Someday, Somehow

by Claudia Burgoa

  George grimaces and sits up straight managing to smile. “Come on, take a seat. Take a load off.”

  I go for it. I crack open two beers for us, and we drink in silence for a while. It’s another clear, beautiful night.

  “So, where’s Mario?” I ask.

  “Wyoming, probably,” she says. “Or who knows where. Who cares?”

  “Don’t you?” I ask.

  “Not anymore,” she says before taking a sip of her beer.

  Did they break up?

  “What happened? Are you okay?” I ask.

  George shrugs. “I will be.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  George shakes her head. I take a long sip of beer. She’s clearly upset. I need to be here for her first and foremost.

  “That’s okay. I’m here if you ever want to talk,” I say.

  “Thanks,” she says quietly.

  We sit here in silence for a while. It’s not perfect but there’s a quiet appreciation we have for being in each other’s company.

  “For what it’s worth,” I say, eventually. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  George laughs. I don’t get it.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re not sorry,” George says. “You didn’t like Mario.”

  I take a sip of beer. “I never said I didn’t like him.”

  “You didn’t have to. It was written all over your face,” she says.

  “Well, regardless...I can still be sorry for your sake,” I say. “I never want to see you heartbroken.”

  “Auggie,” she says sharply.

  “What?”

  George glares at me. “Never mind.”

  I sigh. “If you want to say something, you should.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she says.

  “If you say so,” I respond. “Things can never be fine when there’s a lack of communication. But it’s your choice.”

  What else is there to say? All I can do is respect her boundaries.

  We finish our bottles. I reach for another round for us, but George shakes her head. She’s probably right. I don’t know what to do at this point. She’s right next to me, but somehow it’s like she’s on a completely different continent again.

  I turn toward her. George keeps looking straight ahead, just staring into the night sky. It reminds me of the countless nights we spent holding eulogies for the parts of us that we couldn’t hold onto—our childhoods, our collegiate bubble, our straightforward career aspirations.

  “What are you going to do about the wedding?” I ask against my better judgement.

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of dreading it,” she says. “A bunch of people cleared out their schedules to come back here. Either I ask them to come and it’ll just be a fancy party, or I have to start calling people tomorrow to tell them the wedding’s off.”

  She scrubs her face. “I’m not looking forward to either one of them. Not at all.”

  “Ouch,” I say. “That sounds awful.”

  “It probably will be,” George agrees.

  “Need any help?” I ask.

  “No, but thanks for trying,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say quietly. “You’re welcome.”

  A minute later, George speaks up.

  “I mean it,” she says. “Thanks for trying—for getting to know Mario when he was kind of terrible, for holding my hand through all the wedding stuff, and for helping him to be a better fiancé than he was.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  George rolls her eyes. “You can stop playing dumb, Auggie. I know the museum date was your idea. No one else gets how much I love absurdist art or chocolate fondue.”

  “No problem,” I say, clearing my throat. “Anything for you, George.”

  She laughs.

  “What?” I ask.

  George glances at me. Her smile is halfway between sympathetic and confused but somehow unreadable. She stands up from her seat and walks away to the artificial waterfall Eli helped me put in the backyard. It’s nothing like the lake Dad has but I thought it’d be as soothing.

  “Seriously, George, what’s so funny?” I ask, following right behind her. “You can tell me anything.”

  She stops walking and turns toward me. She shakes her head as her smile turns nostalgic.

  “It’s...crazy to me that you’ve been a better fiancé than my actual, now former, fiancé,” she says as she scoots closer. “Why couldn’t you be like that before or…?”

  She closes her mouth and shakes her head again before staring mournfully into my eyes. “Did you know I used to be in love with you?” She laughs hysterically. “It was...something, for sure. But I waited and waited, thinking that you loved me but were nervous...or busy. Or maybe you’d realize I was right in front of you, and you’d fall madly in love and recognize how perfect we were for each other. At least I thought we were.”

  She waves her hand.

  “At some point I just gave up because—”

  I take her into my arms and kiss her.

  Our lips meet and then our bodies connect. I pull her closer as our tongues intertwine. I breathe into every kiss every ‘I love you, I miss you, I’m sorry’ I’ve wanted to give since the day she left. I need her to know—to feel all the passion and burning desire that’s built up for her over the years. The love I haven’t professed and should have years ago.

  She meets my passion with the same energy and desperation.

  Her lips are so soft, her body and mind are so perfect, and her soul is everything my soul has been begging for my whole life. She’s everything to me.

  For one perfect moment, we’re connected, two heartbeats intertwined.

  And then—she breaks the kiss. Gasping as she stares at me, shocked.

  “Please don’t be over me yet,” I whisper desperately.

  George backs up, fixing her hair quickly.

  “What the fuck was that, Agustin?” she says, crossing her arms.

  I should have rehearsed something to say. Figured out a way to balance vulnerable, remorseful, and hopeful all at the same time.

  “I’m hopelessly in love with you and I want you to be in love with me too,” I say. “You’re the love of my life and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you, if that’s okay with you.”

  George covers her mouth. I pray that’s a good sign. That she’s going to gasp and say she’s always wanted to hear me say this.

  “You’re too late, Auggie,” she says.

  George grabs her keys and a pair of slippers, leaving our home along with my shattered heart.

  Forty-Six

  George

  This has to be the weirdest twenty-four hours of my entire life. One minute I’m engaged, the next I’m not. Fast forward a few hours, and my best friend who I used to be hopelessly in love with is now professing his love to me.

  This can’t be real.

  This can’t be happening.

  He can go fuck himself. I don’t care how much he says he loves me. It took me months—years—to forget him. To move on. Who the fuck does he think he is to just say I love you and don’t be over me?

  “He can’t just...tell me he loves me? Where the fuck did that come from?” I say to no one in particular. “He’s too late. I waited for years, it’s over.”

  How many times did he psyche me out? How many times did he keep me up late waiting for him to finish work? How often did he put his family before himself?

  My phone buzzes, it’s Dad.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Where are you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does,” he answers. “Auggie said you left a couple of hours ago and no one knows where you are.”

  I look around the hotel room where I’m staying for the night. Is this home until I know where I want to live? There’s no way I’m going back to Auggie. This is what I should’ve done years ago—move out from his house and claim my independence.
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br />   “We have to call off the wedding,” I tell Dad.

  “Sorry to hear that, cupcake. I can start making some calls. Why don’t you come home?”

  “Are you in Arizona?”

  “Yes, I just finished a job in Colorado and wanted to check on the business before your wedding,” he explains to me.

  “I’ll drive back home tomorrow,” I say. “Maybe I can find a job in Phoenix.”

  “What about the restaurant?”

  I think about Desert Rose, the restaurant Auggie created for us. The place where I thought we’d be falling in love. The one where Tiff and Dwayne found love and have been doing what I dreamt Auggie and I would do. I really don’t want to go back to it. I want something different and new.

  “There’re plenty of restaurants in Arizona. I come highly recommended from my last job in Italy and Chef Bennett.” I don’t need Agustin to tell anyone that I can cook scrambled eggs for a living and that they taste damn good. “I can make it on my own.”

  “Of course you can,” he assures me. “I never doubted you. It’s just that they’re worried about you. They’re family, sweetie.”

  “You can tell Auggie I’m fine. Tomorrow, after I settle down, I’ll call Diego and Abuela,” I say firmly and groan. “He just can’t assume that everything is fine just because he said I love you. I waited for years, you know? And he says it briskly after I called off my engagement?”

  I pace around the room.

  “Does he want me just because I was unavailable?” I ask angrily.

  “I’ll fly in and we can drive home together. You’re too flustered right now,” Dad suggests and before I can protest, he says, “I’m sure you can drive on your own, but let me take care of my daughter, okay?”

  For a moment I want to say no, but then I remember how much it worries him when I drive. That’s how he lost Mom.

  “See you tomorrow, Dad.”

  A couple of minutes later, I receive a text from Auggie.

  Auggie: I’m sorry for being so stupid and realizing you’re my everything so late, but I’m not sorry about the kiss. I love you.

  I stare at his text for most of the night and never answer.

  ✩✩✩

  Dad picks me up the next morning and tells me he has taken care of the guests. Everyone knows the wedding has been cancelled and the presents we’ve received so far are being returned. When I ask him who helped him he answers, the Beltrans. But what I hear is Auggie. He even has some of my things in the car—stuff he picked up at home while I decide what to do with my future.

  “You love Colorado,” Dad argues when we arrive home. “I understand if you don’t want to work for Diego—or Auggie—but there’re plenty of places you can apply.”

  He’s not wrong. It took me a couple of years to get used to living in Colorado but once I got the swing of the state and the weird weather, I didn’t want to leave. Ever.

  “I’ll call Chef Bennett and see if she can find me something,” I say instead of agreeing with him.

  She was right, Agustin Beltran wasn’t a good choice for me or my career. Then, I think about my idea of setting up a bakery where I can sell all kinds of desserts. Not that I have the money to do it. I’d need an investor and a plan.

  Which is something I can work on the side but in the meantime, I have to find a job.

  The next morning, Chef Bennett’s email puzzles me. She has a couple of places that are interested in me here, in Phoenix. Also, she knows about a restaurant that’s opening in Denver that I might want to interview for. It’s a different concept, the menu changes every day and they need a pâtissier.

  I pace around the house; Dad watches me while reading a book.

  “What do you think?”

  “We can drive to Denver tomorrow,” he offers. “I need to check on the restaurants.”

  I glare at him because I’m being a brat and I’m thinking why the fuck are you still working for them? Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?

  But I also know he’s close to Diego and the Beltran family and of course he’s working for them because he likes them—a lot.

  There’re no sides. It’s not like Auggie and I were anything. We were two people who happened to fall in love at different times and weren’t able to enjoy what they had. Then I smile and think about the guy I found when I came back from Italy. He’s worth getting to know and if I lived close by maybe we could…should we?

  I check on my phone and the million texts he’s been sending with selfies of himself or the food he’s prepared or notes telling me how much he misses seeing me.

  “We can try,” I say, walking to my computer.

  While Dad starts getting ready for the trip, I update my resume and send it to Chef Bennett so she can deliver it to the three restaurants. I ask her if she can set up an interview with the place in Denver for tomorrow. In less than five minutes, she says the interview is set up but the job is mine if I want it.

  I send a text to Auggie.

  George: I’m heading back to town to check on a job and if things work out, I’ll be looking for an apartment. When is a good time to pick up my things?

  Auggie: Can we talk?

  George: Not now.

  Forty-Seven

  George

  Like Home is a kitschy, hipster restaurant in the heart of Cherry Creek North. It’s set in an industrial type of building, the atmosphere is casual, welcoming and yet, classy. Whoever created this is a genius. There’s a sign with a countdown, five days before you experience a different kind of food.

  I park the rental right on the back street, as the email requested. The owner paid for my plane ticket and since Dad likes flying more than driving, he joined me. When I arrived, they had a rental car waiting for us in the VIP parking lot. The owner really wants me to work for them, or they want to impress me. Either way, I am excited about the job.

  This means being close to Auggie, but also close to my friends. It’s kind of great since Cat’s about to have her baby. I’m happy for her but my heart squeezes because she’s so much younger than me and I still haven’t found the one.

  I enter the building and see that the kitchen is big, a lot like Desert Rose. But also, it’s cozy—like home. Everything is new and shiny and I remember how exciting it is to open a restaurant. This should be no different, but it’d be perfect if…“Auggie,” I say when he enters the kitchen.

  “Hey,” he greets me, his smile is sad, and his face looks tired.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, confused.

  He shrugs. “Like Home is mine,” he explains. “Remember how we used to talk about a place where the menu changes daily and we could just let our imagination run wild?”

  I nod. “You told me it’d be too hard.”

  “I didn’t want to think of the possibilities. The freedom of doing whatever your heart desired every day. I was too concerned about the inventory and you told me—”

  “It’s like Iron Chef,” I repeat what I said back then. “You give your chef ingredients and they have to come up with a menu. I stopped watching reality shows long ago.”

  He looks around the place and smiles. “You were right though. It’s as easy as letting the art take over and just create. This is it. All I ever wanted since the day I met you is to make you happy, to make sure you have someone to lean on while you take over the world. I didn’t know that meant I was in love with you.”

  I swallow thickly. I don’t look up because I don’t think I can handle making eye contact with him right now. I can’t break my resolve right now. I have to be strong.

  “We’re over,” I whisper.

  This isn’t the job for me. Even when the place has everything I want and more. Even when he’s offering me the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  “George, that’s not true,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “We’re so good together and I love you so much...and you make me so happy. I can’t...imagine myself being in love with anyone but you.”

  My eyes feel wet
. My shoulders feel so heavy with the weight of things unresolved and love unrequited.

  “Well, what am I supposed to say, Auggie?” I say. “‘I love you? I think I’ve been in love with you since college? I was so unbelievably lonely in Paris and coming back here fixed nothing because everything had changed between us and I was all alone?’”

  “If that’s true, then yes,” he says. “I need to know the truth. That’s all I want to hear because it’s the only way we can move forward.”

  “Truth? Why does it matter what’s—”

  He lifts my chin firmly, forcing our eyes to meet. He looks so lost. So sad and tired but also so hopeful. He still looks at me like I’m the sun. How?

  “It matters because I think I’ve spent every day of the last twelve years trying to return even an eighth of the amount of love you give me,” he says fiercely.

  He licks his lips. “It matters because I screwed up, okay? I took you for granted and told myself I didn’t need anyone. But that was a lie, George. I needed you. I had you and then I let you go because I thought that was best for you. This time I planned to go after you. I didn’t drive to Arizona because your dad asked me to give you time, not because I don’t love you.”

  Fuck, why is he saying these things now? Why is he being so open and honest? Why does he have to say everything I’ve waited so long for him to say?

  “You can’t just say things like that, Auggie,” I say quietly.

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “Because you can’t! You can’t wallow in self-martyrdom for years, get your head out of your ass, and expect everything to fall back in place for you,” I say.

  “You’re right,” he says. “But that’s why I’m trying...I’m not saying I’m perfect and I won’t say I’ll never screw up again but, George, I’m giving my all to becoming the guy you deserve. I just...want the chance to show you that I can be him.”

  I can’t believe he’s being like this. He’s just so...

  I blink tears away. “See, you can’t say things like that, Auggie. You can’t be so supportive and so mature and so perfectly you and expect me not to be in love with you.”