I Believe in a Thing Called Love

by Maurene Goo

  Violet and Cassidy walked over and for a moment we were all standing there staring at anything but one another. “Hey guys,” I finally said with a wave.

  Cassidy said hi enthusiastically, but Violet hung back a little bit. We hadn’t really talked since the crazy supply-closet sneakiness incident. I announced I was going to make some s’mores. Fiona had taken the supplies I had brought and started walking toward the designated s’mores bonfire pit a little farther away, so I jogged to catch up with her, skewer in hand.

  We set up our marshmallows and held the skewers over the fire. Fiona nudged me, dripping some melty marshmallow into the embers. “Hey, so you did it.”

  “Hm?” I kept a close eye on my marshmallow so that it didn’t catch fire like Fiona’s always did.

  “I mean, I can tell what you and Luca have is real. You got your boyfriend.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling like an idiot. “I did.”

  “So now you’re on your own, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, you don’t need the K drama steps anymore, right? It’s done!” I could sense relief in her hushed tones.

  Damn. My marshmallow caught fire and I blew it out quickly. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, I got the guy. But barely. We’ve just started dating! And I don’t know. Knowing I have those steps ready for me, whenever, kind of keeps me feeling confident.”

  “But what possible new steps do you need to take now? Haven’t you basically reached your happy ending?”

  Handing Fiona my skewer, I furtively pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and unfolded the list. “I guess you’re right. But I can’t abandon it yet.” The idea of leaving the K drama steps completely unnerved me, and I felt like I was suddenly plummeting from the sky without anything to hold me up.

  Fiona grabbed the list and quickly skimmed it. “Des, the rest of the stuff is, like, terrible. Misunderstandings and betrayal city. You’re not going to plan things going wrong, too, right?”

  Although we were far from Luca and everyone else, I kept my voice low. “No, of course not! Those other steps were just part of the formula found in dramas that I wanted to document. But I don’t know…”

  Suddenly Fiona was holding the list over the bonfire. “Let’s just get rid of it, once and for all.”

  My heart leaped out of my chest and into my throat. I muffled a scream. “Fiona! No!”

  The list fluttered above the flames and Fiona looked at me steadily. “Why? You’re done. Why do you need it?”

  Before I could answer, my body went into motion. I shoved Fiona away from the fire and grabbed the list out of her hand. Relief flooded me as I held it to my chest. Then I put the list back in my wallet and glared at Fiona. “What the heck, Fi! This is my list, I decide when to toss it.”

  She shook her head and held her hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Clearly you’re freaking attached to that thing. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  We finished making our s’mores in silence and then walked back to our group. I handed Luca his s’more and he accepted it with reverence. Fiona sat down next to Wes, who was wolfing down a hot dog. With the list back safely in my wallet, my heart rate returned to normal.

  Wes smacked his lips, wiping a bit of mustard off the corner of his mouth. “So Luca, can you eat fine roasted meats on the beach where you’re from?” Violet giggled, which made my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. I glanced at Cassidy, who was looking at Wes with Sailor Moon–heart eyeballs. Oh, Lord.

  Noticing that it took me 0.5 seconds to scarf down my s’more, Luca carefully broke his in half and handed a piece to me. “No. Sadly, we eat our vegan meats in holistic yurts.”

  Everyone cracked up and I could feel Luca relax next to me. He looked around at everyone. “How long have you guys known Desi?”

  “For, like, ever,” Fiona drawled.

  “Really, though?” Luca asked patiently.

  “For real. We’ve known each other since second grade.”

  Wes chimed in. “And I’ve known her since sixth grade. Back in the day when she insisted on wearing jorts.”

  “Ha! I have you all beat! I’ve known her since preschool.”

  Everyone’s head swiveled toward Violet.

  “Really?” Wes asked, looking at her curiously.

  She shot him a sly, sidelong glance. “Hasn’t Desi mentioned Korean school?”

  “What is that, a school to learn how to make kimchi?” Wes cracked himself up.

  I kicked sand at Wes. “Yes. Kimchi. We made vats of it. As preschoolers.”

  Violet shrugged, unperturbed. She looked at Wes. “We had to learn how to read, write, and properly speak Korean. On Saturdays. Anyway, um, we recently realized we knew each other from those days.” She took a swig of beer and I telepathically sent her a thank-you for not going into the more dramatic elements of that story.

  Luca opened my Squirt for me. Totally not necessary, but it was one of those small boyfriend gestures that I loved reveling in. At school he insisted on carrying my books, too, although I could tell he kind of regretted it whenever my giant physics textbook was involved.

  Fiona tossed a dirty napkin into the fire. “Desi and I met in, like, a terrible way.”

  I groaned. “Ugh, Fi, doooon’t!”

  Luca looked between us. “What? Tell me!”

  I buried my face in Luca’s puffy vest–clad shoulder. “Noooo.”

  Wes chuckled. “I’ll tell him, then.”

  Fiona cleared her throat. “No, I will tell the story since I was the one who saved the day.” She settled into a comfortable position, reclining like an Egyptian queen surrounded by her male slaves. “Well, one day in second grade, Desi’s dad packed her a juice box. And she drank that entire box right at the end of lunch, in five seconds, just, like, huddled in a corner sipping at that little straw all greedily. Like some troll.”

  I burst out laughing. “Shut up, Fi!”

  “No, for real, it was, like, disturbing how much you needed that juice. Anyway, a couple hours later we were in class, school was about to get out, and she kept squirming next to me. And just so you know, we were not friends yet. I was hanging out with the cool outdoor-playground kids and Desi liked to boss everyone around in the mini-kitchen.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Everyone was always so messy in there and putting stuff away in the wrong places.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “I rest my case. Anyway, so she’s sitting there, getting all antsy. And I notice this antsiness because she’s usually so obedient and perfect. And that’s when I notice her get completely still. And her eyes get huge. And then … I spy dripping.”

  Luca groaned. “Oh, no.”

  “Yup. She was peeing her pants.”

  Violet, Cassidy, and Wes burst out laughing. I huffed. “It’s not that funny, you guys!”

  Violet almost choked. “Yes, it is.”

  Cassidy wiped a tear off her cheek. “Sorry, Desi—but—”

  “Dude, you peed your pants!” Wes yelped. “We’re allowed to laugh.”

  Fiona shushed everyone. “Yeah, she peed—an entire puddle at the bottom of her chair. And she didn’t utter a word. I was so grossed out and about to raise my hand to tell on her”—Fiona’s huge smile faltered a little as she looked at me—“when I saw one giant tear drip down her face. It hit me then that it wasn’t something she wanted the teacher to know. But how could you cover that up?”

  I interrupted her then. “So Fiona did something as a seven-year-old that defines the Fiona we know and love today. While the teacher was busy in the supply closet, she pulled me out of my seat, mopped up my pee with her Anaheim Ducks sweatshirt, then gave me her pants to swap out for my wet ones—wearing just her underwear and getting in big trouble.” Everyone started laughing. I grinned. “She just created a bigger distraction that stole my pants-peeing thunder.”

  Violet slow-clapped. “Whoa, that’s true friendship right there.”

  Fiona shrugg
ed. “Well, let’s be real, walking around in my undies was no big sacrifice.”

  I shook my head. “Yes it was, don’t try to be all humbly bumbly right now,” I said. “It was the beginning of a beautiful, dysfunctional friendship.” I smiled and looked at Luca then, expecting him to have loved this story, but he had this strange expression on his face.

  “Hey, I’m gonna dip my feet in the ocean,” he said, standing up and brushing sand off his jeans.

  “Right now?” I asked, startled by this sudden change in mood.

  “Yep, be right back.” And he jogged off before any of us could join him.

  “Um, I’ll be back, too,” I said.

  When I reached him at the shore, he was just standing there, a dark figure on a dark beach. The churning waves lapped at his feet, which were still in his shoes.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling my heart lurch nervously. Had I said or done something? I had been too confident, I knew it … I had let my guard down.

  When he didn’t answer right away, I nervously tucked my hands into my sweatshirt pocket. “Are you okay?”

  His back still to me, he dropped his head and kicked at the sand. “I’m fine. Sorry, I just…” He trailed off, going silent.

  I touched his shoulder lightly. He reached up and held my hand, turning around at the same time. He looked at me straight in the eyes and said, simply, “That story was sad.”

  My brow furrowed and I smiled a little. “The peeing one? What do you mean? It’s embarrassing, sure, but also hilarious!”

  He shook his head. “No. That happened in second grade, right? Was it after your mom died?”

  I was still confused. “Mm, yeah, I think it was. Why? What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated before he spoke. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make this into a big deal. I know how you feel about talking about it. It’s just … It’s sad because your mom had died.” He let go of my hand and turned his head, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I feel sorry for that little kid. I don’t think it’s funny that she peed her pants. I think it’s sad.”

  I was stunned.

  Because I was finally seeing Luca for who he really was. In all my crushing, in my obsessing, in all my scheming … I hadn’t known this person had existed in front of me all along. Not just cool artist-rebel Luca. But kind, deeply empathetic Luca. The Luca who viewed a story about a little girl peeing her pants in second grade as tragedy rather than comedy.

  And it was at that moment that I knew, for sure, that this person was who I wanted to be a girlfriend to. And I finally understood what that word meant. It was something beyond giddy hand-holding and stealing kisses. It was sharing yourself with someone who deserved it. The weight of it almost took my breath away.

  I instantly thought of one of my favorite K drama scenes: In Healer, Young-Shin discovers the mysterious Healer’s secret lair, and finds him sick and emotionally distressed. When he pushes her away, she grabs his arm and hugs him, and he falls apart.

  So I wrapped my arms around him and rested my cheek on his chest. We stood there for a long time, our breathing and thoughts entwined. “You’re right. It was sad,” I said into his shirt.

  “You’re allowed to admit that your mom’s death is sad, you know?”

  Those simple words, that little bit of permission, unlocked something in me, because it was the first time anyone had ever said it. I couldn’t respond because my throat closed up. So instead I hugged him harder, arms wrapped tight to keep this person close to me.

  “Okay,” I said in a small voice.

  “You can still appreciate your dad and be sad about your mom.”

  My vision blurred as I nodded.

  * * *

  When I got home that night, I peeked into my dad’s bedroom, casting a small ray of light from the hallway onto his bed. I just stood there for a bit, watching him sleep—shoved all the way onto one side of the bed even after ten years of sleeping alone. Suddenly one of his eyes opened. “Huh? Desi, is that you?”

  “Yeah, sorry to wake you up,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep!”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Everything’s okay.” I shut his door with a gentle click. “Like it’s always been.”

  When I was in my room, I picked up the K drama notebook off my nightstand. At this point, it was filled with my notes from everything that had happened. All my plans and their results, faithfully documented. I took the folded list out of my wallet and flattened all the creases out.

  “Well, list, you’ve been good to me. I’ll never forget you, but it’s time to go into retirement.” While I couldn’t destroy it, it was time to let it go. I placed the pages back into the notebook, closed it resolutely, and set it on my nightstand.

  A scribbly cartoon heart squeezed itself out of the pages and floated into the air, its drawn wings flapping, and I felt my own chest grow lighter as I slipped into sleep.

  STEP 18:

  Meet His Family and Win Them Over CHAPTER 18

  I watched Bob Ross videos until my eyes bled, but I still couldn’t paint a sycamore tree that didn’t look like a piece of broccoli.

  It was hours before the California State Parks fund charity show, where all the Art Club kids and I would finally show our work. And in very un-Desi fashion, I was finishing up my painting at the very last minute. I added a final blob of purple paint to one of the branches. When I had shown it to Luca a few days ago, he had explained to me, with the utmost patience, that you could see unexpected colors in everything if you only switched off your literal perceptions of the world around you. Unfortunately, I was very used to seeing things in literal terms. In physics, the law of gravity didn’t shift based on the time of day like the colors of a leaf did.

  When my phone alarm went off, Art show! flashed on the screen. I pointed a fan at the painting to help speed up the drying process, then ran upstairs and nervously viewed my outfit choices. Not only was it the art show tonight, but I was about to meet Luca’s dad and stepmom. After dating for a few weeks, I had insisted on meeting them—not only because it was the proper thing to do, but because I wanted to meet them. I was so curious about this mysterious jerk dad whom Luca hated.

  My dad was working until the show, so I had the house to myself before Luca picked me up. I blasted Beyoncé, and thirty minutes of hair-curling and leg-shaving later, I was standing outside waiting for him. The Dad BMW pulled into view and I waved, smoothing down the black floral-patterned dress I was wearing (with red Keds so as to avoid being too stuffy) while holding my painting in the other hand.

  “Pretty,” Luca said once I got my painting safely situated in the backseat, leaning over to kiss me and brush aside a strand of curled hair.

  Still not used to boyfriend lavishness, I blushed. “Thanks. Wasn’t sure what to wear.”

  Luca gestured at himself—wearing a blue flannel and black jeans. “Dress code is fancy.”

  “Clearly,” I said, laughing and pulling on his beanie. He reached over for my hand, then held it as we drove. We dropped the painting off at the gallery with Mr. Rosso, then headed to Luca’s dad’s.

  At one point, we passed the beach parking lot where we’d had our first kiss (the sight of which made my fingers and toes tingle); then we drove up a sandy road on a hill until we entered a private driveway.

  “Whooaaa,” I breathed as the house came into view.

  It was ridiculous, but beautiful. The architecture was both Spanish and ranch style. Huge windows, some with intricate stained glass, dark wood trim, and a riot of hot-pink bougainvillea crawling over the walls and onto the many balconies. Ancient oaks and young olive trees surrounded the estate and various succulents and desert plants dotted the landscape, creating a truly old-California feel. I was reminded of the house that the dad owned in the original Parent Trap movie. I had dreamed of living in a rambling ranch-style mansion ever since I’d seen it. You know, that old dream.

  “Home sweet home,” Luca muttered, parking the car ha
phazardly near one of the oaks.

  I squeezed his hand. “It’s really beautiful,” I said almost apologetically.

  He shrugged. “I have nothing against the house. It’s who owns it.”

  We walked up to the door and I braced myself to meet the larger-than-life douchebag, Daddy Drakos. Then the tall wooden double doors flew open.

  “Desi! So glad to finally meet you, darlin’!”

  The man who greeted me was not who I was expecting. Rather than the pink-polo-shirt-wearing slimeball I had envisioned, I was greeted by … well, kind of a hot geek.

  Tall, taller than Luca even, he had short, thick brown hair, messy and disheveled in a boyish way like his son’s. He wore black-framed glasses on a face featuring some fantastic bone structure—straight nose, strong jaw, pronounced cheekbones. With a wiry build, like a long-distance runner, and exuding a real kinetic energy, his dad enveloped me in a warm hug and I caught a whiff of sandalwood on the crisp white shirt he was wearing with jeans.

  Before I could recover, a tiny woman clutching two barking chocolate Labs shouted, “Hi Desi!” Even while holding those two happy beasts at bay, she was stylish with her straight blond bob, slim black pants, and gray silk camisole.

  Once the dogs calmed down she came up to the door. “Don’t embarrass Luca, already,” she said to Daddy Drakos with an exaggerated eye roll. The tiny woman beamed a huge smile at me and held out a perfectly manicured hand, making her chunky bangles clink together. “I’m Lillian. It’s so nice to finally meet you! These two monsters here are Hansel and Gretel.” Lillian of www.dailylillian.com—I recognized her immediately from her fashion blog that Luca had showed to me to make fun of her.

  “Come on in! We’ll have a little chitchat and drinks here and then we can drive over to the show together,” Daddy Drakos said. “And by the way, please feel free to call me Ned.”

  I had just been nodding my head mutely during this entire scene and finally snapped out of it. “Nice to meet you, too! Thank you for having me over.” I held out a small potted succulent I had clipped from my backyard that day.