by Jackie Lau
Yep, that’s my devious plan.
We get to the front of the line and order some tea and a Japanese cheesecake. Unfortunately, the person taking our order isn’t Chrissy, but Chrissy’s the one who brings the tea and cheesecake to our table a few minutes later.
Excellent.
“Valerie!” she says in her too-loud voice that drives me bananas. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Chrissy, this is Peter. My boyfriend.”
Chrissy can only stay to chat for a minute, but that’s okay. She’s seen us. I’ve done what I wanted to accomplish.
Now it’s time to eat. I turn my attention to the cheesecake, which is seven or eight inches in diameter, with a light brown top. I cut it in quarters and put one on a plate for Peter and one on a plate for me.
I pop a bite of the cake into my mouth. It’s light and airy and not overly sweet, and I close my eyes to savor it. When I open them, Peter is peering at me curiously.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“It was not nothing. It was something.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
I grab his plate and pull it toward me. “Tell me.”
He laughs. “Why does it matter?”
“I don’t like it when people don’t tell me things!”
“Alright.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I like watching you enjoy your food. That’s all.” He gives me a hesitant smile.
“Oh. Really?”
“Yeah.”
Huh. Well, that was unexpected.
I push his cheesecake back toward him. He shifts his hand toward mine on the table, then immediately pulls back.
“Sorry,” he says. “We haven’t discussed physical affection. Like, can I hold your hand? Can I kiss you on the cheek? It would probably be best if we did a little of that, at least when the people you want to fool are nearby, but just let me know. I’m not sure of the protocol for fake relationships. If you don’t want me to touch you at all, it’s okay.”
I laugh, but I appreciate this. I do.
“You can touch me in the ways you described. When we’re in public.” It’s a bit loud in here, but that’s good—it would be tough to overhear our conversation.
“What about this?”
A bite of cheesecake appears before my face.
Ah. He wants to feed me. I glance around the room and find Chrissy nearby, looking in our general direction. Perfect. As I lean forward, my heart starts beating a little faster, but it’s not unpleasant.
Weird.
I eat the cheesecake from his fork. It’s delicious.
“It’s a good thing they didn’t have durian cheesecake,” he says. “I bet you would have insisted on getting it.”
“Of course. I’ve never had durian cheesecake before. I can just imagine how amazing that would be.”
“Bleh.” He wrinkles his nose. “You’d probably get it all over my shirt somehow, and then I would stink.”
“And you’d use it as an excuse to remove your shirt so you could show off your body.”
“Are you saying you like my body?”
My cheeks heat. “You’re decent-looking, and you clearly don’t sit in a cubicle all day. That’s just the truth.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up, and ooh, that’s rather sexy. I want to kiss him.
Oh my God, where did that come from?
Here’s the thing. I find the thought of kissing a man I hardly know—a stranger at a bar, let’s say—completely unappealing. I might find someone a little attractive at the beginning, but it always takes a while before I can even think of going further, before I can really feel sexually attracted to them.
But the idea of kissing Peter right now...it actually sounds kind of nice.
It’s been a very long time since that’s happened to me, and I’m thrown off by my reaction. He’s just a guy.
We chat about nothing in particular and eat cheesecake for a little while. Peter is pretty easy to be with, actually, and I enjoy his light teasing.
I look at my watch. “It’s getting late. I should head home.”
“Sure. Let me ask for a box so you can take the rest with you.” He gestures to the cake.
A few minutes later, we’re walking outside in the warm-ish September air. I just survived my first “date” since the whole Stephen debacle. A fake date, but still. I’m pleased with how it went.
“Let’s do something on Sunday,” I say, before I know what I’m doing.
Peter agrees.
I head to the subway, shaking my head at the spur-of-the-moment decision to ask him out again. It’s not like we need to see each other every two days to keep up this ruse, right?
When I get home, I’m practically tackled by my mother.
“Ah, you’re smiling!” she says. “Good date?”
“It was.”
“I heard you went to Cheese & Me. Daphne called to say Chrissy saw you there!”
Well, that was faster than expected.
“Yes, we went out for cheesecake.” I lift up the box with the leftovers.
“Did he kiss you?” Mom makes loud smooching noises.
I glare at her. “I’m going up to bed.”
Once I’m in bed, I do not think about Peter.
No, I most certainly do not.
Chapter 6
Peter
I want to make Valerie smile again. I’m addicted to her smiles.
I don’t know where to find durian cheesecake downtown, but I do a little research on my phone and find the perfect thing to bring her for our next date.
I head to the bakery just before we meet on Sunday. In some ways, it’s similar to the bakeries in Chinatown. You take a tray and a pair of tongs, and you put everything you want on the tray and bring it to the cashier.
Except here, rather than plastic cafeteria trays, there are smooth wooden trays lined with tissue paper, and the prices aren’t “three for a dollar” but more along the lines of three to five bucks each. Expensive, in other words. There are smooth, flawless buns filled with things like red bean and taro. There are pineapple buns with their crunchy pineapple-less topping, like you’d get at a regular Chinese bakery, except these look like perfection, and they’re actually “double pineapple” buns, filled with pineapple custard. I pick one up and put it on my tray. I better try something at the bakery and make sure it’s good, right? Then I select another bun—the reason for my trip to this bakery. To my surprise, it doesn’t smell.
The cashier gives me a little bag for my purchases, and I eat the double pineapple bun as I’m walking to Ginger Scoops. It’s quite good.
Hopefully the other bun is just as good.
I don’t know as much about Valerie as I’d like to, but from what I do know, I’m pretty sure she’ll like this.
* * *
“I got you a present,” I tell Valerie as we take a seat on the patio at Ginger Scoops. It’s a Sunday, so it closed at seven. We’re supposed to go out for dinner somewhere in the area.
“You didn’t need to,” she protests.
I shrug. “It’s no big deal.” I pull out the paper bag and set the bun on top of it. “For you.”
“You got me a bun.” She eyes me suspiciously.
“Yes. I got you a bun at a fancy-ass Asian fusion bakery.”
“Is that what it called itself? ‘A fancy-ass Asian fusion bakery’?”
“Actually, it was just called ‘Eight Buns,’ but it was fancy inside. Trust me.”
“What is this?” she asks, nodding at the bun.
“Try it and see.”
“Uh-uh. I’m not falling for that trick again.”
“What have you been forced to eat in the past?”
“Rat poison.”
“Who the hell fed you rat poison?”
“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “I just mean, it could be filled with rat poison for all I know, but I’m sure it’s something normal like barbecued pork.”
“It’s
a durian bun, filled with durian custard. It’s supposed to be the best durian bun in the city, and you deserve the very best in stinky fruit buns.”
Her eyes light up...and there’s that smile I was hoping for. It causes a pleasant warmth in my chest.
She picks up the bun. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“No, I’m not touching that.”
She bites into the bun, closing her eyes. I’ve noticed that Valerie likes to close her eyes when she eats, as though it allows her to truly savor food.
“Good?” I ask.
For some reason, it’s extremely important that she like it.
“Yeah.” She sighs in bliss.
The extra stop before going to Ginger Scoops was definitely worth it.
There’s a tiny bit of custard on her lip, and I want to lick it off. Then I remind myself that it’s durian-flavored and must taste like absolute shit.
Still, I would happily lick her lip if she’d let me.
The key to romance, you see, is not bringing a woman dozens of red roses or hiring a string quartet to serenade her.
No, the secret is finding something that’s uniquely for her, whether or not it’s expensive.
She holds the bun out to me, and I instinctively turn away, fearing for the safety of my nose. I don’t smell anything yet, but I’m sure the smell is there, now that she’s bitten into it.
“Try it,” she says. “Just a small bite. The durian isn’t very strong.”
“No?”
“Really, it’s a mellow durian flavor.”
“That’s like saying something has a mild garbage flavor. I still don’t want to eat it.”
She makes a face, then thrusts the durian bun under my nose, but I stand up before I get a proper whiff of it. Valerie stands up, too, and I hurry around a nearby table. She follows. I dart around the next table and bang my knee on a chair.
“Come and get it,” she says, shaking the half-eaten bun in her hand.
“I’m keeping my distance.”
She doesn’t move, so I stay where I am, my heart rate kicking up, not from scurrying around on the patio, but because of her. I enjoy being chased by Valerie.
“You sure you don’t want this?” She grins and steps toward me.
I step back. “I’m sure.”
“What kind of bribe would work on you?”
“Season tickets to the Leafs,” I say automatically.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, you’re one of those rabid Leafs fans. You know, I’ve always thought the Leafs had an interesting business model. They put out a shitty product year after year, yet they’re still one of the most valuable teams in the league. It’s impressive.”
“Maybe you missed the memo, but the Leafs are good now.”
She shrugs and thrusts the durian bun toward me again. I try to step back, but I can’t. I’m against the fence that separates Ginger Scoops’ patio from the one next to it.
The next thing I know, Valerie is nearly pressed up against me and a mildly terrible smell permeates the air.
But she’s pressed up against me. I’m intoxicated by her nearness...and the foul smell of the durian bun, but she’s right, it’s not nearly as bad as, say, the durian smell in Brian Poon’s backyard.
“What are you two doing?” Chloe steps onto the patio. “It looks like you’re trying to feed him a bun.”
“It’s a durian bun,” Valerie explains.
When she looks at Chloe, I jump to the right. Away from Valerie, but also away from the foul-smelling bun. She chases me.
Chloe laughs and heads to the sidewalk. I can see her out of the corner of my eyes, but my focus stays on Valerie. Her mouth is open, and she’s breathing a little quickly, and there’s a wild look in her eyes that absolutely delights me.
I run to the other side of the patio and crawl under a table.
“What are you?” Valerie asks. “Five?”
When she crouches down next to me, it’s like we’re in our own little world, here under the plastic patio furniture. Some hair has escaped her ponytail, and I long to reach out and smooth it behind her ear, but I won’t.
Because under the table, we don’t have to fake it for anyone. It’s just us.
And she only wants me to touch her in public.
“Come on,” she whispers, and for a moment I imagine she’s talking about something other than a freaking durian bun.
God, I want to touch her so badly. I want to toss aside that evil bun and press my lips against hers and pull her into my lap. I want to lie down on the ground with her on top of me, her breasts pressed against my chest.
But I won’t.
I grin at her. “Eat the bun, Valerie.”
“You got it for me. It’s mine, and I can do what I wish with it. And I wish for you to try a bite.” She holds it in front of my face again.
I should crawl out from under the table and stand up, but I like being in our own little world here. I like it a lot.
When Valerie shoves the bun under my nose again, I don’t turn away. I smell sweet bun and fruity gasoline. Not that I’ve ever smelled fruity gasoline before, but I can imagine. I have a good imagination. For example, I’m currently imagining Valerie crawling across my bed in red lingerie, with a whole durian in her hand—
Wait. What the fuck? If it’s a fantasy, why is there a durian in it?
“Try it,” she says. “Just a tiny bite of the scrumptious durian bun.”
“Geez, you’re really pulling out the big words.”
“I’m complimenting you on the present you gave me.”
“How kind.”
She holds the bun closer to my lips, and I lean forward. I admit I’m a bit curious to know what “mellow durian flavor” is like.
I take a small bite. The pleasantly-sweet bun is filled with some kind of custard, and it’s not completely repellent. Like, I wouldn’t buy one of these for myself, but it’s not that gross.
“You didn’t even make a face,” she said. “You’re a durian convert.”
“Nope, not happening. But you’re right, that isn’t too strong.”
We stand up and brush off our jeans, and for a moment, we simply stare at each other. It’s almost dusk; the light is fading.
When night blankets the city, I want to be curled up in bed with her. Or maybe we’d chase each other around my bed with pillows. I don’t know, but I want her there.
Except this isn’t real, not really.
Not yet, anyway.
Valerie nibbles at her bun, and I keep my eyes on her lips, jealous of how something that smells of fruity gasoline gets to enjoy her lips.
“Are you still hungry for dinner?” I ask after she pops the last bite in her mouth.
She holds a finger up to indicate she’s still chewing, then finally says, “Yeah, I’m hungry, don’t worry. Where do you want to go?”
“Have you been to K-Polish?”
“No, actually, I haven’t. Let’s try it.”
K-Polish is a Korean-Polish restaurant on Baldwin Street. We’re quickly seated and given menus, which have a Korean section, a Polish section, and a fusion section. I read through the latter. There are bulgogi and kimchi pierogis, and potato pancakes stuffed with either kimchi jjigae or bulgogi with cabbage and pear. Then there’s “sumptuous” soon tofu with “delectable” sauerkraut.
In fact, “delectable” appears three times on the menu.
And that’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone refer to soon tofu as “sumptuous.”
“What are you getting?” Valerie asks me.
“I think I’ll have the ‘sumptuous and scrumptious’ potato pancake with kimchi jjigae. Though the last thing that someone described as scrumptious did not live up to the description.”
She laughs. “I’m having the potato pancake, too, but with bulgogi. It’s described as ‘scrumdiddlyumptious,’ so it must be better than yours.”
I shoot her a look of mock outrage.
We place our orders, and our banchan arr
ives soon after. There are small dishes of kimchi and soybean sprouts, as one would normally get at a Korean restaurant, but there’s also sauerkraut, as well as beet salad. I tackle everything with my chopsticks; Valerie uses her fork.
“We should get to know each other better,” she says, “so I can answer my mother’s numerous questions. She keeps bugging me about your family.”
“Mom and Dad live in Thornhill. That’s where I grew up. They were both born in Hong Kong but grew up in Canada, my mother in a small town near Ottawa, and my father in a small town near Waterloo. ”
“Do you speak Cantonese?”
“Very little.”
“Well, that will make you a little less perfect in my mother’s eyes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, thank God. It’s getting annoying to be compared to you. She thinks you’re, like, the perfect Chinese son and you go around saving babies all day.”
I frown. “What?”
“You know. The pediatrician thing.”
“Right, right. How could I have forgotten?”
“You better not forget on Thursday.”
“Why, what’s Thursday?”
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you.” She deposits some kimchi in her mouth. “I’ve spent the past few days insisting it’s too soon for you to come to dinner, but my mom wants to meet you, come hell or high water. She threatened to follow me around every day this week until she met you.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. And since she’s retired, she has the time to do so—I’m afraid it’s not an empty threat. So I offered an informal meeting at Ginger Scoops on Thursday. She’ll just come over and interrogate you for twenty minutes. I’ll make sure it’s no more than that. Anyway, you can keep all your personal details the same, for simplicity’s sake. Except for your career, of course, and remember that you majored in life sciences. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“I’ve done the meet-the-parents thing many times before.”
“How many?”
I think for a moment. “Ten?”
“Ten different women?”
“Yeah.”
“Ten?”
I shrug. “I’ve had thirteen girlfriends.”
Her eyes bug out of her head. “Thirteen?”
