Man vs. Durian

by Jackie Lau

  And I just know that Valerie and I belong together. There’s no other way to describe it.

  I hope that soon, she’ll be able to see it, too.

  Chapter 21

  Valerie

  Tuesday—which is now part of my weekend!—my brother wants to meet me for lunch at the poke bowl place in Baldwin Village. We sit across from each other, me with my squid bowl and him with his salmon bowl, and for some reason, conversation isn’t easy between us. Usually, Alan and I get along well, but today, it feels awkward.

  Or maybe it’s not him...it’s just me.

  I can’t get Peter out of my mind.

  Specifically, I can’t get the conviction that there must be something wrong with Peter out of my mind. I banished my fears for a little while after that conversation with my friends—and my friends assured me, after our triple date, that Peter is great—but now, those fears have returned.

  When I was telling Peter about what happened last year, a part of me couldn’t help feeling like surely, this would be the end. He wouldn’t believe me, or he’d say I should have stayed at my job until I found a new one, or he’d wonder if maybe I was encouraging my boss, and that’s why he made a pass at me.

  But Peter did none of those things.

  The other option was that he would have been overcome with anger and demand I tell him where to find Stephen so he could beat the shit out of him, and when I refused, I’d have to spend an hour calming him down, as though he were the victim, not me.

  But he didn’t do that, either.

  He was simply supportive. He listened. He didn’t push me. He was properly outraged, but still calm. When I asked him to help me forget, he did.

  In other words, he was perfect.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. The things I feared—those would have been out of character for him.

  Nobody’s perfect, though, and men have a tendency to be complete tools.

  There must be something wrong with Peter, some skeleton in his closet. But what?

  I push that aside and try to focus on my brother, try to think of something to ask him. Unfortunately, his geochronology research bores me, though the basic concept is cool. I’m glad he’s found something he loves, even if Mom complains and says, “What are you going to do with that degree? Help me if I have a sick rock in my garden? Better to be a real doctor than a rock doctor.”

  I chuckle at the memory, then have a bite of my food and turn to one of my regular topics of conversation with my brother.

  Instruct-Ed.

  “So,” I say, “any of your students manage to change their quiz marks again?”

  “Nah, I figured out how to stop that from happening. It was completely non-intuitive, however. It would never have occurred to me if one of the customer support people hadn’t told me what to do, and they acted like it was just common sense.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t believe a big company makes such awful software. If only I could...”

  Alan puts down his chopsticks and leans forward. “If only you could get your hands on the code. I know. You say that every time. You always ask about the course management software and fantasize about fixing it.”

  “Maybe ‘fantasize’ is putting it a bit strongly—”

  “I can’t stand to see you doing this to yourself. You want to be a software developer again. So do it.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Yes, it is, if you want something badly enough. I hate to see you wasting your life on scooping ice cream.”

  “Stop being a snob.” I stab at a cherry tomato. “It’s an honest day’s work. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “But you’re too smart for it.”

  “Such a snob.” I shake my head again. “Is this why you wanted to see me for lunch? Just so you could critique my life choices? You sound like Mom.”

  “It’s frustrating to see how all your confidence was stolen. You think your boss had ulterior motives whenever he complimented your work.”

  “I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” It’s true; that crushed some of my confidence. But I still have some conviction that I was good at what I did. I just don’t know how I could stand it if that shit happened again. Alan thinks it was an aberration, but I’ve read so many #metoo stories. I know it’s not uncommon.

  And yes, I have to deal with some shitty behavior from customers at Ginger Scoops, but they’re not in positions of power over me.

  Plus, it’s not that simple for me to get another job. I already tried.

  “I’m not talking about this right now,” I say.

  He sighs. “Alright.”

  I eat my poke bowl in silence, hating that I feel uncomfortable with my own brother.

  * * *

  I go to Peter’s after lunch. His parents are back from vacation, so they no longer need him to look after Biscuit, and Peter is living in his apartment once more. He’s not home now, since he’s at work, but he said I could relax here for a few hours.

  I help myself to some of the smoked plum juice in his fridge before I start watching Netflix in peace and quiet. No mother to yell at me. No sister to argue with me. No father to...well, my dad doesn’t say much, but he’s always there.

  At five o’clock, I hear the key in the door.

  Peter is home!

  I scurry to the door, and when he steps inside, I greet him by throwing my arms around him and kissing him on the lips.

  “Hey, you,” he says. “I could get used to coming home to this.”

  I smile back at him, even though I feel a twinge of discomfort. At his words, I can’t help but think of being a housewife, and that was never what I wanted.

  But, yeah, it’s nice to be here to greet him after a day of work.

  He showers while I make a pot of tea and take out the Japanese cheesecake I bought earlier. When he returns, he’s wearing only a pair of pajama pants, his white T-shirt slung over his shoulder.

  “That’s an interesting way to wear a shirt,” I say. “Normally one would make use of the arm and neck holes and not show off one’s...” I gesture toward him.

  “Show off my what?” he says with a smirk.

  “Chest. Abs. Body in general.”

  “So glad you like my ‘body in general.’ That’s a surprise.”

  Then he puts on his T-shirt and sits down at the counter with me. We eat our cheesecake in companionable silence for a minute, holding hands.

  “Valerie,” he says, “I want to help you get your career back. Whatever kind of support you need, I’m there. Have you considered going to a lawyer? I don’t know exactly what they could do, but maybe—”

  “I can’t afford it, and I can’t imagine going through that.”

  I nod. “I understand. What about asking Sarah’s boyfriend—”

  “No.” I stiffen and think of my conversation with Alan. “I’m not going back to that world. Why would I want to work in an industry that did that to me?”

  “But you loved it. Don’t let them chase you out for good. You’re going to do great things. I believe in you.”

  Well, I’ve finally figured out what’s wrong with Peter So.

  He believes in me!

  The cheek of the man.

  “I’m not asking Josh for a job.” I push a little piece of cheesecake around on my plate. “Sarah suggested it, too, but I’m not going to take advantage of our friendship like that.”

  “People use their connections all the time in business. Obviously, you’ll still have to do good work, and I know you will. Just ask. See what happens. If you were a rich white dude, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

  Reluctantly, I chuckle.

  He strokes my hand. “I just want you to do what makes you happy.”

  “I won’t be happy. Maybe initially, but bad shit will happen.”

  “You don’t trust Josh?”

  “He’s not the only person at the company.”

  Peter sighs. “Okay. I’ll drop it for now. I know you went through something terr
ible.”

  And sure enough, he doesn’t mention it again that day.

  * * *

  It’s a bit of a relief to go back to Ginger Scoops on Thursday, to straighten the tables and put away the patio furniture, to make a banana split with green tea ice cream, chocolate-raspberry ice cream, and strawberry-lychee sorbet, as well as an excessive amount of chocolate sauce and sprinkles. It’s a relief to make bubble waffles. It’s a relief to wipe down the tables and mop the floor.

  Ginger Scoops isn’t my favorite place in the world—goddamn customers—but it’s been a refuge of sorts for me, and I’m thankful to Chloe.

  Alan and Peter just don’t understand what it’s like. Most men don’t.

  But Peter has been lovely. He tried his best today, even if he didn’t fully get it, though I’m still convinced there must be something wrong with him.

  Other than the fact that he believes in me and doesn’t like durian, of course.

  Chapter 22

  Peter

  “Remember when it smelled like natural gas here?” Carson asks as we move paper bags full of leaves to the curb. We’re already up to fifty bags, and there are still lots of leaves to go.

  This is what happens when it’s fall and you have a property as big as Brian Poon’s.

  “How could I forget?” I mutter. “The man had hosted a party and served durian, and it smelled like goddamn rotten onions with a dash of sewage and body odor.”

  Carson regards me for a moment. “What’s up with you, man? You’re not your cheerful self today.”

  “Eh, just one of those days.”

  “Woman troubles. I bet that’s what it is.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Come on, buddy. It’s me. We’ve worked together for years.”

  I swipe a hand through my hair. “I can take care of it.”

  I guess I am in a bad mood. Things are going well with Valerie...mostly. But I want her to pursue her dreams, and she won’t. She’s afraid. Though I understand why, I hate seeing her work at a job that doesn’t give her satisfaction.

  Now, I don’t get any particular fulfilment from my own job, but it pays the bills and I don’t mind it, and there isn’t something else I’d rather be doing.

  For Valerie, however, there definitely is.

  I’ll leave it for a few more days, but somehow, I have to change her mind.

  I also can’t help worrying that she’ll never feel the same way about me as I feel about her. I tell myself to be patient, but it’s hard.

  * * *

  When I arrive at my parents’ house on Thursday after work, Biscuit immediately runs up to me, her tongue hanging out of her mouth and her tail wagging.

  “Hey, girl,” I say. “You glad to have Mommy and Daddy home again?”

  “Smile!” says my father.

  I look toward him and grin. He snaps a photo of me and Biscuit with his phone and, presumably, posts it on Instagram.

  “You know,” I say, “you could have said hello first.”

  He shrugs and holds out his arms

  I embrace him. “How was your trip?”

  “It was good.”

  Just then, I hear some yelling.

  “No, I’m not wearing that!” Mackenzie shouts.

  “Why not? You’ll look good,” Mom says.

  “I can’t wear it in public.”

  “I know. It’s for you to wear with Benny.”

  “His name is Ben, not Benny.”

  I walk toward the living room, Biscuit on my heels, and see my mother and my sister.

  Mackenzie gestures with her hand. She’s holding some kind of black lacy fabric. “Can’t you understand how weird this is?”

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Mackenzie turns to me. “Mom bought me lingerie in Spain. Sexy lingerie. To wear when I’m...” She throws up her arms in the air. “Why can’t you be a normal mother? One who doesn’t paint pictures of vaginas and buy me sexy lingerie to wear with my boyfriend?”

  “Okay, that’s weird,” I agree.

  “You’re lucky she didn’t buy you any sexy lingerie.”

  “Actually...” Mom says.

  I whip my head toward my mother. “Excuse me?”

  “Just kidding. But you should see your face. No, we got you some orange wine.”

  I picture myself enjoying it with Valerie. “Excellent. That’s a vast improvement.”

  “How come he gets wine and I get creepy lingerie?” Mackenzie asks.

  “We got you wine, too,” Dad says.

  So my sister got two presents and I only got one.

  That’s okay. I think I came out ahead.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it in Canada,” Mom says, pointing at the black lace. “See here how it—”

  “No!” Mackenzie howls, covering her ears with her hands.

  Yeah, okay, I’m a grown man, and I probably shouldn’t enjoy my sister’s pain, but it does bring me a tiny bit of satisfaction. I can’t help it.

  “There’s something called the internet,” Mackenzie says. “I can order anything I want, from places all over the world. You don’t need to get such things for me. The only person who can buy me lingerie without it being weird is Ben.”

  “Does he buy you lingerie?”

  “It’s none of your goddamn business!”

  My mother laughs. She enjoys needling us way too much.

  Dad turns to me. “Peter, we need to have a conversation about the package you left in the garbage while you were here.”

  I try to remain calm, but inside, I’m freaking out. What the hell is this about? Did I get careless with a condom wrapper?

  “The frozen durian packaging,” Dad clarifies.

  Oh, thank God. That’s all it was.

  “I thought you hated durian.” Mackenzie folds her arms over her chest.

  “I do.”

  “The thing is,” Dad says, “it kinda smelled.”

  “I’m sorry. I meant to take out the garbage, and then I forgot.”

  “Why did you buy durian if you hate it?” Mom asks. “Are you a masochist?”

  “Valerie likes it,” I explain, “and it turns out that Biscuit likes it, too.”

  At her name, the dog barks a couple times, and I bend down to rub her ears.

  “So, how’s it going with this woman of yours?” Dad asks.

  “It’s going fine,” I say. “But you don’t get to meet her anytime soon. Don’t even ask. I’m afraid you’ll scare her off.”

  “Us?” my mom says, looking at my father with faux innocence. “We would never.”

  One of my exes broke up with me shortly after meeting my parents, and I’ve always wondered...but anyway, it doesn’t matter. Meeting my family isn’t what Valerie needs right now, even if I’ve already met hers.

  “Ben is still traumatized,” Mackenzie says.

  “Then Ben is a wuss!” Mom shoots back.

  Sometimes I wonder how I turned out so normal.

  “Anyway,” Dad says, “dinner will be ready soon. You want to set the table, Peter?”

  Ah, an innocuous task.

  I jump at the chance.

  * * *

  When I get home that evening, I text Valerie. I miss you.

  Miss you, too. How was dinner with your parents?

  Oh, the usual, I reply, deciding not to go into details.

  Chloe and I are having boba, she says, then sends me a photo of her sipping bubble tea through a pink straw. I can’t help picturing her mouth wrapped around something else, but I manage to push that aside by thinking about my parents buying lingerie.

  Still, I continue to stare at the photo, an ache in my chest as I think of all the things I want for her. Not only do I want her to have the career she loves, but I also want her to be able to move out, either to live with me or by herself.

  When I got home from work the other day and Valerie came to the door to greet me, I was filled with longing for that to be my future. Except ideall
y she would have a Monday-to-Friday job in software development, and she might not be home to meet me at five o’clock.

  Instead, maybe I’d be the one making after-work tea for her, rushing to the door to greet her with a kiss.

  Yeah, I like that picture. I like thinking about our future, but I fear I’m getting too far ahead of myself, when we haven’t exchanged “I love yous.”

  Can I visit you tomorrow at Ginger Scoops when I finish work? I ask instead.

  Sure, she replies.

  I can’t help but smile, but it’s tinged with sadness.

  What if this doesn’t work out? How could I bear it?

  Chapter 23

  Valerie

  It’s not very warm out, but Peter and I are sitting on the patio at Ginger Scoops, wearing our fall jackets. He’s wearing a toque, too.

  Sure, we could have sat inside, but I want a break from being inside Ginger Scoops. It feels a bit claustrophobic after a while. Peter isn’t complaining about sitting outdoors, and he looks cute in that gray hat, I’m not going to lie.

  He slides an envelope across the table. A pink envelope with my name on the front.

  Inside, there’s a kirigami pop-up card with two swans.

  I almost start crying.

  Oh my God, what’s wrong with me?

  But my boyfriend is so sweet and I can’t take it anymore. He’s written, I like when we’re together in the card. Just something simple, but as our gazes collide, I see the truth in his eyes. He has stronger feelings for me, but he’s holding back because he knows I’m not ready.

  And that makes me want to weep even more. How can I be dating a man who’s so kind and thoughtful? How can he care for me so much?

  No, he must have a hidden flaw. A major one. A deep, dark secret.

  I need to figure out what it is.

  “Valerie?” He interlaces his fingers with mine. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I love the card. It’s so sweet. Thank you.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “If you don’t like cards, just tell me. I won’t be offended. I can get you something else instead, like a durian bun.”