Clean Breaks

by Ruby Lang

  She pulled her hand away and flopped back in her seat.

  They were both silent for a minute, trying to adjust to their new, delicate understanding of each other.

  “So, I’m school social worker,” he said, changing the subject, and she was grateful for that. “I mean, mostly I just get to poke my nose into people’s business, so maybe I haven’t changed that much. I try to make sure that the kids can learn—that they have a good environment at school and at home. Sometimes, it’s as simple as observing a class or sitting in on parent-teacher conferences. Other times, I’m called in if a teacher suspects abuse, or maybe that a kid is homeless—”

  “So you’re still totally a Disney rescuer.”

  “Sarah,” Jake growled, “I am not a heartwarming cartoon.”

  He didn’t used to make that kind of sound. He blinked slowly, and she gave a shiver. No. No, Disney didn’t make him at all. In an instant, it seemed that he almost shifted before her—from the smiling, nice little Jakey Li she knew to this big, dark glowering creature.

  Then it all transformed again under the slyest grin—an expression she was sure he hadn’t had before—his eyes making a crinkle at the corners. And he was still dark and big and masculine, but now somehow she wanted to launch herself across the table and see if she could crack that grin wide open.

  She kept her ass on her seat. For now.

  “I’m just your regular everyday superhero, armed with a smartphone and an intimidating stack of paperwork. Sometimes I feel like I am actually doing something. For all we complain about bureaucracy and pushing people around in the system. At least sometimes the heat gets turned on in an apartment. Or a doctor changes a dosage and someone improves—or sometimes I just stop kids from catcalling in the halls.”

  He held her eyes for a moment.

  The waitress brought their plates of sushi. They busied themselves with chopsticks and soy sauce and wasabi. It was a relief and a disappointment to have something else to do. Sarah ate and tried not to study him. But, of course, she couldn’t look away.

  When he was younger, he always seemed to have a smile—even when he wasn’t smiling. When he was a teen, it made him look a little goofy. But now with his sharp cheekbones outlined by the dark beard, his smile was dark and velvety and intense, even as the rest of his long body relaxed in its strength.

  She found herself holding a breath as her gaze traveled from the tapered artist’s fingers curled around a cup of hot tea and up the decisive slashes of muscled forearm. There was something so compelling about that strong length of limb in front of her.

  Dammit.

  There were a lot of good reasons she should leave this date—not date—early. But she was starting to get interested in what he had to say, in spite of herself.

  The cheery trumpet salute of Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” started playing. It was her on call ringtone—a private obstetrics joke.

  “Oh,” she said, looking at her phone, remembering that she’d set it as a way of escaping from Jake. “I need to take this. In fact, I should probably go. Unless—”

  He agreed a little too quickly, it seemed to her. “Duty calls. Who am I to stand in the way of a busy doctor?”

  He motioned for the check. Well, that was that.

  “Listen,” she said, putting some money on the table, “I’m out of line, but from what I heard the other night, it seems as though you have a few things to work through yourself.”

  He snorted, but she was surprised by her impulse to give something back to him—anything. “We’ve known each other a long time, Jake, and I know that you try to solve other people’s problems. Maybe you should work on your own stuff right now, instead of, say, trying to help your best friend’s little sister. Or just do something selfish.”

  “Live the wild bachelor life? Party with hot ladies?”

  His face was neutral, but she could tell Jake was annoyed at her presumption. Well, good. “Just, maybe do something that makes you happy—something just for you—really soon.”

  “What makes you think seeing you doesn’t make me happy?”

  Again, she didn’t know how to answer him. He stood up and kissed her cheek, and she almost couldn’t feel his lips on her, because her heart and nerves were jumping.

  Almost.

  As she headed into the night, she regretted that she’d cut their evening short. It had been fine, after all. And it had cleared the air between them. It was such a rarity to feel satisfied after a conversation with someone who’d known her during those last months of high school—someone who’d known that softer Sarah from long ago.

  But that wasn’t what she remembered now. That wasn’t what was making the skin of her cheek tingle.

  She was relieved that she would never have to see him again.

  Chapter Three

  Greg insisted on showing Jake the dating app before they finished stretching.

  “Why do you even have that downloaded on your phone?” Jake asked. “Does Marley know about this?”

  “I have it installed to show you,” Greg said.

  Jake wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt, accidentally flashing his stomach at two women who sat on a nearby bench. They smirked at him. He gave what he hoped was an apologetic smile, which only made their grins grow wider.

  He frowned and glanced down at his shoes.

  But Greg seemed oblivious. He was paging through photos of women with increasing speed. “It’s a little like a game. If you linger on one photo for more than five seconds, it automatically opens a chat box with the person you’re staring at. You can also save people for later, but if you save too many, you get this red filter put over your photo and the only way to get it off is to chat with some of the people you’ve saved.”

  “Wow, that sounds high pressure. And sort of judgey.”

  “It’s great. Check this woman out—no, faster.”

  “How can you even see them?”

  “I can see they’re hot!”

  “You’re paging by them so fast I guess it looks like they’re aflame.”

  “I can tell. Besides, I can’t pause, because I’m not interested. This is for you.”

  “Well, can you stop it? Can you exit the app for now?”

  Jake gave a sidelong glance to the women on the bench. They were still looking at him with warm appraisal. But now they were whispering. And staring at his chest? Did he have a sign on him that said he was single now, or had he just never noticed women noticing him as much before? No, that wasn’t it. In the past, he’d understood that people were eying him, but never before had he felt like he was obligated to act on it—or that Greg might have expected him to strike up a conversation, at least. He supposed he could take it in stride and be flattered—or maybe even ask one of the women out.

  Sarah had stared at him, too. He had enjoyed that. He may even have flexed for her.

  He shook his head. “Can we go get a juice or something? Maybe we should sit down before I riffle through these women—or does the app only let you do this while you’re in motion?”

  Greg snorted. “It’s not that complicated. Let me log out. But I have to make sure I don’t—”

  Jake began to steer his friend un-gently out of the park.

  Later, after they’d settled down with some thick, green drinks, Greg began to complain. “You have to get out there, man.”

  “Okay, fine. I went out with you guys the other night. We can do that again.”

  “No, I mean you have to go out and have sex. Just go out and get it over with—maybe do it, like, lots of times.”

  “Well, I’m not really in a hurry.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just want to find the right—”

  “No, no, that’s the whole problem. You don’t find the right person. You find a convenient person and just do it. And then you find another convenient person, and another, and another and just keep doing it. You do it a lot, and you flush it out of your system.”

  Jak
e squinted. “Flush what out of my system? The semen? Does it really work that way? Have you ever done that?”

  “Once or twice.”

  Jake took a deep breath and counted to ten.

  Greg said, “Okay, I have never done it, all right? It’s more of a theory. That everyone believes. You get divorced. You play around. And then maybe you meet someone or maybe not. You want to have sex again, don’t you?”

  “I’m going to have sex again, Greg. I just want to take my time.”

  Jake must have looked unconvinced, because Greg launched into another Hey buddy speech.

  In truth, Jake really did want to have sex—fairly urgently. And if he were very, very truthful, he wanted to have it with Sarah Soon.

  But that wasn’t quite what Greg meant. Greg apparently had a very specific vision about how Jake needed to act. He wanted Jake to get highlights. He wanted Jake to wear more leather, even though it was summer. And very, very particularly, Greg wanted him to get lots of experience because, admittedly, Jake hadn’t dated much before marriage. “Maybe I should cut out the middleman, try to meet women in the dark,” Jake suggested.

  Greg rolled his eyes and pulled up another dating app for Jake to try.

  Sarah Soon, of course, could never be anonymous to him, even with a beekeeper veil and full body armor. He knew the straightness of her spine, the tilt of her head, the snap of her eyes. Her sure voice. Her smooth shoulders. Her fine, firm rear. Very fine.

  Still, that wasn’t quite what Greg was driving at. Besides, Winston would probably punch him in the face for thinking about his sister that way. No, wrong. Winston would shove Sarah out of the way and put some other girl—any other girl—in front of him. The idea of Winston cartoonishly setting a random woman in Sarah’s place made Jake shudder.

  “Try to take this seriously,” Greg was saying.

  “I thought I was supposed to have fun.”

  “This is because of your upbringing isn’t it?”

  “Upbringing?”

  Greg avoided his eyes. “You know.”

  “Please elaborate.”

  “Minister’s son. Married your sweetheart and all that.”

  “Greg, you’re accusing me of being one kind of cliché only to get me to act out a different cliché.”

  “I knew you were going to be offended.”

  “I’m offended because you’re being offensive. I am aware of what everyone thinks I’m supposed to be feeling. Do you think I’ve been living in the woods? I’m a dude, so I’m supposed to get over it by drinking with my buddies and sleeping with a bunch of women who know the score so that I don’t end up dancing badly in a track suit like Drake.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “And that’s fine for other people if it helps them—no judgment. But I’m me. I want to handle things my way. I have nothing to get over. I don’t have any steam to let off. We’ve been apart for months now, and I am okay with my divorce. Pushing me into hookups isn’t going to help me cope with things right now. I’d just be going through the motions.”

  “But the motions feel so good.”

  “Don’t you ever feel trapped by all the stuff you’re supposed to do as a man? Maybe it is because of my upbringing—or maybe frankly I don’t give a shit. Being a man should be about knowing your own damn mind. So here I am saying, I don’t want highlights. I don’t need leather, and I don’t want to do what you expect me to do for the sake of doing it.”

  He was thinking of Sarah when he said it. She had told him to do something for himself. Well, not listening to Greg was sort of like doing something for himself.

  But Greg wasn’t finished. “Here’s the thing that really is killing me: Women are going for you, Jake. That bartender from last night kept eying you and stretching and giving you extra lime wedges—”

  “A sign of lust, for sure.”

  “She never gives me wedges. And those women in the park back there were ready to rip your t-shirt to shreds with their teeth.”

  “They were terrifying.”

  “That’s part of the high! The danger makes it better! Don’t you get it? It just seems like such a waste. It’s—it’s almost unfair.”

  “Greg, is this about me, or is this about you?”

  “What? No, man. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “It’s fine? Then why are you so insistent on making me act like some sort of caricature of a newly divorced man? Like you’ve got some personal stake in it. Are you talking about what you want or what I want?”

  Greg was quiet for a while. Then he gulped the rest of his green drink and set his cup heavily on the table. “It’s you. I mean, I don’t—I don’t actually want those things.”

  “Then why are you being such a jerk—not even just a plain jerk, but acting like women are pieces that you move around? Why are all the men I’m supposedly friends with being dicks lately?”

  Greg couldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re right.”

  “You’re not usually like this. At least, I hope you aren’t.”

  Greg was still quiet, and instantly, Jake was on alert.

  “What’s going on, Greg?”

  His friend sighed and took a long drink. “Things aren’t going great between me and Marley. I just . . . I was trying to think of what I’d do if we split up. I thought that you and I could get over our failed relationships together.”

  Jake blinked. “How do I put this gently? The stuff you’ve been suggesting doesn’t seem to be a good fit for me, or for you.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You’ve only been together for a few months. I’ve never seen you react this way before.”

  “I think I love her but she doesn’t feel the same way maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Did you tell her how you wanted more? Did you ask her how she felt?”

  “Ye-es? Sort of.”

  “Greg. If you love her, you need to say something to her and show her. You have to do something besides planning for failure.”

  “You didn’t really fight for Ilse.”

  Jake sat back.

  Greg nodded a bit. “Well, that seems significant, doesn’t it?”

  Male friendship was so weird, Jake thought later, and not for the first time.

  After leaving Greg, he went home and took a shower. Ilse had been his friend until they couldn’t be friends—or anything—anymore. And maybe that was what he missed most of all about being married. Just the rhythm of it—being able to talk to someone, having a shorthand. He didn’t want to have to shuffle awkwardly with stranger. He didn’t want to start from the beginning with someone who barely knew him. It wasn’t fun or exciting. It was exhausting.

  And he had Sarah, who barely could tolerate spending an hour with him.

  Who could blame her?

  What Sarah said near the end of their last meeting echoed through his mind. Do something that makes you happy. Of course, what would’ve made him happy right then was to kiss her smart mouth. Then again, she was the only person who had actually told him to look at his own feelings in the matter. It was almost like trust: she knew that he had to muddle through on his own. And that was a gift.

  He made a decision and picked up his phone. Standing at his kitchen counter, coffee still brewing, he found the address of an animal shelter.

  He didn’t have to check with anyone. He didn’t have to answer to someone else.

  He was finally going to do something that would make him happy.

  • • •

  Sarah’s day began with five kinds of sunscreen. A huge dollop for her legs, extra strength for her shoulders and neck. Face sunscreen: she had a less greasy one for her nose and cheeks, a special kind for her eyelids, and another for her lips. She put on a UV-blocking shirt and a hat and stared at herself in the mirror. Of course, she used to do all of this before. Maybe not the special eyelid sunscreen, but she had always been dutiful in cleansing and protecting her skin, eating vegetables, getting exercise. Considering she was an obstetrician,
she’d even been good about getting sleep.

  But maybe applying all of these lotions to meet her friends for kale chips and wedding planning was a bit of overkill.

  “So Petra says she’s planning an Indian-Mexican wedding,” Helen said when Sarah arrived, “but there won’t be any samosas.”

  “It’s a wedding with nods to Indian and Mexican tradition,” Petra said. “We’re just putting in nods to it to acknowledge our respective dads.”

  Sarah sat gingerly on the oversized couch in the light-filled apartment that Helen shared with her boyfriend, Adam, and took in the assortment of chips, cookies, and vegetables on the coffee table.

  “Petra, you’re planning this wedding,” Helen repeated, “and there won’t be any samosas!”

  It was hard to believe that Helen was getting exercised about hypothetical food when there were so many real snacks arrayed in front of them right now.

  Then again, that was Helen. “What is even the point of your being half-Indian? Caught between two cultures, not sure where to turn, and you don’t even get the damn food. You can bet that if Adam and I get married, there will be a giant dim sum steamer tower in lieu of or in addition to a huge, huge wedding cake. With sprinkles. I can have sprinkles on my wedding cake, right?”

  Petra sighed and turned to her less carb-obsessed friend. “Sarah, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m picturing feats of dim sum architecture.”

  “If I don’t get samosas, then she doesn’t get kale anything,” Helen said from deep within the couch cushions.

  Sarah took a deep drink of tea and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. This was usually her part in their friendship and in the Pearl District practice all three of them shared: keeping things on track, making sure Ts were good and crossed and the dots were adequately dotty. She was so used to being the one who kept things running that she should have been alarmed to find herself letting go of these tasks—letting go of that role.

  But she was tired. And she was thinking about Jake Li two days later. She was still half angry about the fact that he’d met with her to check up on her. But why? Her pride was piqued? Because he hadn’t called again? Because he was the one who had managed to rouse her latent libido? Stupid Jake, always making her care about what he thought of her.