Finding London, Ellie Wade [different e readers txt] 📗

“Loïc is and will forever be the only fish in my sea. If I can’t have him, then I don’t want another.”

—London Wright

“The grass isn’t always greener on the other side, chica.” Paige provides her words of advice.

The two of us are lounging on my bed, each with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream sitting on our shelves—also known as our boobs. Yes, we’re dressed. My T-shirt-clad breasts provide the perfect place to place the fattiest flavor of ice cream I could find, which happens to be Chubby Hubby. My ultimate goal is to eat as much as I can, become extremely obese, and cry myself to sleep for the rest of my life until I die. At which point, I will have died sad, alone, and fat with hairy legs because I wouldn’t have seen the point of showering either.

My mom always said I had a flair for the dramatic. She might have a point.

“You know, I think your advice actually has merit this time.”

“Really?” Paige asks excitedly.

“I mean, given another boy or breakup, then, yes, that saying would work. But, unfortunately, it doesn’t work for this scenario because Loïc is the one, Paige. I know it. The grass will always be greener where he is.”

“I’m just trying to help you, so please don’t get mad at me.”

I eye her with an accusing stare.

“Stop. You know you get mad at me if you hate my advice, and it usually ends with, ‘I hate you.’ Then, you apologize and say that you don’t.”

“Okay, you might be right. I promise not to get mad. Continue.” I wave my hand in the air.

“I guess I’m just wondering why you’re so upset over this dude. Sure, he’s fucking hot. I get it. He’s nice enough, I guess. But the baggage? Apparently, he has a seven forty-seven full of it. Who wants to deal with that?”

“I do,” I whine in protest. “I want it all.”

“Why, babe? You barely know him. You haven’t even gone all the way. I mean, I could see if you had been careless and gotten knocked up, then you would put some effort into making it work with your baby daddy. But, unless you’re secretly with child and not telling me, I can’t understand why you’re so down about this one. He’s just a guy. There are plenty more where he came from. There are other fish in the sea.”

“First, I have to say, once again, that saying would be appropriate here, given it were another guy. So, kudos to you. I’m impressed. But Loïc is and will forever be the only fish in my sea. If I can’t have him, then I don’t want another. And, secondly, I hate you.”

“London!” Paige smacks my arm with her hand.

“Stop, Paige!” I laugh. “You’re going to make me spill my Chubby Hubby, and this might be the only hubby I get in life.”

“You’re so ridiculous.”

“I know. I can’t help it. But, seriously, I might love him, Paige. I would never tell him that because he would totally freak out. But he’s unlike any guy I’ve been with. It’s so hard to explain, and the entire thing sounds cheesy…like I’m pulling it from a Disney movie. But, when I’m with him, I just know. He needs me. We’re perfect together. He simply has to get his head out of his ass and see it.”

“All right, girlfriend, I’m stopping you right there. You do not love him,” she says with a huff. “I don’t know if you even like him. From what you’ve told me, he sounds like a mess who doesn’t know which way is up. Isn’t your head spinning? ’Cause mine sure is, like a teeter-totter.”

“Teeter-totters don’t spin.”

“Okay, like a freight train on full speed,” she says dramatically.

“Nope, still no spinning involved,” I say with a straight face, trying not to laugh.

“A merry-go-round?”

“Yeah, that would work. Or maybe one of those spinny-top things,” I offer.

“Okay, fine. So, my head is spinning like a merry-go-round from this shit. Isn’t yours?”

I sigh. “I’m sorry; you lost me at freight train.”

We both burst out in a fit of laughter, and it feels good. There’s nothing better than laughing with your best friend until your sides ache.

Our laughter finally ceases, and I wipe my eyes.

Paige says, “My entire point, before you had to split hairs, is that you don’t love him. You’re obsessed with him because you can’t have him. You think about him nonstop because he doesn’t want you. His rejection is making you crazy. You, London, do not like being told no. That’s what this whole thing is about.”

I take a minute to think about her words. “Maybe you’re right. Rejection sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“So, how do I get someone who doesn’t want me?”

Paige thumps the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Oh my God, I might as well be talking to a wall.”

“Whatever.” I don’t feed into her dramatics. “Just tell me what to do.”

“I don’t have any more advice for you,” Paige says in a resigned tone. “This whole thing is out of my advice realm.”

“You can’t be out of advice. I need it,” I protest.

“I gave you mine, remember? I said, charter a plane without so much baggage. But, no, you want the baggage. I said, stop going after someone who doesn’t want you back. But, no, you don’t want to listen to that either. So, I’ve got nothing for ya. He’s special…blah, blah, blah. Then, get him back, I guess.”

I point my index finger toward her. “There are no blah, blah, blahs allowed in giving advice, but I think you’re right.” I pause and nod my head for effect. “I’m getting my man back!” I yell, lifting my spoon in the air in triumph. “London Wright does not back down from a challenge.”

“Exactly! And we know London Wright’s serious when she starts speaking in third person!” Paige cheers along beside me. “But before you go and hijack that seven forty-seven of hotness, can we please finish watching season five of Downton Abbey? We’re so behind. I need to know what Edith is going to do with the baby, and then we need to move on to the final season. Paige McAllister has needs, too, and they’re all going to come from that magic box right there.” She points dramatically to my flat screen TV hanging on the wall at the foot of my bed. “And since my needs are more accessible than yours at the moment, I think I win.”

“That’s fine,” I sigh. “You know these things take planning anyway. It hasn’t even been a week yet. I’m going to give the boy at least a week to come to his senses, a chance to come back begging. But, if he doesn’t, then game on.”

“That’s my girl!” she says with enthusiasm as she grabs the remote. “Now, which episode were we on?” she asks herself as she scrolls through the menu.

My tummy is about to explode from ice cream overload, so I set the pint down on my bedside table. Besides, I no longer want to become obese and die. Instead, I want Loïc back, and I’m going to fight to get him. He might not know what he wants, but I do.

An extremely happy and lively version of my sister fills up my laptop screen as she adamantly tells me of her latest adventure. I haven’t physically spoken to Georgia in a month. All our communication has been over social media or text, so it is so great to see her and hear her voice.

It could be the color settings of my computer screen, but she looks so tan. I’ve never seen her with truly bronzed skin.

Georgia and I are opposites in almost every way. Where my skin darkens after just a few minutes in the sun, hers is pale, burning more than it tans. She has long blonde hair, opposite to my brown. She even has these brilliant blue eyes, which are in complete contrast to my brown ones. She looks nothing like me or my parents. Apparently, my dad’s mother was pale-skinned with blonde hair and blue eyes. Georgia has always stood out at family events, oftentimes being the only blonde in the room. When she was little, she was like this little cherub with rosy cheeks and blonde ringlets. She always seems to be the center of attention—not because she is necessarily more beautiful than anyone else, but because she’s different. She stands out wherever she goes with her angel-like appearance and exuberant personality.

I suppose we are similar in that way. We’re both comfortable with being the center of attention. However, Georgia is more adventurous than I am. I love to experience new places in comfort. Paris? I loved our trip there, but while Mom and I were shopping and dining at the best restaurants in the city, Georgia was touring Les Catacombes—also known as the Empire of Death. Apparently, it is an underground tomb, complete with musty dark tunnels and neatly stacked bones, like skulls and such from dead humans.

No, thank you.

Georgia is talking a mile a minute as she fills me in on the last two months of her European adventures. Something she said catches me off guard.

“Wait, slow down. Did you just say you’re in Brazil?”

“Yeah, I told you at the beginning that I’m in Manaus.” She