by Jackie Lau
“It is,” I admit.
“I’m glad you found someone. Peter is much better than Stephen. Where did he study English?”
“Queen’s. That part of the story wasn’t a lie, just his major.”
She nods. “That gives us something in common to talk about next time.”
“Don’t you dare show any interest in him. He’s taken.”
“I mean, talk about in a friendly, brother-sister kind of way.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Brother-sister kind of way?”
“I assume you’re going to marry him one day.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“Me. Marry. Him?” I finally splutter.
“Well, you should. Since you make each other happy and I doubt you can do any better.”
“Sabrina—”
“That wasn’t an insult. I’m just saying he’s great—for you.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “He is.”
Twenty minutes later, once my parents have turned down the volume on their argument, I snuggle up under my covers, waiting for sleep to overtake me.
But I keep thinking of Peter.
I’m paranoid after what happened with Stephen, but unlike when I was in university, I’ve been on the look-out for warning signs from the very beginning. Thinking back, there were so many issues with my ex, but I either didn’t see them or pretended they were no big deal. I was naïve and willing to overlook a lot for the first guy who’d wanted a real relationship with me.
Peter is different, though, and even if I’m a bit of a pain in the ass, he cares for me. He doesn’t show it with excessive roses or chocolates, or fancy dinners; everything he does is more low-key, but it’s just for me.
Taking me to the durian shop. Letting me have a whole day alone in his apartment. Giving me cards that are sweet, but not painfully mushy.
I’m in a happy, healthy relationship with a decent guy.
And it’s still hard to wrap my mind around that.
* * *
I’m scooping out some matcha cheesecake ice cream for a young woman when I feel a prickle on the back of my neck.
Sometimes this happens when Peter is near. I have a strange feeling of awareness, even before I see or hear him.
But this time, it’s different. Unpleasant.
I’m immediately on edge.
I continue scooping the ice cream, giving the woman more than a single scoop, afraid to glance up. Perhaps it’s one of those idiotic men who tell me to smile more or compliment my “almond-shaped” eyes.
This weird sixth sense doesn’t make sense to my logical brain, but I trust it.
And when I look up, after giving change to the customer, Stephen Shum is standing in front of me.
I wasn’t expecting anything good, but this is a surprise.
“Get out,” someone says.
It’s not me—I still haven’t found my voice.
It’s Chloe.
“Hey, hey.” Stephen holds up his hands. “I’m not here to make a scene. I just want to talk to Valerie for a few minutes.”
“Valerie has nothing to say to you, you asshole. Get the fuck out of my shop.”
This is out of character for Chloe. It’s not like she never swears—she totally does—but she’s a sweet person who never swears at someone quite like this.
Stephen definitely merits swearing, though.
“I came to apologize,” he says.
“She’s moved on. She doesn’t need your goddamn apology.”
Chloe’s face is red with rage and she’s holding her fist, as though restraining herself from reaching across the counter and punching him.
I appreciate having a friend who feels so much indignation on my behalf.
However...
Maybe I do need to talk to Stephen for closure.
Although closure is one of those wishy-washy things that I’m not sure I entirely believe in, I can’t help being curious about what he wants to say to me. And while I’ve started dating again, my past is still affecting me, and I haven’t tried to change where I am career-wise.
Yes, it will be hard without any references, with the gap in my resume, but I need to give it a try. Peter and my brother are right: that’s what I want to do with my life. Lately, I’ve been missing it more and more.
But I haven’t been able to consider it without freaking the fuck out.
What happened with Stephen was tied to my career, too. Maybe talking to him will help, though more than anything, I want to tell him off.
I wouldn’t have been strong enough to handle this before, but I am now.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “We can meet at the independent coffee shop down the street. Ten minutes, nothing more.”
“You don’t have to do it,” Chloe whispers.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ve got this.”
A couple minutes later, Stephen and I are sitting in the coffee shop.
“You don’t have long,” I say. “As soon as I finish this coffee, I’m out of here.”
“I always liked that about you. You’re direct.”
“Get to the fucking point.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m sorry I cheated on you and blamed you for, uh, not meeting my sexual needs. I’m now pretty sure that I wasn’t meeting yours.”
“Wow.” I fold my arms over my chest. “That’s a surprising amount of insight, coming from you.”
“Give me another chance.” He leans forward. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
“Such a cliché.”
“We were together for a long time. We lived together. And now you’re brushing me off?”
“Stephen, it was a year ago. I’ve moved on. I have a boyfriend—”
“Really?”
“Why are you surprised? If you want me back, you must think I’m desirable.”
“I do.” He shifts his hand toward me on the table, and I slap it away. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“Why would I make anything easy for you after what you did to me? But there’s no chance in hell of us getting back together. You need to get that weird fantasy out of your head.”
His lips thin. He’s not used to being told he can’t have what he wants; he’s a spoiled only son.
“At least come work for me,” he says.
“Work for you?”
“I thought you’d heard. I started my own company.”
“Mm. Fascinating.”
“Can you cut the sarcasm?”
“Nope.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re better than working at an ice cream shop. You have a degree.”
“Stop it. There’s nothing wrong with my job.”
“Sorry. I just mean that it’s not making use of your skills. You were passionate about what you did before.”
“You heard the details of what happened?”
“Yes, which is why I want to offer you a job.”
“So kind of you.”
“Valerie.”
“You used me,” I say, my voice trembling. “You never acknowledged it because it would have been too much for your precious ego to bear, but I’m better at certain things than you. You asked for my advice on a regular basis, and I gave it to you freely. You never thanked me. You never told me I was smart. It wasn’t just a quick question here and there. It was a lot, Stephen, and not just that. There was so much broken in our relationship, not just the sex”—I dart my eyes around the shop, a little embarrassed to be having this conversation—“but unfortunately, I didn’t know any better then. But I do now, and I want nothing to do with you.” I pause. “You know what’s fucked up? When my boss hit on me, I told Chloe, not you, because I worried you’d say something about me leading him on. I didn’t trust you, even before you cheated on me.”
I’m full of fury now. At Stephen. At myself for staying in that relationship so long.
“I don’t think you remember—” he begins.
“Guess what?” I drain the rest of my coffee and slap the mug on the table. It makes a satisfying thud. “I remember just perfectly, and I know you’re a piece of shit. I’m glad you’ve done some learning and are a slightly—slightly, mind you—smaller piece of shit now, but I don’t give a fuck. I have someone else, and I’m happy, goddammit, I’m happy. And if I was single, I’d still be happier than I was with you. I’m happier working at an ice cream shop than I would be working for you.” I shudder. “God, I can’t imagine the horror.”
“Stop being so dramatic. I can give you the chance you deserve.”
“There are other people who would give me a chance, too.”
“Who?”
I glower at him. “I’m leaving. I would say it was nice to see you, but it definitely wasn’t.”
I stalk toward the door, and another woman in the coffee shop gives me a smile and a thumbs-up.
When I saw Stephen, I didn’t feel even the slightest bit of affection, didn’t recall any nice memories. There is nothing in my heart for him. Nothing.
Good.
He doesn’t deserve it.
* * *
I wasn’t planning to visit Peter after work, but I need to see him. I need to feel his arms around me.
“Stephen came by today,” I say as soon as I step inside his apartment.
Peter stiffens. “What happened?”
“He wants me back. Apparently, he’s started his own company and he wants me to work for him, too.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him off.”
“Good.”
“It was nice to say all that shit to his face, but now I’m...”
Now that I’m with Peter, the lingering adrenaline that was pumping through my veins disappears. I feel drained.
He leads me to his couch and pulls me into his lap, and he just holds me. He tightens his arms around me and nuzzles my neck, and I feel safe. Cherished.
When his lips press against mine, I open for him, and we share a slow kiss, as if we’re moving through honey.
I love you.
The words slam into my brain like a ton of bricks, leaving me off-balance.
It’s true, though. It’s utterly true. I love Peter, and I love who I am when we’re together.
I’m prickly, I’m not exactly sweet-tempered, but all of that is okay with him. He’s willing to be there no matter what. He likes me for who I am, but at the same time, he makes me a stronger person.
I want to say it out loud, but I can’t.
The words are stuck in my throat.
I’ve only exchanged those words with one man before, the man I saw earlier today, and that relationship didn’t end well.
It’s scary to be in love. It’s scary to have this level of intimacy with someone.
But Peter is nothing like Stephen. I was freaking out before, convinced there had to be something wrong with Peter, convinced that such a kind, amazing man couldn’t actually be with me.
However, my doubts have been erased, more or less.
I thought Deepti would give me dirt on Peter. When my mother said Peter had been lying to me, I thought surely, it was something bad.
But, no. It isn’t too good to be true. This is really happening.
It’s so perfect, I still have trouble believing it, and I’m too frightened to say “I love you,” even though I know he’ll say it back.
After seeing Stephen, I’m vulnerable, scraped raw. I’m pissed at myself for not being able to declare my love, but I can’t help it.
I love Peter, and although our relationship has been real for a while, it’s now terrifyingly real in a way it wasn’t before, and I have the urge to bolt.
“What’s up?” Peter turns me so we’re facing each other.
“I’m scared.” This is the adult thing to do, to talk about how I feel, even if I can’t say everything.
“What are you afraid of?”
I gesture between us. “Being close to someone. I hate myself for feeling like this—”
“You don’t—”
“—because I know you won’t treat me like Stephen did, but since I suck at intimacy, that’s my only other experience. I tell myself that logically, I shouldn’t feel this way, but I still do. How have you had so many relationships? I can’t imagine opening myself up that many times.”
He runs a hand through my hair. Soothing. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
I release a shuddering breath.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
He’s right, but I felt otherwise for so long.
“I thought this was too good to be true, but it isn’t,” I say. “Though I still can’t help worrying, but I know I have to take a risk to have something wonderful and...” I shake my head. “Why is this all so difficult?”
Why can’t I tell you how I really feel?
“Valerie.” He puts his hands on my cheeks and looks me in the eyes. “What do you need? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
I blow out a breath. I won’t give in to my urge to run away forever. But...
“I need some space. A break.”
“A break,” he repeats.
“This has all happened so fast, from being in a fake relationship, to being in a real one, to...” To realizing I love you. “I know I shouldn’t need this, when you’re so kind and understanding, but I do. I will come back to you, I promise. I just need some space for a few days.”
He nods and looks down. “Okay.”
It makes me want to cry, the way he’s willing to give this to me so easily, just because I asked, even though I’m sure it’s not what he wants. Because Peter, unlike me, doesn’t seem to be dealing with any crazy fears or insecurities. He’s calm and confident and everything I wish I could be but am not. He loves me, I have no doubt; I know it sounds corny, but I can feel it in the way he touches me, in his every word. He’s been holding back, though, because he knows I can’t handle hearing those words yet.
How is he so perfect? How is he mine?
But he is. I know this.
He wraps me tightly in his arms and kisses my hair.
“Goodbye for now,” he says.
Chapter 26
Peter
“Hey, girl!” I say. “We’ve been at the dog park for half an hour. Time to go home.”
Biscuit glances at me, thoroughly unimpressed, and goes back to chewing her stick.
Even the dog doesn’t love me.
Okay, I have to stop being so melodramatic. Valerie just needs some space, so I’m giving her space. She says she’ll come back to me, and I’m trying to believe her.
But this feels as bad as a break-up, and I should know. I’ve had a lot of break-ups. Thirteen, to be exact.
I can’t help thinking about the what-ifs. Usually, I’m not much of a worrier, and I can push these thoughts to the side.
Today is different, though.
What if she changes her mind? What if that was goodbye forever?
I didn’t tell her about my fears. I didn’t think she needed to deal with those.
The fact is, however, that the two “breaks” I’ve had in relationships ultimately led to the end. I just need to do my best to have faith that it won’t happen again.
Biscuit finally trots over and deposits her stick at my feet. I put on her leash and we head back to my parents’ house, where we snuggle on the couch, a pitiful pair. Me and the dog, watching the hockey game together.
A few minutes later, my dad comes in.
“Peter! You didn’t tell us you were coming over today.”
“I didn’t come here to see you. I came to see Biscuit.”
“Gee, thanks. Way to make your old man feel wanted.”
Things are simpler with Biscuit. She doesn’t ask for explanations. She just happily accepts snuggles and ignores me at the dog park.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask.
“Oh, she’s at an art class.”
When Dad provid
es no further details, I assume that means my mother is posing nude for life sketching.
I try not to think about it.
“Did you and Valerie break up?” Dad asks. “Is that why you’re down in the dumps?”
“We didn’t break up. We’re taking a break.”
He snorts. “When does that ever work out?”
I don’t say anything.
I miss Valerie so much. I’m not used to going a whole day without texting her. I’m not used to going a few days without meeting her at Ginger Scoops.
This isn’t the end, right?
* * *
I go back to my apartment that Saturday evening, after having dinner with my parents. I turn on my TV and pull up Netflix, but I can’t manufacture an interest in anything, so I turn off the TV and throw the remote to the other side of the couch.
Goddammit.
I try to get up, but I can’t muster the enthusiasm.
Finally, I convince myself to go to the fridge for a beer. I told Valerie that I like IPAs, and she went to a brewery in Etobicoke that had just released a new batch of what is supposed to be an excellent IPA, which you can only get at the brewery. I grab one from the top shelf and manage to injure myself while opening the bottle.
Goddammit.
I take the beer back to the couch and put on a movie I’ve seen a zillion times before, something I don’t have to pay much attention to, because my brain is still focused on Valerie.
I remember all the things we did together.
The kissing. The dancing. The sex.
The Japanese cheesecake, Korean-Polish fusion, Thai rolled ice cream, flourless chocolate cake, pupusas... Fuck, will I even be able to go out for food in Toronto without her haunting me?
I remember coming home from work and finding her in the bath, drinking wine. Another time, she scurried to the door and gave me a kiss.
I remember her telling me about her ex and her job.
I know it’s hard for Valerie to talk about those things. I know it’s been hard for her to open up to me, to go to bed with me.
Yet she’s faced her fears. She’s stronger than she believes.
I admire the hell out of her.
And one day soon, she’ll find her way back to her career, and I know she will kick ass.
