Dating Makes Perfect

by Pintip Dunn

  “What is?” I yank my binder out of my backpack. It’s hard to have a breakup style when you’ve never had a breakup.

  “Maybe you can eat chocolate?” she suggests.

  I wrinkle my nose. “Gives me acne.”

  “Listen to sappy music?”

  “Ari did make an I’m Just Not That Into You playlist. But is it cheating if I didn’t pick the songs?”

  “I know. You could watch the Pride and Prejudice miniseries. The Colin Firth one. You can keep replaying that scene when Mr. Darcy gets out of the lake, his wet shirt plastered to his chest.”

  I look at her like she’s eaten too many rum balls. “What?”

  She grins. “Your mom got me intrigued with all these old rom-coms. I found a list of classics, and I’ve been binge-watching them.”

  “You too?” I groan. “I hope I never watch a rom-com ever again.”

  “True.” She smiles impishly. “You don’t need to watch the movies, since you’re living one.”

  I search my binder for something to throw at her and find a bunch of multicolored highlighters. I hold them up threateningly, and Kavya squeals, crossing her arms to ward off the attack. Mr. Kim, our trig teacher, clears his throat.

  We dutifully face forward. As we begin graphing sines, cosines, and tangents, I realize that I haven’t felt like crying for twenty whole minutes.

  There’s that, at least.

  …

  The feeling doesn’t last.

  At lunch, I sit with Kavya at our usual table in the courtyard, unpacking my usual lunch—seaweed, sushi rice, and avocado. The ending of my middle-school friendship with Mat also seems to have ended my creativity in packed lunches. Either that, or I’ve just outgrown celery stalks with cream cheese and M&M’s.

  What’s not usual, however, are the people sitting on the other side of the courtyard. Before last week, Mat never ate lunch out here. But there he is, thirty feet away, sharing a bench with Delilah Martin.

  I try not to stare. But my eyes are drawn like magnets to the picture-perfect couple. Mat, with his long legs and his sculpted jaw; Delilah, with her glowing skin and her generous smile. Charisma rolls off them in waves. Their fans crowd around, and I can hardly blame them. I’d want some of that perfection to rub off on me, too.

  I guess Mat wasted no time rebounding. Of course, that would imply that he had something to get over in the first place.

  His face is solemn—neither a smile nor words crack his granite lips. Delilah sits to his left, her hip smashed against his hip. She runs her fingers along his arm, tracing his veins, maybe measuring his muscles.

  No concerns about PDA with this couple.

  Their lunches sit in paper bags on the table, unopened. They’re either not hungry…or maybe they’re hungry for something else.

  Red-hot vines slither over my chest. If they’re this open in public, how do they behave in private? Does he also wear down her defenses by making her laugh? Does he cradle her face in his hands before he kisses her?

  She probably doesn’t have overprotective parents she has to appease. She clearly isn’t restricted to touching him once a week, on a pretend date.

  As I watch, Mat turns his head and says something to her. She looks up at him, her eyes adoring, their lips inches apart.

  My heart squeezes so tightly that the vines might as well have transformed into a vise. Despite the open air in the courtyard, I can’t seem to get a full breath.

  “Winnie. Look at me,” Kavya commands. “Look at me.”

  I turn to my best friend, dazed. She gestures for me to pick up my temaki sushi, her eyes soft. “Taran’s headed this way, so act natural.”

  Automatically, I swivel in my seat, searching for him. My best friend groans. No one’s ever accused me of being smooth.

  But it hardly matters, because a moment later, Taran plops onto the bench next to me.

  I force myself to smile. “Hi. Joining us for lunch?”

  “If you’ll have me.” As always, he’s angelically handsome and devilishly debonair—a lethal combination, if you were inclined to fall.

  I, unfortunately, am not.

  “Of course,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. After all, Taran’s an innocent bystander in this mess. There’s no reason to be rude to him.

  Especially since he doesn’t have to seek me out at school. That’s never been one of Mama’s requirements, but Taran seems to be going above and beyond his role of fake boyfriend. As did Mat.

  At the thought of his name, my heart flinches, and I sneak another glance across the courtyard. Their paper bags are unpacked now, and Delilah is batting her eyelashes at Mat. He says something, and her peal of laughter can be heard all the way across the courtyard.

  “Winnie,” Kavya says between gritted teeth. “You were about to tell me what your mom has set up for you two this Saturday.”

  “I don’t know how she’s going to top the deli date,” Taran says.

  My smile feels like a pair of oversize plastic lips. “Papa asked me how many people I’d convinced to order my sandwich. I was forced to tell him zero, much to his disappointment.”

  “Did you tell him that you would moan louder next time?” my fake boyfriend asks.

  “I said, maybe they should be more careful about choosing the movie they want us to reenact.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that will deter them in the slightest.” He takes a bite of a deep-dish pizza from the school cafeteria, clearly not heeding my earlier warning. “What’s in store for us this time?”

  “Karaoke,” I say mournfully.

  He snickers. “Why am I not surprised?”

  My parents are wild about karaoke. They even host karaoke parties that last into the wee hours of the morning, which always makes me realize, to my chagrin, that their social life is way better than mine. “There’s this scene from this movie—”

  “My Best Friend’s Wedding,” Kavya interjects. “I just watched it last week. Cameron Diaz sings hideously out of tune, and the hero just falls more in love with her for it.”

  “Why is that?” Taran muses. “In movies, main characters are always doing these cringe-worthy things, and it just makes them more lovable. I don’t get it.”

  “It makes them more relatable,” I say. “Think about it. You have these ridiculously good-looking actors. And somehow, you have to suspend reality enough to believe that they don’t have whomever they want falling at their feet.”

  “I have movie-star good looks,” he says playfully. “And I don’t get any girl I want.”

  “Who would that be?” Kavya asks.

  Instead of responding, he turns and looks directly at me, just as my eyes are about to wander off again.

  I freeze, my thoughts stuttering. What kind of game is Taran playing? He’s already said he’s not interested in me. Has he changed his mind? Or is this part of some larger scheme I don’t know about?

  Flushed, I look away. And my gaze collides directly with Mat’s. Guess I’m not the only one sneaking glances.

  As soon as our eyes meet, however, Mat drops his head and brushes his hand against one of Delilah’s dangling earrings. She smiles prettily.

  I swallow, which is not as easy as it sounds, with a throat lined with spikes.

  I don’t hate Delilah. She might be a little gossipy, but overall, she’s a nice girl with killer style. What’s more, she’s always been friendly to me, to everyone else, regardless of their social status.

  But I don’t think I’ll wear dangling earrings ever again.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I lie on my back in the middle of my bed, idly shooting foam bullets at the wall. My aim is off, either because I’m lying down or because the lights are dimmed. Or maybe it’s because I don’t have a particular target.

  Normally, I can sketch Mat’s face in f
ive minutes flat. I’ve done it so often that I have his features memorized, from the straight eyebrows to the flared nose.

  But I don’t want to shoot a Nerf gun at Mat right now. I can no longer work out my feelings toward him with simulated violence—mostly because I don’t have any anger left. Now I’m just sad.

  I take aim at various parts of my room instead: the edge of my desk, a single blade of my ceiling fan, the top of my closet door. Any location where I don’t risk the bullet bouncing back and taking out my eye.

  When I run out of ammunition, I let the Zombie Sideswipe fall listlessly to my side.

  I could do this all night, since it’s Friday evening and I have nowhere else to be.

  Correction: I turned down every invitation so that I would have nowhere to be. The moment I got home from school, I changed into pajama pants and a tank top. And then I did what I’ve been wanting to do all week. What I would’ve done, if Mama hadn’t interfered.

  I wallow.

  My date with Taran is tomorrow. I suppose, when the time comes, I’ll rally once more. I’ll go through the motions that will make my parents happy. In the past, that was enough—being a good daughter, fulfilling their expectations. But now, the gesture feels empty…and inexplicably lonely.

  I miss Mat. I miss not having him in my life, in one way or another, as a friend or an enemy or something else. Something more.

  Looking back, I’ve finally figured out that you don’t spend that much energy hating someone if they’re not important to you. If they don’t matter.

  Mat has always been important to me. He probably always will be.

  I miss his superiorly raised eyebrows. I miss his hilarious text messages. I even miss his casual confidence—because I understand, now, that it stems not from arrogance but a steady sense of self. He doesn’t have to hide behind anyone else, because he’s proud of who he is.

  Unlike me.

  I press my hands against my temples, not sure what to do. I don’t know how to change the way things are. The person I am.

  Downstairs, the doorbell rings. There’s a commotion at the door, a few high-pitched shrieks, an excited shout or two. I don’t move. Might be a package, possibly a visitor. Whatever or whomever it is, it can’t possibly concern me.

  The shrieks get louder, and footsteps pound up the stairs. I push up on my elbows. The voices are feminine, eerily familiar. It can’t possibly be… But oy tai, what if it is…?

  My bedroom door flies open, and Ari and Bunny rush inside.

  I collapse on my mattress, shock turning my bones liquid. My sisters. But how? They weren’t due for another visit home for months. They’re so busy with studies, their friends, their new lives.

  But they’re here. I can’t believe it, but they’re here.

  They jump on my bed, unconcerned by my lack of response. In an instant, we’re tangled together, Bunny’s perfume enveloping us, Ari’s hair tickling my chin.

  I burst into tears.

  One of my sisters pats me. The other one smooths back my hair, tucking it behind my ear. I can’t tell which hands belong to whom, but it doesn’t much matter. Because I love them both, together and individually.

  “Poor Winnie,” Ari says, snuggling up to me.

  “It will be okay.” Bunny lies on her stomach, her chin in her hands. “We’re home now.”

  I swipe at my cheeks. “But how? Why?”

  My sisters exchange a glance. I may be out of practice interpreting their silent-speak, but I’m competent enough to figure out that they settle on the truth.

  “Papa called us.” Bunny flips onto her back, lifting first one leg and then the other. That’s my sister for you. Never wastes an opportunity to fit in some exercise. “He was worried. He thought you didn’t seem like yourself, and both you and Mama were giving him these short, one-word explanations.”

  Because we were trying, desperately, to hide my betrayal from him. Silly of us to think that he wouldn’t notice.

  “We were free this weekend,” Ari continues. “At least, there wasn’t anything we couldn’t move around. So we hopped on a train after our last class. And here we are.”

  I blink. “You came all this way to see me? But you’re so busy.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. I know they love me. But as unconditional as their love may be, our relationship has never been a two-way street. All the admiration and idolatry flow in one direction: from me to them. Rightly or wrongly, I’ve always felt that I got the time that was left over from their other pursuits.

  “Winnie,” Ari scolds. “Don’t you know that you’re our foundation? If you’re not happy, then we’re not happy.”

  “If someone’s hurt you, then we need to kill him. I’ve sharpened my talons just for this occasion.” Bunny wiggles her perfectly manicured nails in the air.

  I laugh through my tears. “You remember when we went to Disney World and the sun came out, even though it was still raining? I thought it was pure magic. That’s what you two are to me: magic.”

  As though planned, they drop their heads onto my shoulders in unison. Now they’re the foundation propping me up.

  “Spill it,” Ari says. “Last week, everything was going so well. You had your first kiss, your first date with Mat. Now, all of a sudden, you’re with Taran. What?”

  I tell them everything, from Mat’s kisses at Lowcountry to him walking in on Taran and me holding hands at the deli. From Taran wanting to date me to please his mother to Mat asking me to tell our parents the truth.

  “Can you imagine? He wanted a real chance at dating me. But that would never happen. Right?” I sit up, my sisters spilling off my shoulders. “I mean, our parents are completely unreasonable. They wouldn’t even let you study with a guy. What are the chances they’d accept me with an actual boyfriend?”

  I look at them pleadingly, begging them to back me up. To assure me that I was right for sending Mat away.

  They exchange another look, but this one is too nuanced for me to decipher.

  “A year ago, I would’ve said you had a better chance of getting a hole in your head,” Bunny says slowly. “But the situation’s changed. Our parents have college-age daughters now, ones who are not only allowed but also encouraged—no, demanded—to date. Maybe they’ve adjusted their thinking with regards to you, as well.”

  “What do you have to lose, Winnie?” Ari puts a hand on my leg to stop my bouncing knee. “It’s not a slam dunk, but why not at least have the conversation?”

  The bed is suddenly too crowded. I crawl off the mattress, onto the carpet, away from my sisters. My thoughts are too big for my head, my emotions too full for my body.

  That’s the million-baht question, as Mama likes to say. The one Mat couldn’t understand, the one I refused to answer. What do you have to lose, Winnie? What? What? What?

  “They might not love me anymore,” I blurt.

  Two sets of eyebrows raise. I might as well be holding a mirror between them. I watch as their eyes turn toward each other in slow motion and then face me once again.

  “Why wouldn’t they love you?” Bunny asks carefully.

  My mind bangs up against a solid wall. Beyond that barrier are the essential truths of my identity. The ones that I’ve always known but have never said out loud.

  “It’s embarrassing,” I mutter.

  “Winnie, this is us!” Ari cries. “If you can’t admit the reasons to your sisters, then whom can you tell?”

  “Nobody,” I shout. “That’s the point. Nobody needs to know, ever.”

  “And then what?” Bunny rises to her knees, as though preparing for battle. “You continue to lie here, shooting foam bullets against your ceiling, forever?”

  I pace in the tiny space between my desk and dresser. It’s six feet, at the most. I’d kill for double digits. Think I’d died and been reincarnated for twenty
feet. “You wouldn’t understand, either of you. You’ve always been so perfect.”

  They both start to protest, and I hold up my hand, stopping them.

  “For as long as I can remember, you two were…well, everything,” I say. “Smart, outgoing, talented, pretty, poised, accomplished. That list could go on for paragraphs, if not pages. Our parents had ridiculously high standards for you because they knew you could meet them. I have so many reasons to love and admire you both. In addition to the above, Ari, you’re so giving and selfless and kind. Bunny, you’re bold and daring and original.” I stop walking. My shoulders slump. “There aren’t any adjectives left for me.”

  “It’s not a zero-sum game.” Bunny scoots to the edge of the bed. She lifts a hand, as though to touch me, but doesn’t, in case I crumple. “A quality’s not taken off the market just because we happen to have it.”

  “Try to see it from my perspective. At best, I would be a carbon copy of one of you. A flimsy facsimile. One that’s similar to but not as good as the original. What would be the point?”

  I don’t wait for an answer, because there is no good answer. “I had one thing going for me. One thing that you two weren’t amazing at. Listening. Being the good Thai girl. You’re loud and smart and opinionated. You spoke up when you disagreed. You rebelled.”

  I take a breath. My sisters’ eyes are as wide as lotus buds, but they don’t contradict me.

  “And so I figured out a long time ago that the only way for me to earn our parents’ love is to be the girl who never rebelled. The one who obeyed. At all costs.” I look down. I don’t want to say the next part. Don’t want to admit, even to my sisters, how pathetic I am.

  But I’m already most of the way there. So I close my eyes, and I push out those final words. “If I give that up, what do I have left?”