Someday, Somehow

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Comfortable,” George and Mario say at the same time.

  Oh, that’s where it came from, fucking Mario.

  “Yes, I have plenty of money to just travel around the world without a worry,” Mario says.

  George picks her food. “Just traveling? Not even a part-time job?”

  “I enjoyed my last job at the hostel. But I’ve grown bored of employment,” he says. “It’s time to refresh myself as I search for my next hobby.”

  “Hobby?” I ask. “You thought working in hospitality was a hobby?”

  Mario shrugs. “Why else would anyone serve other people if not for temporary fun?”

  I grab George’s glass of wine, downing it quickly. I’m not interested in talking to this guy anymore. We’re clearly from different worlds. But maybe alcohol will make this all a whole lot easier.

  “What other hobbies do you have?” I ask.

  “I make pottery, take photography, snowboard, and play the violin,” he says.

  “No kidding? I play the guitar and the piano,” I say.

  “You play?” George asks incredulously.

  “I’m still new to it but yeah I’ve been practicing for the last few months,” I say. “I’ve gotten quite good at warm-ups and I’ve almost mastered my first song. It’s not the most complicated song, granted.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive, Auggie,” George says.

  I shrug. “Just learning how to follow through on the things I want.”

  “Wonderful, we should play together sometime,” Mario says.

  “That would be great,” I say.

  I should feel triumphant, looking good in front of George while not being a total dick about it. But the frown on George’s face tells me I’ve missed the point entirely.

  ✩✩✩

  Dress shopping has to be the worst part of wedding planning. There are so many options, they’re all incredibly expensive, and who even knows the difference between organza and chiffon? Long story short, I’ve been sitting on the same couch at this bridal shop with Eli, Cat, and Abuela for the last three hours and we’ve maybe seen George leave her dressing room twice.

  “Okay, I’m ready to give up,” Cat announces.

  Abuela shushes her.

  “What? This is ridiculous. I bought my dress in less than an hour,” she informs me.

  “Not all of us elope, Catalina,” I mumble. And buy a dress out of the Christian Dior Rack in Vegas.

  “Well, more people should with all the bullshit that comes with planning.”

  “I’m sure there’s a reason it’s taking so long,” Eli says patiently.

  I nod in agreement. George is pretty decisive until she isn’t. There’s probably a good reason she’s had a hard time bringing out dresses.

  “Okay, I’m going to see if they need any help back there,” I say.

  I get turned around for a second before I find the hallway with the dressing rooms. I knock on the door three times.

  “Hey...maid of honor here,” I announce.

  The door flies open. George pulls me inside as she says, “Thank fuck.”

  She’s wearing a strapless ball gown with floral accents that make her look…

  I gawk. “Amazing, wow.”

  She blushes. “Thanks, but it’s not right.”

  George stares at a variety of dresses all hanging on the wall.

  “None of these are right,” she argues.

  “We’ve been through fifteen of them...at least,” the bridal consultant informs. “We’ve tried almost every neckline, sleeve option...I’m at a loss here.”

  I nod. Actually, what she’s wearing is beautiful and something she would normally choose on her own. I don’t get why she hasn’t shown this to us yet…

  She’s scared, I realize. She doesn’t want to make this choice.

  I take her hands in mine. “George, what’s really going on?”

  George takes a deep breath. “I don’t know...my dad said ‘anything’ I want but what’s that supposed to mean? There’s no way he can afford that on top of helping us so much with this wedding.”

  “Abuela’s paying for the dress, George,” I remind her.

  Her jaw drops. “She can’t...I won’t let her... I’m going to go—”

  “George, seriously,” I say, not letting go of her hands. “It’s okay. Cat took away the joy of wedding planning from her. You’re the only shot Abuela has at hosting a wedding.”

  She nods slowly. “But I don’t know, Auggie.”

  I keep my gaze on her steady but reassuring. “What don’t you know?”

  “There’re so many dresses, and they’re all so expensive. I just don’t know what I want.” She smiles meekly. “Crazy, right?”

  “Not at all,” I assure her. “It’s a big decision to make, I understand. Why don’t I help you make it?”

  “How?”

  “Why don’t we take it one step at a time?” I suggest. “Let’s not pick the whole dress right now. Let’s start with the type of…”

  I wave at the bridal consultant to help me out. There’s only so much I know about wedding dresses.

  “Neckline,” the bridal consultant says.

  “What type of neckline do you want?” I ask. “Actually, let’s not even do that. What necklines do you like? Tell me about them. We’ll go from there.”

  George smiles as she rattles off the differences and what she thinks would go great with the reception. It takes us an hour, but by the time George is done talking the bridal consultant knows exactly which dresses to pull.

  Once George puts on this form-fitting dress with capped sleeves and intricate beading all over, she smiles so brightly as the bridal consultant helps her walk the dress to the viewing area for everyone else to see.

  George is so happy and beautiful, it’s literally breathtaking. For a moment, I forget that she’s marrying someone else in this dress. I see her walking down the aisle toward me. As she beams at me through the three-sided mirror, all I can do is smile back.

  I love her so much, it hurts.

  Forty-Two

  Auggie

  Eli semi-retired two years ago. He still manages his company in Arizona, but he got his license in Colorado so he could do odd jobs here and there whenever he’s in town. Since I’ve employed him, it has been pretty often. The corner guest room in my dad’s house is permanently his.

  Which is great, I love having Eli around. I love George being a few miles away from her dad and that the rest of her family has easy access to come here whenever they want.

  Having him closer is also to my benefit when I have to talk to him. He’s been pretty supportive throughout the year while I came to terms with my love for George and began to change myself. So, when I need to chat with him on a bright Saturday morning, I only have to drive to Dad’s. I find him reading a book in the living room of my dad’s house.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite not-son-in-law,” Eli says with a chuckle.

  I feel my cheeks turn red. “Okay, I deserve that.”

  Eli waves me over as he closes his book. “But really, to what do I owe the pleasure? The fishing trip isn’t until after the wedding. Your grandfather postponed it since he doesn’t want to mess up with the preparations. Your grandma is too excited, but sad since it’s not you who’s the one marrying my daughter.”

  If she’s sad, imagine how I am. Fucking frantic trying to figure out how to show her I’m the right person. I sigh, taking a seat next to him.

  “You know George better than anyone,” I say, wringing my hands. “I want to hear what you think of Mario.”

  Eli hums. “Do you want my opinion as another man or my dad opinion?”

  “Both?”

  “I think he’s overall a good man,” he says. “He’s certainly grown accustomed to his lifestyle and worldview. That makes him not everyone’s cup of tea. But you can tell he’s not intentionally malicious.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “And as a dad?”

  “I don’t like him
,” he says. “I don’t care who he is or how much money he has or how nice he pretends to be. His comment about I didn’t know how dark your dad is during her welcome party, made me want to punch his face. He is an insensitive asshole. He also doesn’t know my daughter and I can tell he doesn’t care.”

  I wasn’t there when Mario said that, but I wanted to punch him in the face when I’ve heard the way he talked about Eli. There’s something about the guy I don’t like—well, other than he’s with George.

  “Do you think he’s just using her?” I ask.

  Eli takes a deep breath. “Using…that’s hard to say but maybe. I think they’ve both convinced themselves and each other that they’re in love. But really—they’re just a means to each other’s ends.”

  He exhales harshly. “Yes, they’re using each other. I’m not sure what he gets in this exchange. Maybe citizenship? She’s enamored with the idea of a guy who sweeps her off to a different country now and then. A guy who is in lust with her. But lust is an illusion. Those vanish fast.”

  The citizenship makes sense, and I remember him mention the base camp.

  “What does Mario want besides a ‘base camp?’” I ask out loud.

  “Family,” Eli answers. “He doesn’t care whose family, it would seem. He, uh, seems a bit lonely. Maybe he saw this wonderful woman who loved her support system and fell in love with the idea of her life.”

  That makes sense. Mario said he’s the only grandchild on one side of his family.

  He hasn’t mentioned much else about his family. Which is telling. I wonder if he has any siblings or if his parents are still alive.

  “But also, he seems like the kind of person who gets bored easily. I don’t know how long this is going to last. I hope I’m wrong because my daughter deserves better than a twenty-four-hour celebrity wedding and being told she’s old news after saying yes.”

  “How do I show her what’s right in front of her? Not only Mario’s truth, but me. I don’t have a right to force her to see me when it took me years to see what we had.”

  Eli pats my back. “It’s okay, you’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “Fast enough to win George back?” I say ruefully.

  “She isn’t a prize to be won, Agustin ,” he says. “She’s a person who deserves a grown man by her side. Not one of two boys squabbling over how shiny they think she is.”

  Eli’s right. But I don’t think about her as this thing to complement my life. That’s not it at all.

  “You’re wrong,” I say quietly. “She isn’t a prize. She’s everything. She’s smart and hilarious but also scared of her own shadow and so much better than she gives herself credit for. I’m not chasing a goal. I’m trying to stop my best friend from spending the rest of her life with someone who will do anything less than give her everything she wants and needs.”

  Eli laughs. “That’s why I believe in you, son. Marios will come and go in this life, but everyone deserves a person who sees them exactly as they are and loves every piece of them.”

  That’s it exactly. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be for George and myself. George makes me a better person. I want to be like that for her too.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Eli says. “Even if you don’t, I know you will eventually.”

  I just hope he’s right and that I do this on time.

  Forty-Three

  Auggie

  My guitar practice gets interrupted one afternoon by the sound of George and Dwayne arguing about food. I stop playing, trying to discreetly listen in behind the closed door of my room. I should’ve gone to Dad’s to practice piano. Maybe I need to finish the basement and buy my own piano.

  I think about George and wonder if she still wants a bigger house and a big family. Two, maybe three children. All girls so I can spoil them like their mom. Oh, fuck, what am I going to do if she marries the asshole and he takes her away from me?

  Marriages are about compromising and maybe she’ll compromise and agree to quit the restaurant and travel with him for the rest of their lives.

  “What about herb roasted chicken for the second meat entree?” Dwayne asks.

  “I don’t know, isn’t that a little overdone?” George asks.

  “Duck confit?” he says.

  “On such short notice? Won’t that seem over the top?” George says.

  “What about pork loin?” Dwayne asks.

  Quietly, I put my guitar down and open the door just a crack.

  “That would be so good,” she says.

  Dwayne’s face and shoulders relax.

  “But Mario hates pork,” George says.

  Dwayne sighs. He takes off his glasses to clean them as he glares tiredly at George.

  “George, you know I love you.”

  George nods. “I know. I love you too.”

  “You know I would help you hide a body,” he continues.

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.” Her shoulders slump.

  “You’re making me never want to cater a wedding again,” Dwayne concludes.

  Okay, it’s time to step in. The last thing I need is two of my core staff at odds with each other over a personal matter. Also, I just can’t stand to see either of them upset.

  George flinches. “I know, I’m sorry it’s just—”

  “What seems to be the problem?” I question.

  “We’re having a hard time narrowing down the menu for the wedding,” she says. “We’ve got a great vegetarian portobello pot roast and honey garlic salmon will keep most people happy. But I really want a traditional meat option.”

  “And you eliminated steak as an option?”

  “Very early on,” Dwayne says tersely. “Mario thinks steak is too ‘pedestrian.’”

  George rolls her eyes. “I think it’s okay not to have steak at our wedding.”

  I blink a couple of times and say, “You love steak.”

  She waves her hand and doesn’t look at me.

  “Maybe it’s easy for you but not so much for the guy who’s making all the food?” Dwayne asks sarcastically.

  “Okay,” I say before George can argue with him. “Why don’t we take a deep breath and figure this out together?”

  I sit next to George. She has a long list of entrees that are crossed out.

  “May I?” I ask, gesturing to her list.

  She hands it over. Wow, they’ve been through everything.

  “Does he like lamb?” I ask.

  George bites her lip, shrugging.

  Okay, I take a breath because seriously. Is this guy going to eat all three choices? He’s just fucking ordering not to have pedestrian food but why isn’t he here helping his fiancée with their wedding meal?

  “Can you ask him?”

  She looks hesitant. I guess this is another one of those ‘it’s not about the wedding, it’s about him-and-me’ moments.

  “The worst he can do is say no,” I say. “If he says yes, great. If not, that’s okay. We can adjust. A no doesn’t change the fact that you’re getting married.”

  George sits up a little straighter. It seems to help her a bit, but not much.

  “Dwayne, can you give us a second?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he says, getting up. “I’ll be watching TV, I guess.”

  Dwayne puts up the volume enough to give us privacy. Good. I take her hands into mine, holding them.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  George opens her mouth. Her eyes are glued to her lap.

  Her lips tremble as she says, “I don’t know.”

  I squeeze her hands gently. “George, it’s okay. I’m here for you. You can tell me anything.”

  She looks up at me. Her eyes are as beautiful, bright, and loving as the day I met her. Her eyes glint with sadness? Curiosity? Maybe both.

  “I guess I’m just scared of messing up,” she says. “What if he hates the wedding and that haunts us?”

  I nod. “That makes sense. Weddings are nerve-wracking for anyone. But I think you know
him better than that.”

  I hate that I’m saying this, but George doesn’t need me meddling right now. She needs to know that things will be okay no matter what she does. She needs security and stability.

  “I think you also know yourself,” I say. “The George I know would never settle for a guy who would treat her less than she deserved. And you, Georgia Jones, deserve better than a man who would ruin a marriage with the best woman on Earth because he didn’t like an entree at a wedding reception.”

  I let go of one hand so I can caress her jaw. Her lip trembles harder as her eyes water. I reach over, hugging her for dear life. I hold her for a while, whispering to her that it’s okay. It’ll be okay.

  “You’re right,” George says eventually. “It doesn’t matter that much. He picked the other two entrees—”

  “So you should definitely pick this one,” I say.

  “Right,” she says.

  When we break apart, I take the sleeve of my shirt and wipe her tears from her eyes. She laughs, the way she used to when I made her day better and she couldn’t believe someone would do that for her.

  George smiles brighter than the sun. My job here is done. That’s all I want, to see her happy—always. Or to be there for her when things are hard. Maybe I failed at loving her before. This loving isn’t as easy as poetry and songs make it sound. Life and relationships are too fucking hard but if she ever gives me a chance, I swear I’ll do my damn best to love her like she deserves.

  “What do you think I should do?” she asks shyly.

  “You love lamb chops. Do you think that’s a good choice?” I ask.

  She smiles harder. It takes everything in me not to kiss her then and there.

  “You read my mind,” she says.

  ✩✩✩

  “Agustin , there you are,” Mario says the next day.

  “Here I am,” I say with a tight smile. “At my house, at the crack of dawn.”

  Mario laughs, combing some of his hair back behind his ear. I hate how good he looks with long hair.

  “Georgia is right, you’re hilarious.”