The Summer of Jordi Perez (And the Best Burger in Los Angeles)

by Amy Spalding

  “Thanks,” she says, and I see how something in her shoulders tightens. “I’m not sure there’s anything to help with. I just hope that people like it. I keep second-guessing myself.”

  “Trust your instincts,” Maggie says. “The first time I did a show, one of my friends said that my work all looked too retro, and so the week, before I ripped up a ton of my work to modernize it.” Maggie shakes her head. “It didn’t even look like me anymore. And all the feedback I got that day said I should have fully embraced the vintage looks that had clearly inspired me.”

  “So from then on you did?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I’m technically in this conversation, just in the room.

  “Exactly,” Maggie says with a smile. “Learn from my fashion disaster.”

  “Jordi’s stuff is all amazing,” I say. “She seriously has nothing at all to be worried about. People will love it.”

  “It’s very hard putting yourself out there, Abby,” Maggie says gently. “Especially for the first time.”

  I feel chastened. Jordi looks smug, or at least smug for Jordi.

  “But listen to your girlfriend,” she tells Jordi. “Abby has a great eye. She wouldn’t believe in you if she didn’t really see something special in your work.”

  Jordi makes a frustrated noise. “This would probably be easier if you still thought we were just colleagues.”

  Maggie laughs. “Too late. You’ll have to deal with my undying support of your work and your relationship now.”

  We excuse ourselves for lunch, but once we’re at Jordi’s house, we forget all about the pozole.

  Jax picks me up on the early side the next day so we can head all the way across Los Angeles to eat at the Apple Pan. It’s a tiny diner with no booths or tables, just stools all the way around their giant counter, which practically fills the entire restaurant.

  “We only have to do the Eastside,” he says for the millionth time while we’re studying menus.

  “I know, but this place is a classic,” I say. “Jordi and I were looking at some articles about the best burgers in LA and—”

  “You’re planning burger stuff with Jordi?” Jax asks. “Abbs, I thought what we have is special.”

  “Have you tried mentioning this to anyone else?” I ask. “Everyone has an opinion on where we should be getting burgers. Jordi is no exception.”

  “You could invite her,” he says. “I guess. If you want.”

  His tone sounds a lot like when I’m not feeling casual but really want everyone to think I am.

  “I thought what we have is special?” I ask, and he grins. It feels a little like Jax is glad to have me to himself, a lot like how grateful I am to hang out with Maliah without Trevor. Can that be true, though? Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that I guess boys have feelings, too. I seriously don’t know how straight and bi girls manage.

  “How’s it going?” he asks as the counter guy serves us our sodas. They’re actually soda cans served with little paper cones filled with ice and fitted into metal holders. This is how I suspect they’ve served soda here since they opened way back in the 1940s. On one hand, I think we’ve really evolved into better drinking options, but on the other, I also love when L.A.’s history is still right in front of you. Even with something small like soda.

  “You guys ready?” the counter guy asks, and I order the Hickoryburger while Jax chooses the Steakburger. I convince him to split an order of fries so we have room for pie later.

  “Things are good with Jordi,” I say to Jax once our order’s in. “I guess. I mean, they are for me. I assume they are for her. It’s so weird someone could like me this much.”

  “Oh, shut the hell up,” he says. “You know your girl likes you. We all do. She watches you like you’re the most interesting thing on the fucking planet. Like she’s gonna jump your bones the second you’re alone. Which, ya know, if you want to give any details …”

  “Stop,” I tell him, though I also feel myself smiling. If other people can see it, too, it must be real. “It still feels like maybe it’s magic. Sci-fi and not a documentary. You know?”

  Somehow our food is already up, and so Jax doesn’t respond right away. I even assume he’s forgotten the thread of conversation as we wolf down our burgers and fries and then input our judgments into Best Blank.

  “I was gonna yell at you about your self-esteem,” Jax says. “But maybe when it’s really good, it’s supposed to feel like it’s sci-fi. Aliens and laser beams and shit.”

  “Has it been like that for you?” I ask.

  “Shit, Abbs, I’m still waiting for it. But since you brought it up, I gotta tell you about this new barista at Proof.”

  “Nope,” I tell him, but we both crack up and I lean in for the story.

  CHAPTER 22

  I change outfits five times the night of Jordi’s show. I start with loud and then try to go neutral and then I wonder if I should look artsier to be a better pairing with Jordi and then I think I should complement her instead so I’m back at loud. That seems too loud, so I find everything in my closet that looks sophisticated. But I don’t look like myself so I pull on my birthday Lemonberry dress, my pineapple necklace, and step into my yellow sandals. I’m not sure that I look like the girlfriend of an amazing photographer, but since that’s exactly what I am, maybe I do after all.

  “Whoa,” Dad says when I walk to the living room. He’s sitting on the floor surrounded by printed recipes, and I’m not sure, firstly, how this happened since I got home, and, more importantly, how I’ll manage to get out. “You look great, kiddo.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Does everything have to stay on the floor, or …?”

  “Just skirt the perimeter,” he says with a laugh. “Big plans tonight?”

  “Jordi’s show is opening,” I say. “It’s a big deal.”

  “Very cool,” he says. “Tell her congratulations for us.”

  “I might be out late,” I say. “I’ll call if it’s super late.”

  “If what’s super late?” Mom walks back into the room. “Oh, you look very colorful, Abby.”

  I tiptoe around the edge of the room. “Jordi’s photography show. I told Dad I’d call if it’s really late.”

  “How late can that go?” Mom asks. “You look at some photos. It can’t take too long.”

  “Mom, god, could you be nice about like one thing?” I know that I should stay and make sure she’s not offended and that Dad’s prepared to smooth things over, but I don’t want to. I feel my heels stomping at my frustration or hurt or whatever all these horrible things in my chest are, but then I reach Jordi’s gate and ring the doorbell, and it’s already lifting. It’s Jordi’s night and that kind of makes it my night, too.

  “Hey, Abby, come on in.” Jordi’s dad holds open the door for me. “I think she’s almost ready.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you want some water or lemonade?” Jordi’s mom asks. “Anything?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “But thank you. Are you coming tonight?”

  They look at each other and laugh.

  “We are, but later,” Mr. Perez says. “Jordi wants us to—”

  “I want you to what?” Jordi walks into the room, and I am pretty sure my heart and brain explode. She’s wearing a silky white and black striped top over black tuxedo pants and shiny black leather Vans. Her hair looks extra purposefully mussed, and her eyes are smudged with black liner. Jordi looks like a goddamn rock star.

  “Oh my god, you look amazing,” I say and throw my arms around her. I normally try to act like a restrained and tasteful person in front of Mr. and Mrs. Perez, but how can I stop myself tonight?

  She smooths her shirt. “So it’s good?”

  “Perfect,” I say.

  “We’ll see you later, honey,” her mom tells her. “No earlier than nine-thirty sharp.”

  “We’ve synchronized our watches,” Mr. Perez says.

  “Stop,” she says, but with a smile. “I just want to get se
ttled and make sure everything’s right. And Pehrspace is always really disorganized, so …”

  “We’re teasing,” Mrs. Perez says. “Go get settled. We’ll see you two soon.”

  We say good-bye and head outside to Jordi’s dad’s car.

  “Do you want to borrow my lipstick?” I ask her as I buckle my seatbelt. “I know you never have any with you. Or maybe at all.”

  “I’ll just take yours,” she says and kisses me. Of course it’s just a line, and one that makes me melt at that, but the truth is that when she sits back to start the car, her lips are flushed with my favorite Urban Decay shade of pink. I feel like it would be so boring to date a boy and not be able to share makeup, but maybe that doesn’t feel like a big deal to most girls.

  “Are you nervous?” I rest my hand on her shoulder as she drives down to Glendale Boulevard. “Because you shouldn’t be. It’s going to be amazing.”

  “I’m allowed to be nervous,” she says. “Which, yeah, of course I am. But I did everything I could. Hopefully it’ll be okay.”

  “It won’t be okay,” I say. “It’ll be awesome.”

  “I’m worried your friendship with Jax is rubbing off on you,” she says, but she smiles. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Ugh, I feel bad you have to drive yourself to your own show. This is the sort of thing I should be doing for you.”

  “I’ll teach you to drive,” she says. “Which might not be completely legal, but I will. Now that this is finished, I’ll have time.”

  “Okay,” I say. It’s the first time the prospect of driving hasn’t sounded scary to me.

  Jordi finds parking right away on the curvy street that swoops off Glendale, and even though my photos look like the work of a child next to hers, I make her stop in front of the street to take her picture with my phone. Then she swoops me over and takes a selfie of both of us, and even the selfie looks like a work of art. I make her send it to me immediately because we’ve never looked fancy together before. I envision our future will be full of these occasions.

  “Oh, god, people are already here.” Jordi grips my hand and shoves her hair out of her face with her other hand. I notice her standard black nail polish has little flecks of glitter in it tonight. “Do I look like I’m freaking out?”

  “I’m pretty sure you aren’t capable of that,” I say. “Come on. People are going to be so excited you’re here.”

  We both assume that people are just early to see Murphy Gomez, the band that’s playing later tonight, but as the guy taking money waves us through, I can see how the crowds are clustering around the framed photographs. Maybe people aren’t here for Jordi, but now that they’re around her photography, of course they’re drawn in.

  But, wait.

  “Jordi,” I say, dropping her hand. I feel like ice and fire together. “Jordi.”

  There’s a wall of me.

  “Surprise,” she whispers, and I physically pull myself away from the word.

  There’s a wall of me.

  “Why would you …” I stare at the images. Me in front of Jordi’s gate. Me in the Del Taco parking lot the very first night we hung out. The back of my head and my hands straightening dresses at Lemonberry. Me with a cookie the color of my hair. Me looking freshly kissed in my own bedroom.

  “I knew you would worry,” she says. “But see? You look so beautiful up there.”

  “If you knew I’d worry, why didn’t you ask me?” I feel people’s gazes whip from the photos to me. I feel larger than life. I feel the size of an entire photograph. I’m taking up so much space in the frame of each picture and now I’m taking up too much space in this building and I have to get out.

  There’s a crowd right beyond the doors, smoking cigarettes and pot and drinking beers out of paper bags. The combined smells turn my already-turning stomach, and I keep walking, but where am I supposed to go? Jordi drove me here. Jordi’s done everything tonight.

  “Abby.” She races to me, her hair bouncing with each step. “Abby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “You didn’t think about me at all,” I say. “No, you did think of me, and then you decided it didn’t matter? And I don’t even know why. You could have a whole great show without me, but you did it anyway, and now I’m …”

  “Those are some of my best work,” she says.

  “Fuck your best work,” I say. “I’m a person. I’m your girlfriend.”

  “That’s why I love those pictures so much, because you—”

  “No,” I say. “Don’t come out here and tell me why the pictures are so great when you know you should have asked me. And you know I would have said no, and that’s exactly why you didn’t.”

  Jordi is silent.

  “It’s so …” I search for words that capture how broken my heart is. “Intimate. We were on my bed and now that moment’s on a wall and later people can see it while Murphy Gomez is playing that song about pants.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” she says. “Pehrspace, not the band. I’ll see if I can take them down right now. I’m—”

  “Oh, just leave them up. I should have known if you’d burn a house down to get a good shot for your portfolio that I’d have no chance of escaping unharmed.”

  It isn’t a fair thing to say and we both know it.

  “Please let me fix this,” she says.

  “I don’t know how you can,” I say. “Just go back inside to your show. I’m sure you’ll get into whatever art school you want now.”

  “I care more about you than art school,” she says.

  “Now there’s definitive proof that actually you don’t at all. You don’t even love me.” I turn from her and walk further, and when I don’t hear her footsteps following me, I keep walking. I stop in front of the gas station above Temple Street and take out my phone. How had I even managed to switch my lock screen to the selfie Jordi took of us only minutes ago?

  I call Maliah and literally cross my fingers that she’ll answer. And she does.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m sorry. You’re probably out with Trevor but—”

  “Abbs,” she says. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, god, am I crying?” I touch my face. I’m crying. “Can you come get me?”

  “What happened?” she asks. “Abby, please tell me you’re okay.”

  “Jordi and I broke up,” I say.

  “I’m on my way,” she says. “Send me a pin.”

  I click to my maps app and message my location to Maliah. To kill time, I go inside for a Diet Coke, and I know I’m still crying when I pay for it but I pretend like I’m not. My phone vibrates in my hand, but I go back outside before checking it.

  the photos are down, Jordi has texted.

  i fucked up so bad.

  please come back, abby.

  Maliah’s Mini screeches up to me, and I practically fall inside.

  “Thank you so much.”

  She looks me over. “Hi.”

  “I know you want to say it, so go ahead.”

  “Say what?” She reaches over and smooths my hair. “Girl, somehow you look wrecked and better than ever all at once.”

  “Thank you?” I lean into her. “You can say I told you so. About Jordi.”

  She shakes her head. “You didn’t say anything when I went to that snobby country club party with Trevor, even after it was horrible in that really clichéd country club way. You even helped me pick out my outfit and let me complain for days.”

  “We’re friends,” I say. “Of course I did.”

  “Exactly.” She hugs an arm around me. “Seriously, Abbs. Where the hell even are we?”

  I direct Maliah back to the familiarity of our neighborhood, and we end up at her house. I text Mom and Dad that I’m here, and that they can even call the Joneses to verify.

  My phone gets three more texts while I’m holding it.

  where are you?

  abby, are you okay?

  please, can we talk?

  “Come o
n.” Maliah gently pulls my phone out of my hand. “This won’t do any good right now. Tell me everything.”

  I finish drinking my Diet Coke, and I tell her the whole story. By now, Jordi’s parents should have arrived at Pehrspace, and I wonder what they think about my absence and the empty wall of the exhibit. I wonder where they stacked all the photos of me, of my life, of my relationship, of my body.

  “Did she apologize?” Maliah asks.

  I nod.

  “But it’s over?”

  I nod more.

  “Okay,” she says. “What do you want to do? What are all the breakup things? I can’t believe I’m doing this for you. I just always thought it’d be you for me first.”

  “Me too,” I admit, and then we both laugh.

  “Ice cream?” Maliah asks. “Chocolate? Why are all breakup clichés food?”

  “It’s dumb,” I say. “But also … okay. If you have those things.”

  “If we don’t, we’ll get them,” she says. “Abby, I’m sorry.”

  I nod.

  “Not just … that you and Jordi broke up. I don’t feel like I’ve been very …”

  “Supportive?” I try, and she laughs.

  “It’s true I didn’t like Jordi at first,” she says. “But you’ve been really cool to Trevor, and so I should have tried more. I’ll try more with the next girl, okay?”

  “Oh, like there’ll be a next girl,” I say. “It’s a miracle there was one girl!”

  “It’s not, and you have to stop saying things like that,” Maliah says. “There will be more girls. There’ll be some girl you marry while wearing the most amazing dress. Though instead of wedding cake, your mom will probably make something out of a melon.”

  I laugh despite, well, everything. “Oh my god, that’s horrible. A wedding melon cake is literally the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, and I just broke up with my girlfriend.”

  I just broke up with my girlfriend.

  If I keep saying it maybe I can understand how the last hours even happened.

  The Joneses are all up early the next morning to take a family hike in Griffith Park, so I thank Maliah a hundred times and then head home. I’m still in my dress and heels though my hair’s all flat and my makeup’s gone and I left my pineapple necklace at Maliah’s.