No new texts.
They put the car in reverse and drove out of the parking lot.
London couldn’t sleep.
The finale was in ten hours, and every anxiety-ridden thought London’s brain had ever possibly conceived since flying to LA over a month ago was now parading through their brain.
London was proud of the visibility they’d achieved for their community on Chef’s Special.
But right now, in the dark, the clock ticking away until the moment they would step onto that set for the last time with the world watching, that visibility felt heavy on their shoulders.
They knew that those who didn’t like them would discredit them either way. If they lost, they would have had it coming. If they won, then it would be rigged in favor of political correctness.
But what if London lost in front of everyone who wanted them to win?
How would that trans kid in Kentucky feel?
Quietly, London got to their feet. Their habits of the last week were still ingrained in their system. Their body was itching to walk.
They would just go get some of that awful green tea from the lobby they’d drunk too much of this week. Walk around the corridors for a bit.
But London didn’t even make it as far as the tea station. Because when they walked through the lobby, they were stopped short by a familiar short profile, a dark bob of hair with a streak of silver, sitting at the hotel bar.
Automatically, London walked toward her. They sat down next to their mother.
“What are you drinking there?”
Her eyes widened in surprise, and then lowered again. Her creased forehead smoothed, and she smiled.
“A hot toddy. If I consume any more wine tonight, I’ll be passed out for your big day tomorrow. Please.” She pushed the warm glass along the counter toward them. “Drink it.”
A hot toddy actually sounded perfect right about now. London took a sip.
“So you’re in love, huh?” Charlotte Parker asked.
London choked on the rum. Once they had recovered, they cast her a sidelong glance. “We’re just jumping right in then, huh?”
“Will we be able to meet her anytime soon?”
London ran a finger along the countertop.
“Hopefully.”
They took longer sips of the toddy. It slid down their throat, warm and comforting.
A moment passed, and then Charlotte sighed. She reached up a weathered hand and rested it on London’s cheek.
“Oh, baby,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
London put down the glass. They stared at the rings it had left on the counter.
“I just don’t get it,” they said eventually. “He’s had so long. I don’t . . . I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”
Their mom ran a hand through London’s hair and looked at them for a long moment. They closed their eyes, wanting to lean on her while they could.
She dropped her hand and stared forward again, focused on the rainbow of liquor bottles along the wall.
“No matter how many times we all told him, I think he really did think it was a phase,” she mused. “And you being yourself on the show has made him realize he was wrong. Your father does not deal well with being wrong.”
Boo fucking hoo, London thought.
“It feels like . . . ” London fiddled with the curved handle of the hot toddy glass. Knowing how pathetic this was going to sound, but needing their mom to hear it anyway. “Like he doesn’t even love me anymore.”
Charlotte brought a fist up to her mouth. She kept it there a long moment, and London grew disturbed that she was taking so long to disagree.
“He loves you, London. He does. Even if he has forgotten how to show it. He’s . . . ” Charlotte sighed again. “He’s built his whole life around the four of you. Every single place he goes, he talks about what his girls are up to. And now . . . He doesn’t know what to say, I think. Now that he can’t say ‘my girls.’ ”
London cursed under their breath. “It’s not that hard,” they said, annoyed. “He can talk about his kids, then. His children. His offspring, I don’t know, whatever! I’ve taken one word away from him. Cry me a river.”
“I know, London, I know. I’m not making excuses; I’m trying to understand it, too.”
“Sorry, the cry me a river was directed at him, not you.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
She shook her head.
“I’ve never seen him act like he did tonight,” she said. “And before your big day. I am . . . appalled. I don’t know what to do anymore.”