Someday, Somehow

by Claudia Burgoa

  George winces. “Maybe just a smidge.”

  It’s confusing that she’s talking like this, though. Last night, she acted like Mario was the only person on earth. Right now, it’s like she’s trying to soften the blow of Mario to an ex. Which is weird since by all accounts she thinks I never felt the same or don’t know that she had feelings for me.

  So why would it be awkward if she’s completely over me...unless she isn’t? Some of the hope I lost yesterday returns, I just don’t know how I’m supposed to fix my mess without destroying her happiness.

  “So, Mario he seems…great,” I say, trying to prod at this issue further.

  George’s eyes light up. “He is. He’s so fascinating and has a degree in art history from Oxford.”

  Of course he does. I refrain from rolling my eyes.

  “—And he’s just so kind, Auggie. He’s very thoughtful and one of the most generous men I’ve ever met,” George says cheerfully, then looks at me. “Other than you of course.”

  Thank you for throwing me a bone.

  “It sounds like he makes you happy,” I say.

  George smiles. “He really does.”

  Fuck.

  “I’m really happy for you...but, come on, George,” I say slowly.

  You can’t possibly be in love with him. What happened to us? Is he really that amazing he swept her off her feet and how … but I don’t say any of that or try to put him down. Honestly, I don’t know him. Also, I can’t crush her feelings, can I? Shit, fine.

  “You can’t stop there, tell me all about him.”

  I let her continue on, weaving stories about how he swept her off her feet when she was cold, frustrated, and homesick. How amazing Mario is and how lucky she is to have met and fallen in love with him.

  I nod along awkwardly. I don't want to ruin this relationship for her if it truly makes her happy. I would never be so selfish to take away real happiness from the love of my life.

  So what am I supposed to do now?

  Thirty-Nine

  Auggie

  The rest of the week is pretty quiet, Mario is tired and wants to rest before he and George ‘explore the state.’ Whatever that means. Except for the Italian poser, everything’s pretty much normal.

  George and I catch up on a few of the true crime shows that I couldn’t stand watching while she was gone. We start listening to a new podcast as I loop her in on how things are working at the restaurant. After all, we co-own it.

  We make meals together while I listen to her talk about how amazing her sabbatical was.

  “The restaurant was amazing, Auggie,” George says. “It was so intimate and high end. Every so often people would pay me compliments or want to introduce themselves to me. It makes me want to open a shop where I create desserts all day long—but then, I’d miss the hype of working at a restaurant if I do it.”

  I’m not surprised. She’s amazing. She puts so much love and dedication into every dish she makes. How could anyone not be blown away by her? That’s honestly the only reason I don’t hate Mario’s guts right now. He knew a great woman when she was right there in front of him. He put himself out there when I couldn’t. I can’t be mad at someone for stepping in and filling the role I was too stupid to appreciate.

  I can, however, be pissed off that he doesn’t have anything in common with her. I’ve been sitting here for days, trying to size up what does he have to offer George and I can’t figure it out.

  “So what do you like to do for fun, Mario?” I ask over lunch on Saturday afternoon.

  “Hang gliding, for one,” he says. “But I also enjoy hitchhiking through new places, bartering for antiques, and of course, eating excellent food.”

  Mario kisses George’s cheek. It boils my blood a little.

  “Have you ever had Georgia’s Sfogliatella, Agustin ?” he asks me.

  My hands dig into my jeans underneath the table. It’s the only thing keeping me from punching him in the face.

  “No, I can’t say I have,” I say.

  Mario smiles, it looks very genuine and carefree. That asshole. “You must try it sometime. Georgia makes some of the best Sfogliatella I’ve ever eaten. So wonderful and tender, just like her.”

  George laughs and blushes. It doesn’t make me jealous, exactly, but I guess I kind of feel like an asshole. I should be the one praising George and embarrassing her with how proud I am of her. Like I used to before I went and screwed things up.

  “Hey, speaking of wonderful things,” George says. “Auggie, I was actually hoping to ask you something.”

  Please tell me you want me to sweep you off your feet and take you away from this loser, I think.

  “Would you be my maid of honor?” she asks.

  What? I stare at her as if she has grown a second head.

  “Maid of honor?” I repeat after her.

  “Yes, I’d love if you could be next to me on my big day,” she explains.

  “Uh...really?”

  “Yeah,” George says, extending her hand toward mine but stopping and instead grabbing the salad bowl. “You’re my best friend, who else would I ask?”

  Anyone but me?

  “Well...what about Tiff?”

  “Well, I was thinking that Mario’s best man is going to be his cousin, who’s a woman. So, it’d be nice to pair her up with a dashing man...and I think you fit the bill.”

  If I’m dashing, why aren’t you marrying me?

  Because you’re the fucking asshole who couldn’t see what was right in front of you and let her go.

  But seeing her getting married and to this guy…that’d be worse than the self-imposed penance I’ve been living through the past ten years.

  “Uh, I don’t, George...I’m not sure if I’m cut out for—”

  “Auggie, please,” she says, taking my hands.

  George squeezes my hands tightly. She looks longingly into my eyes. “I can’t get married without you by my side.”

  I really wish that were true. However, it’s George. I said I would do anything to keep her happy and I can’t back down from that promise now. I can’t forgive myself if I disappoint her again.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be your maid of honor.”

  If this makes George happy, then I promise to give her the best wedding possible.

  Even if it kills me.

  Forty

  Auggie

  Sunday brunch gets reinstated the next day. I bribed Cat into reserving one of the nice outdoor patio tables for us. She and Tyler decided to take over the brunch restaurants and I have to admit, they’re doing a spectacular job with them.

  Thankfully, I convinced Dwayne and Tiff to tag along. I’d rather be their third wheel, or everyone’s fifth wheel, than George and Mario’s.

  It’s a beautiful day out, perfect for light conversation. I just wish I could enjoy it with George in another reality instead of this week from hell. I’ve been pretty helpful with the wedding for the most part. Or at least as helpful as could be expected when helping to plan a wedding where George gets married to another man.

  “So, Mario,” Tiff says. “I still haven’t heard how you two met.”

  “Well,” George says. “I was—”

  “I’m sorry, George, but I was asking your future husband to gush about you,” Tiff says.

  George rolls her eyes. She turns to Mario, putting a hand on his arm. Someone, take me out of my misery.

  “Would you mind indulging my friend?” George asks.

  Mario nods. “It was a rainy day and this gorgeous woman with wild hair entered my hostel.”

  Dwayne raises his eyebrows. “Wild hair, huh?”

  “It’s fine,” George says with a tight smile. “It rained a lot over there which is why I opted for a protective hairstyle after a month or so in there...You were saying, Mario?”

  “She was so...fierce and majestic. Like a panther or lioness,” Mario says.

  I almost choke on my eggs. Oh, keep it up, buddy. If I don’t kill you by t
he end of this meal, Tiff will.

  “She was so beautiful, I knew I had to make her mine,” Mario says.

  I see Tiff loosen her fork the tiniest bit. Well, at least he’s safe from an accidental stabbing.

  “So, I began my conquest by giving her the true European experience,” Mario says. “I took her to the finest museums and eateries.”

  Mario takes a bite of his food. As he’s about to start speaking again, his phone rings.

  “Excuse me a moment,” he says as he looks at his phone. “It’s urgent.”

  George smiles as Mario walks away. As soon as Mario’s out of sight, she glares at us.

  “Guys, be nice,” George says.

  Tiff winces. She looks at Dwayne and then at me.

  “Is it just me? Am I crazy?” Tiff asks.

  “No,” I say earnestly. “He’s...something.”

  Dwayne clears his throat. “He’s an asshole.”

  George crosses her arms. “Okay, fine. What’s the problem exactly?”

  Dwayne shrugs, picking at his food with his fork. “He’s just a little behind on the times?”

  “Yeah,” I add. “Maybe he just needs time to adjust to being in a multi-racial relationship.”

  “Oh, my holy fuck—he’s…not my favorite person,” Tiff says as she scrubs her face.

  “He’s not that bad,” George says.

  “Pretty sure we could make a drinking game out of how many times he alluded to you being a wild animal,” Dwayne says.

  “Come to think of it...he kind of acts like we’re all really exciting to him,” Tiff says. “...They have brown people in Italy, right? Were you the only half-Mexican, half-Panamanian woman in Europe?”

  “Of course they do,” George says. “Listen, he’s a good guy. Is he rough around the edges? A little.”

  A little? I think incredulously.

  “What’s so funny, Beltran?” George asks accusingly.

  I freeze. Fuck, okay, I have to be supportive, but I can’t lie to her and tell her this fiancé she pulled out of thin air is perfect and definitely deserves her? Okay, I’ll just toe the line a little.

  “I’m just worried that you’re going to spend a lot of time teaching him how to be a better person. How is he going to refer to your children? Little cubs.”

  “You shouldn’t have to teach him to accept that we’re people just like him,” Tiff says, saving my ass. “He’s in his thirties. Maybe he needs to be pointed in the right direction of some literature and shit. But at the end of the day, he should want to bridge that cultural gap that he clearly sees happening.”

  George frowns. “I guess that makes sense. I don’t know, guys, I just don’t want to scare him off when he’s moving across the world for me. I don’t want to be too hard on him when everything’s so new.”

  I feel sucker punched when she brings up that he’ll do anything for her—as opposed as me who stayed here just doing nothing.

  “Okay,” Dwayne says. “Message received. We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Our conversation devolves as we go back to eating. Mario returns a few minutes later.

  “That was a friend of mine,” Mario says. “He offered us one of his homes in Canada as a wedding gift.”

  “How generous,” Tiff says. “What’s it like?”

  “It’s a small home in Quebec,” Mario says, confusion written across his face. “Small home? Tiny home? You know, the ones with wheels that are very chic.”

  “Tiny home,” Tiff says. “That’s really neat. But how will you use it, for vacations or for permanent residency?”

  “We’ll bring it back here,” Mario says. “You know, as a road trip.”

  Road trip? In a tiny house? George hates tiny houses. You might as well make a down payment on a real home, she always says.

  “That’s exciting,” Dwayne says with a smug smile. “Isn’t that right, George?”

  George puts on one of her weakest fake smiles. “Yep, it’s neat.”

  “We love driving across the countryside,” Mario says as he wraps his arm around George. “I can’t get this one out of the car once she’s in.”

  That’s because George gets impossible motion sickness in cars. Clearly, she’s miserable about this idea. So why does he think—

  He doesn’t know she hates car rides. What else does he not know about her?

  “Mario, can I ask you what flowers you’re interested in for the wedding?” I ask suddenly. “You know...so we can get quotes from florists tomorrow.”

  Mario shrugs. “Roses are good. And George’s favorite flower—orchids.”

  There we go.

  George clears her throat. “My favorite flowers are lavender and honeysuckle, sweetie.”

  Mario wrinkles his nose. “Does it really matter?”

  Has he seen our backyard? Flowers matter, designing the perfect table with the right center piece, the perfect food, and the right friends is something George tries to have at every meal. Does he know her at all?

  I remember how George said they went to New York for a few weeks before coming here. And they went all over Europe. They sound like they’re still in their honeymoon phase of their relationship. Why is she jumping into getting married so soon?

  In an instant it hits me. They’re still high on new relationship feelings. They had a wild, jet-setting love. They knew it was going to end but they had so much fun that they’re prolonging their vacation romance by getting married.

  And when George gets off that vacation high, she’s going to see Mario for who he really is. She won’t like it. Mario won’t make her happy anymore.

  I have five weeks to show her I’m the right choice, not him. We make sense and I love her. I not only know her favorite flower, but also that she gets motion sickness during long car drives. She likes to travel and try new food from every place so she can come back home and recreate what she loved the most.

  She’s scared of thunderstorms and likes to collect socks even when she only wears them at night.

  This isn’t about fighting with Mario. No, just winning her heart. I have to remind her how great we are together and show her how much she means to me.

  Forty-One

  Auggie

  Our friendship is back to normal. Though, George’s relationship with Mario reminds me somehow of Sean. We hang out together when I’m at home. I haven’t asked her when she’ll come back to work. In theory, she’s still on sabbatical but I’d love to see her back in action and work side by side with her when I’m at Desert Rose.

  My restaurant isn’t opening its doors for another couple of weeks. That’s when I’ll do the soft launch. For the first month, I’ll be cooking there for six days, once it’s up and running I already have guest chefs lined up to work with me. If only I had the time to explain to George about my vision, I think she’d love it.

  I can picture her planning the dessert of the day and then switching it last minute because her mood changed. Tonight, we’re at the steak house discussing the wedding and getting to know Mario better. It’s George’s idea. Not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know him well or she just wants us to bond.

  “Mario,” I say as the appetizers are being served. “With all the planning and working—it’s been pretty hectic. I feel like we still haven’t had a chance to get to know each other well.”

  George beams at me, like she’s proud of me for making an effort with this guy. It makes my stomach twist in knots. I hope she doesn’t hate my guts by the time this is done because the plan for tonight is showing the real Mario. It’s not like he’s bad, we just don’t know him enough for her to just jump in and marry the guy.

  “Of course, Agustin ,” Mario says. “Anything for George’s friends.”

  “So, moving across the world,” I say, taking a sip of my scotch. “How’s the adjustment so far? Missing home yet?”

  “No, not really,” he says. “I don’t like to stay put in one place for a long time.”

  I frown. What doe
s that mean?

  “Well, I’m glad you’re adjusting,” I say, trying to decipher the part of not wanting to stay put in one place for a long time. Will they be moving away? I hope not… “because George loves it here.”

  “Yes, the US is good for now,” he says.

  I take a sip of water.

  “For now?” I ask, worried because I can’t see myself losing George’s friendship too.

  Mario shrugs. “I haven’t traveled to Latin America as much as other parts of the world. This is a good place to make base camp for a while.”

  “Base camp? As in a good place to settle down?” I ask.

  He makes a ‘more-or-less’ gesture with his hand. “It’s a good place to leave out of season clothing while I spend the next few years traveling the continent.”

  I frown. “What about George?”

  Mario frowns, looking at George. “George will come with me. It’s why we’re marrying.”

  I genuinely choke on a bit of meatball. Seriously, George changed that much that she doesn’t care where she lives.

  George glares at Mario. “I suppose that’s a conversation we still need to have.”

  “Bellissima,” Mario says. “You know I constantly travel. It’s in my nature.”

  “Yes, but you know I have a restaurant. I thought we were going to take trips occasionally or take three weeks out of the year to travel,” she says, scrunching her nose. “I can’t just leave my responsibilities. A year was plenty.”

  Her eyebrows are scrunched the way they do when she’s frustrated. I want to distract her, make it better. But I also know that if they can’t get through this conversation without me mediating, there’s no future for them.

  “That’s not enough,” Mario says. “I spend at least six months a year traveling.”

  “I have a life here, Mario,” George whispers.

  Fine, I still need to do something.

  I clear my throat. “Uh, so would you consider getting a job while living here, Mario? I know George says you’re well off—”