His Treat

by Bloom, Penelope

  I hung up the phone and looked at Ryan, who was standing beside me with a creased forehead. “What was that?” he asked.

  “Let’s talk about it after my class, okay? Maybe you can wait outside if you don’t mind?”

  His expression hardened, and the sight of it made my chest feel tight and empty.

  I fumbled and made my way through the class as a distracted mess, and the forty minute session ended up feeling more like two hours. By the time I trailed out of the room after the last of my students, I was feeling every minute of sleep I’d missed catching up with me.

  Ryan was sitting in a recliner just outside the room I used, and he hopped to his feet as soon as he saw me. “What was that all about?”

  I shook my head but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I have to go sooner than I thought. I think. I mean, I do. I have to go.”

  “What? You don’t have to be embarrassed about poop stuff with me. If you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. I know everyone does it.” he laughed, relief cracking through the worry on his face. “Honestly, I’m glad we’re getting it out of the way now, because that can always be such an awkward thing. It’s like, do I just say I’m taking a leak but disappear for five minutes, or should I be straight up about it?” He searched my face and the relief shifted back into worry. “You’re not talking about that. Neither was I, actually. I just didn’t want it to be weird for you, so… shit. Say something! You’re just giving me that look like someone’s dead.”

  I opened my mouth to speak and couldn’t think of the right way to put it, so I clamped my lips together and shook my head again. “I don’t know what the right choice is here, Ryan. This really big artist apparently wants me to basically be her apprentice. And she wants me to start in two days instead of two months. It’d be a paying job. It’d be my dream, basically, and after feeling like I’ve been chasing something that wasn’t there, it’s suddenly falling into my lap.” I looked up at him and frowned into those deep, light brown eyes of his as I fought down the waves of emotion threatening to consume me. “What am I supposed to do?”

  His eyes fell to the floor as he thought. His expression was somber, and when he finally spoke, it was with the grave determination of someone telling the doctor to amputate their own leg. “You go. Chase the dream.”

  “Just like that?” I asked. I’d already agreed. It wasn’t like I’d signed a contract, but he’d probably heard me agree, and heard how quickly I’d said yes. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how that would feel for him, but I knew he couldn’t understand how conflicted I felt.

  He spread his hands. “What do you want me to say? Stay for me? Stay because I’m so sure it’ll be perfect between us? Promise that I’ll be more important to you than the thing you’ve been trying to get your whole life? I can’t do any of that. So you go. We had an expiration date, anyway, right?”

  “Right,” I said softly.

  He stuck his hand out like he wanted a handshake.

  I stared down incredulously at it. “I guess the whole no hard feelings clause of our agreement went out the window when the expiration date changed?”

  “I guess so,” he said. His voice sounded cold. Angry, even. When he saw I wasn’t going to shake his hand, he turned and walked away.

  I watched after him, wanting to crumple in on myself. I couldn’t be mad. Why couldn’t I ever just be mad at Ryan goddamn Pearson? Why did he always have to be an asshole with some kind of asterisk beside it? Why was there always an excuse in the footnotes: “Ryan was actually just doing what he thought was honorable by protecting his girlfriend, who smeared a cupcake on your senior art project,” and “he was only lying to you because he was so worried about losing you,” and “he’s only mad because he really cared about you, and now he has to let you go.”

  I sank down and sat against the wall, leaning my head back and letting the fluorescent lights burn rainbow-black, rectangular strips in my vision. I barely noticed when William sat down beside me.

  “Looking a little gloomy over here,” he said, nudging me with his elbow.

  I didn’t take my eyes from the ceiling. “Well, your little game as matchmaker looks like it’s coming to a fiery end.”

  “I feel like you’re giving me some kind of clue, but it’s just not clicking. Can you give me how many syllables I’m looking for?”

  “Break up. Two syllables.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “Break up. Break up… It makes me think of ice though, not fire. Like ice breaking up. Ice on fire? No, that’s stupid.”

  I slowly turned to look at him and tried my hardest to figure out if he was stupid or just really good at pushing people’s buttons when they shouldn’t be pressed. “Ryan and I are breaking up. I have to leave for Paris.”

  “Wow. Very classic. The old, gotta leave the country excuse. I used that one once or twice. Just make sure they don’t have relatives in the country you’re supposedly migrating to. That can get awkward.”

  “I’m not making it up.”

  “Yeah, well,” he slapped me on the back, nearly knocking me to the side. “It’s too bad there’s not a sickeningly rich guy who would be amused to see you two together. Just too bad.”

  “You know what you’re like?”

  “Tall, dark, handsome, filthy rich… I could go on, but the look you’re giving me is telegraphing stop.”

  “You’re like a little kid with two hamsters, and you want them to like each other so you’re squishing them together, but you’re squishing them so hard together that when you let go, they won’t even know how to stay together on their own anymore.”

  “Wait, that’s a really specific example. Did you squish hamsters together when you were a kid? I’ve always said they shouldn’t let kids have pets. They’re little psychopaths. I swear.”

  “I don’t know why I’m bothering trying to talk to you. You don’t take anything seriously.”

  “False. Taxes are serious business. Learned that the hard way. I usually take my wife seriously, too. And sunscreen, actually. You’d be shocked if you knew how many people don’t even think about it. I feel like I could just list things I’m serious about all day, but you’re giving me that look again.”

  “Why me?” I said. “You could’ve tried to set Ryan up with anyone, but you picked me. Why?”

  “Does it matter now? You said you were ditching the guy. You and I are no longer friends.” He stood and dusted his hands. “I owed Ryan a solid, and you spoiled it. If you want to be friends again, I suggest you find a way to make this right.”

  “Seriously?”

  He spread his palms and raised his eyebrows. “See? I can be serious. Yes. And you know what, if you leave, I’ll find a hotter version of you. One with—with, really, really big boobs. She won’t even be able to tell you what color her shoes are they’ll be so big. She’ll be the one I set Ryan up with. So while you’re fingerpainting the Leaning Tower of Pizza, Ryan’s going to be motorboating two flotation devices that could’ve saved the Titanic from sinking.”

  “It’s the Leaning Tower of Pisa, you boob.” I made a disgusted sound at him and got up to leave.

  “Oh no. I’m the one who gets to storm out of here. This is—hey. I said—hey!” he started fast-walking to keep up with me as I headed for the exit.

  I sped up too, but I tried not to make it too obvious. He barely squeezed ahead of me at the door and he closed it in my face, standing outside the glass with a smug look on his face. He dipped his chin at me, spun on his heel, and walked off.

  I looked to Cheryl, who was sitting behind the front desk with a strange look on her face. “Don’t tell anybody about that. Please.”

  “Honey, I’m not sure how I’d even describe it. So I think you’re safe.”

  16

  Ryan

  I slumped against the prep table and stared at the batch of cupcakes I’d just made. They looked horrible. As corny as it sounded, baking wasn’t something you should do when you were pissed off, and my cupcakes were a testam
ent to that. They were lopsided, too dry, and I’d decorated them like I had clubs for hands.

  “Soo,” Stephanie said. She was leaning near the dishwasher as she studied me with her arms crossed. Her hair was held in a bun on top of her head and speared through with what looked like chopsticks. “Are you going to tell me why you just abused those poor cupcakes, or do I have to play detective, like usual?”

  “Girl problems,” I said.

  She nodded. “I don’t need to be a detective to know that much. I’m asking what kind of girl problems. What happened with you and Emily?”

  “It ended is what happened.”

  “What? I didn’t even know it started. What happened to keeping me in the loop?”

  “It started last night, and it ended this morning. It’s probably a new world record for the shortest relationship ever.”

  “What did you do?”

  I turned to face her. “Who says I did something? I mean, arguably I did do some stupid things, but I’d already apologized for those. It was kind of conditional on the relationship starting in the first place. The breakup isn’t even my fault.”

  She looked skeptical. “What did she do?”

  “She accepted a job halfway across the world without a second thought.”

  “Does it have something to do with her whole art school thing?”

  “Yes,” I groaned.

  “I thought that was in January.”

  I sighed. “It was, then it wasn’t. But it doesn’t matter. She made her choice, and I’m happy for her.”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie said. She picked up one of my cupcakes and turned it around in her hand with a disgusted look on her face. “You look thrilled.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Be pissed that she cares more about her lifelong dream than some guy she met a couple weeks ago? I can’t tell her not to go after this job.”

  “Who says you can’t be pissed?” she asked. Some of her usual hopeless romantic look was starting to creep into her expression. She took a step toward me and jabbed a finger at my chest. “Who says you have to just let her walk out of your life?” Jab. “Who says you can’t fight for your woman?” Jab. “Who says,” she started, almost yelling now. “Who says you can’t go after her! Chase her down in the airport. This is your final act, Ryan. It’s the part of the movie where everybody knows the credits are going to roll soon, and they know if it was real life, you would just let her walk, because that’s what normal people do. But they are watching a freaking movie, so they know you’re going to do something extraordinary, something that inspires them, and they’re going to cheer for you the whole way.”

  I threw my hands up and looked around the bakery. “One problem. No cameras here. In your little scenario, they also know the girl would never turn down the guy. They know whatever dumb stunt he pulls is going to work. What happens if I chase her through the airport and she just looks at me like I’m an idiot?”

  “Then you know you tried, and you don’t have to stand here abusing cupcakes for the next few months until you finally get over her. Except you’ll never really get over her. You’ll see hints of her in every woman you ever talk to if you let her go. You’ll wake up in a cold sweat wondering what if. You’ll—”

  “I get it. I do, really. And…” I looked at her and groaned. “As much as I hate admitting this to you, I was already planning on a stupid stunt. Okay?”

  “You’re going to get her pregnant,” she whispered in stunned reverie, like it was the most genius idea she’d ever heard.”

  “What? No. The cupcakes. They’re part of the stupid stunt. Except not these ones, because they turned out horrible.”

  Stephanie’s eyes lit up. “Oh. My. God. How can I help?”

  Against my better judgment, I let Stephanie contribute some ideas to my grand scheme. As a result, it had somehow spiraled into a complicated, theatrical event that involved me, Stephanie, Steve, Bruce, Natasha, William, Hailey, and even Grammy.

  We all met in William's massive apartment at five in the morning. Everybody looked dressed and ready to go, except William, who wore a fuzzy, white bathrobe and kept yawning.

  “I’m going to go over it one last time so everyone knows their job,” I said. I pointed at a map I’d printed out of the city. I’d highlighted Emily’s apartment and the quickest path to the airport. William had threatened to fire Lilith if she didn’t do some digging and find out what time Emily’s flight was, so we knew a rough window of when she’d be leaving. I tapped the spot where I had her apartment marked. “Bruce and Natasha, you’re the lookouts in her apartment lobby. Wear a disguise or something so she doesn’t spot you, and then text me as soon as you see her leave.”

  “I’m not wearing a disguise,” Bruce said. He bit into the banana he was holding and chewed mechanically while he watched me with those cold eyes of his.

  Natasha nudged him. “We’ve got that police officer outfit, from the honeymoon.”

  Bruce’s jaw flexed, and I could’ve sworn I saw red creep into his cheeks.

  William did a comically slow turn toward his brother with wide-eyed delight. “Officer Bruce? Why is it so easy to picture that?” He barked out a laugh.

  Hailey covered her mouth beside him and kept sneaking glances at Bruce, who was now chewing into his banana with studied ferocity.

  “Well,” I said, barely keeping laughter from my own voice. “A police officer might be a bit too conspicuous. It’d also probably be best if you weren’t sexually aroused. I’ll need you to focus.”

  Bruce gave me a glare that could’ve melted steel beams. “No costume,” he said coldly.

  “Just try to stay out of sight,” I said.

  Natasha was still grinning at Bruce. She slid her arm behind his back and I saw him give a little, surprised jump like she’d pinched his butt. When he thought no one was watching, he gave her a very meaningful stare that said she was probably going to pay for that, and they were both going to enjoy the punishment.

  “Steve, you’re going to wait at the corner here. If traffic is bad, she might actually go a different route, and we need to know if she’s going to make it to the bridge or not. If she goes straight, you text me ‘good,’ if she goes left, you text me ‘bad.’ Okay?”

  He pursed his lips. “I was thinking code words would be better. What if she intercepts the texts or something? I could say ‘The condor flies true’ for her going straight. And I could say, like, ‘Westerly winds prevail’ if she goes left.”

  “Left would be Easterly winds,” William said. He tapped the map to show Steve what he was talking about.

  “Oh shit, you’re right. Okay, ‘Easterly winds prevail,’ then.”

  "Actually," Hailey said. "I'm pretty sure condors aren't native here. Maybe an Osprey would make more sense?"

  “Actually,” I said. “Maybe we could just stick with good and bad? Who the hell is going to intercept a text?”

  Steve pulled a face. “You’d be surprised. You’d be surprised.”

  “Somehow I don’t think I would. Just make sure you text me which way she goes, okay?”

  "That's a big ten-four," he said.

  “And no more code talk.”

  “Copy that.”

  I sighed. “William and Hailey. You two are going to wait at her gate in the airport to run distraction if I don’t get there in time. Find a way to stall her if I text you. If not, just browse a gift shop or something, I don’t care.”

  “Sounds easy, got it,” said William.

  “And Grammy, you get a ticket.” I handed her a ticket for the flight Emily was taking. “If everything goes wrong and she manages to get on the plane, you’re my last resort. You make a scene and get the flight delayed. Bonus points if you can get everyone off the plane.”

  Grammy studied the ticket, then nodded. “Gucci.”

  I groaned. “Do kids even say that one, anymore?”

  She shrugged. “Why, am I making you uncomfortable, bitch?”

  I was torn be
tween laughing and shaking my head in annoyance, but settled on ignoring her comment.

  William reached out to fist bump her. “Nice,” he whispered.

  She side-eyed his fist and then crossed her arms.

  “Asshole,” he muttered.

  “What’s my job?” Stephanie asked.

  “Half of this was your idea. Do you really need me to tell you again?”

  She pouted a little. “I wanted to feel like part of the team.”

  “Okay. Your job is to go get the cupcakes when we’re done here and meet me at the bridge with them.”

  “Got it!” She half-shouted, then cleared her throat and spoke again, much more quietly this time. “Got it.”

  “Then it’s a plan,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

  17

  Emily

  I sat on the edge of my bed for thirty minutes longer than I had time to. It was already six in the morning, and I needed to be out of the apartment in less than an hour. Every time I thought of getting off the bed, my stupid brain decided to play a mopey highlight reel of all my moments with Ryan. I saw his dazzling smile, those gorgeous pools of brown he calls eyes, and the way his butt looked in my Bill of Rights costume.

  It was easier if I thought of his cold dismissal yesterday morning. Yes, I’d probably made it sound like I was jumping at the chance to take the job without even considering him, but I also didn’t think it would’ve killed him to put up a little more of a fight. It seemed like he was high school Ryan all over again, doing the thing he thought was noble and right, but he was ending the relationship in the process. I couldn’t put that on him, though. I was the one leaving. It was my dream that had put a wrench in everything.

  I only wished I knew which dream was the one worth sacrificing everything for.

  I moped out of bed and into the shower. Then I moped to the mirror and did the I’m-only-running-into-the-gas-station-and-coming-straight-home level of makeup and hair on myself. I slid into an oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and then grabbed my luggage. I either looked like a celebrity trying to be incognito, or a homeless person who stole somebody’s suitcase.