your house,” I say as casually as possible. “You’re engaged after all. What else would you do? Spend your first night home in over a year in some strange hotel bed?”

  She shivers. “Yeah, no thanks.”

  “So...six weeks, huh?” I try to say calmly. “That’s...a fast turnover.”

  “Yeah, well, why wait to start your life? We’re committed to each other and while we were in Miami, we decided to get married,” she says.

  “You were in Miami?”

  She nods. “New York before that. I only worked in Italy for the first nine months. Afterward, we decided to use my sabbatical traveling the country before I came home.”

  “Oh,” I say. “That explains why you’re not jet-lagged.”

  She blushes. “Yeah, but New York is beautiful this time of year, and so is...San Francisco and Seattle and...Miami.”

  “Wow, so you’ve been all over the place,” I say.

  George shrugs. “Mario’s well-traveled, and he’s the only grandchild on one side of his family so his inheritance was...nothing to sneeze at.”

  “Oh, cool,” I say, pretending to care. “So, I’m assuming you met at the five-star restaurant you were working at.”

  “Actually, we met at this hostel in Venice he was working at,” George retells. “I didn’t find out until we’d been dating a few months that he was...comfortable.”

  “You mean loaded,” I correct her.

  “I mean...well off.” She clears her throat.

  I laugh. She’s trying to be nice. “You mean filthy rich.”