Only Uni

by Camy Tang

  And Matthew was fine. More importantly, he’d babbled about Miss Sakai on the ride home from the ER.

  So now, he wanted to see Trish smile.

  Remember, you are Chow Yun-Fat.

  With lazy, half-lidded eyes and a conciliatory smile, Spenser walked around the cubicle wall — more like waddled through the sea of boxes — to lean against her desk, close to Trish’s chair. “You’re right. Sorry for complaining.”

  Her eyes flew to his face in shock, then flitted away, darting to her monitor, keyboard, lap, calendar — anywhere but at him. He saw her chest lift as she inhaled, but she took her time exhaling.

  These were all very good signs.

  “Do you need help mov — ”

  Her cell phone blipped with a single, ear-piercing chime, and she twisted her chair away from him.

  But as she turned, the edge of her seat clipped his knee. A spear of pain shafted him all the way to his hip. Stabbing, throbbing, aching, flaming, sizzling . . . With an inarticulate moan, he crumpled to the floor. He landed on his uninjured knee while his hands cupped the other. Another moan leaked from his mouth as he folded in half. His forehead touched the floor, like he was bowing toward Mecca.

  “Oh, Spenser, oh, are you all right? What happened? How did — ”

  Trish’s voice faded into a choking gurgle as Spenser heard a firm footfall behind him.

  “Um . . . hello?” The higher pitched but masculine voice made Spenser freeze.

  No.

  With effort, Spenser uncoiled and flipped over to sit on the floor. His hand grasped the edge of Trish’s desk, and he hauled his body up. The sudden rush of blood caused his knee to feel like it would burst.

  Kevin Clark stood in the doorway. Yes, Keanu Reeves, “shoulders out to there” Kevin. Dorky, skinny Kevin, whom Trish had raved about only last week.

  Great.

  Kevin shifted the box in his hands. “I got notice today that I’m transferring to your department. They want me to work on your high-profile project.”

  Trish glanced around at her stacked boxes and winced. “I’ll clear space for you right away.”

  “That would be much appreciated.” The lightest hint of sarcasm tinged his voice. “I also need a workbench in your lab.”

  “Oh, I’ll show you where you can set up.” Trish pulled him out the door — almost before he could drop his box — and down the hallway.

  Spenser glowered at their backs. So much for “not looking.” All Keanu had to do was show up and she was climbing all over him.

  He was a little disappointed in her. Despite the fact Trish had seemed attracted to him, she hadn’t given in to any of his overtures. Granted, he’d had rotten timing in some cases.

  Spenser shoved a box with his foot before remembering his knee. With a yelp, he collapsed into his chair.

  As soon as her computer clock hit twelve noon, Trish whipped out her cell phone and dialed.

  “Valley Bible Church, this is Kat. How can I help you?” The voice sounded young — not an older woman.

  “Hi Kat. My name is Trish Sakai, and I’m a new member.”

  “Oh, cool. Welcome.”

  “Thanks. I want to put a want ad on the church bulletin board. I need housing.”

  “Oh, no problem. What do you want the ad to say?”

  “ ‘Single Christian female needs housing . . .’ ” Yadda, yadda, yadda. She rattled off her cell number and email address.

  “Gotcha. You moving out of your parents’ house?” Kat’s tone was conversational.

  “Actually, I, uh . . . well, my apartment sort of had a fire.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “It was my roommate!” She had to make that clear. Otherwise, no one would want to live with a potential pyromaniac.

  “Oooh. Bummer! Well, you might get housing quicker if I sent out an email to the church e-distribution list.”

  “The church has a distribution list?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll put you on it, too.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” She hung up.

  Trish dialed a number from her Internet search this morning. “Hello, I’m calling about the apartment for rent on California Avenue — ”

  “Oh, it’s already been let.”

  “But the ad appeared online this morning — ”

  “I decided to let it to my brother-in-law.”

  She resisted the urge to growl at the apartment manager and hung up.

  She dialed another number. “Hello, I’m calling about the apartment for rent on Blossom Avenue.”

  The man went on to describe a large apartment that sounded pretty good.

  Trish tried to hide her excitement. “Can I come by to see it tonight?”

  “Sure. Oh, I should mention, the rent price published in the ad is wrong.”

  Something heavy like wet snow settled on her chest. “So what is it?”

  “It’s missing a zero.”

  What? “That’s out of my price range.”

  “Yeah, lots of people have said that.” His woebegone tone didn’t make her feel sorry for him.

  She rang off and dialed another number. “Hi, I’m calling about the apartment. The ad wasn’t very clear about where it is.”

  “Oh, it’s off of Greenway and Hamilton.”

  That sounded familiar . . . wait a minute. “Greenway? Where that kid got shot last week in a gang war?”

  “Yeah. But the neighborhood is really very safe.”

  Riiiight. I’ d love to live in your ’ hood. “Ah . . . maybe not — ”

  “At least come see the apartment. You’ll see the area — ”

  “Lemme-think-about-it-thanks-bye.” She hung up.

  A whining groan puffed out of her mouth. Her last lead, in gang territory. What was she going to do now?

  A rap sounded at the doorway and deep male tones rang, “Trish?”

  She looked up into Keanu — er, Kevin Clark’s wide smile and blue eyes. Woo-woo. Oh my, he was simply gorgeous. Although a little . . . prissy in the way he stood there in the doorway. With his hand on his hip, as if he were striking a pose. No, that was ridiculous. “Hi, Kevin. Finished setting up your lab bench?”

  “Yes. Let’s go out for lunch today. You’ll like this new California Mediterranean restaurant that opened on San Antonio Road. You’ll want the salad — it’s fabulous, with feta and three types of olives.”

  She blinked in surprise. Oh she would, would she? “I don’t really like olives — ”

  “They also have wood-fired pizzas. I think my favorite is the goat cheese one, but the rosemary chicken comes a close second. You’ll like the rosemary chicken. Girls always do.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Oh really?” Why had she never noticed the way he seemed to make decisions for everyone around him?

  Well, it might have to do with the fact that she’d had exactly two conversations with the man, each about a minute long, and both about assay reagents. She couldn’t lie — both times she’d had a hard time keeping track of the conversation because she’d been daydreaming over his handsome face. She’d never known he was a metrosexual under all that eye-gazing goodness, now a little tarnished. It seemed rather paradoxical, Keanu on Queer Eye.

  “They also serve some fabulous homemade soups.”

  Was that the second time he’d used the word fabulous? She didn’t think she’d ever heard a guy use that word except on reruns of Will and Grace.

  “I had the mushroom cream the other week and it was their best yet. But you won’t care for it. It was more earthy-tasting, and girls don’t like earthy.”

  “I love mushrooms — ”

  “But you’ll like their Cherries Jubilee. I prefer their Grand Marnier soufflé myself, but you won’t like that . . .”

  She sat mute as he babbled on, wondering how to make him leave. Or at least stop talking. How could she communicate with a guy who never listened to her? She slashed through his tirade about romaine versus iceberg lettuce.
“Kevin, I’m very busy — ”

  “ — and they use the outer leaves, too. Travesty.”

  “Please leave — ”

  “ — but they wash the lettuce thoroughly, I’ll give them that much — ”

  “I’m going to check email.” And she did, while he rattled on about organic baby carrots. She contemplated what he’d do if she raised her Nine West boot, laid it on his immaculate khakis, and gave a good shove.

  “So are you ready? Trish?”

  “Huh?” She turned back to him. He was done with the dissertation on cold-pressed flaxseed oil?

  “Shall we go?” He gestured toward the door.

  “Go where?”

  He cleared his throat and spoke with exaggerated care. “Lunch.”

  What conceit. She’d had quite enough of his conversation, thank you very much. Guiltily, she realized that if she’d been following rule number one, this wouldn’t be happening. So what if he looked good in his biking outfit? He had the personality of Prince Humperdinck from The Princess Bride, and she wouldn’t be subjected to it now if she hadn’t been sending out flirty vibes. “Sorry, Kevin, not interested.”

  He stood frozen for a minute, as if he didn’t believe she’d refused him. “Why not? What’s wrong with you?”

  With her? “Nothing!”

  “Well then, why wouldn’t you want to get to know me?”

  She was going to do him bodily harm. Except that was sort of illegal and she liked these new slacks she had on and didn’t want to get blood on them.

  An email from “Church Administrative Assistant” appeared on her screen. One quick glance jerked her upright in her chair. She grabbed the phone and dialed. “Kat, you mistyped on the email.”

  Her blatant disregard of his monologue got through to Kevin. “Trish, it’s extremely rude of you — ”

  “What did I mistype?” Kat asked.

  He mimicked holding a phone handset — “to call someone while I’m standing here — ”

  She glanced at her computer. “You wrote, ‘Single Christian female needs housing after burning her apartment down.’ ”

  He pressed a hand to his chest — “since I was carrying on a conversation with you first — ”

  “Oops. I’ll send a retraction,” Kat promised.

  He circled his hand in the air — “but I suppose I’ll excuse you — ”

  “Thanks, Kat.”

  Kevin glanced at the ceiling — “because you may not realize it’s a social faux pas — ”

  Kat giggled. “What a way to gain a reputation in your new church, huh?”

  He gestured in her direction — “since you are a foreigner and all — ”

  “You can say that again. Bye.” Trish rounded on Kevin. “What did you call me?”

  Her fire-breathing roar startled him. He unwisely repeated, “A foreigner?”

  Trish drew a sharp breath and swelled her chest like the dragon in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. “I am a third generation Japanese American, you ignoramus!”

  Cultured, groomed Kevin had obviously never been called an ignoramus in his entire life. The blood drained from his face — which had probably had a mud facial in the past week — leaving him the same color as his spotless cream Oxford shirt. His lips opened and closed before he remembered to purse them shut, and his eyes bugged out, making him look distinctly chihuahua-like.

  He sniffed, aiming his nose toward the ceiling, and peered down at her like a monarch upon a peasant. Then he flounced out of her office.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have alienated him. After all, she did have to work with him now. Although to be honest, it would actually be a relief if he gave her the silent treatment or something like that. The man could not shut up.

  This added more stress to her already considerably stressful life. Well, she had broken rule number one with Kevin earlier. Blatantly, despite her protests.

  Was this God punishing her some more?

  Very early Tuesday morning, Trish walked to the park near work and shivered on a bench beneath a few redwood trees. Flowers dotted the cement walkways that cut through the grass, still silvered by dew except where the early sunlight made it evaporate in steamy wisps. Occasional finches and sparrows flitted by, but the only other people were a few volleyball players enjoying an outdoor doubles match. Two tall Caucasian men with gorilla arms against a tall Asian guy and a Caucasian woman at least as tall as her partner. The Asian had a narrow but dashing face while his body corded with muscles, but Trish didn’t feel even a twinge of interest.

  She heaved a long, slow sigh. Who cared about guys when she was homeless? The gang-territory apartment was looking better and better.

  Maybe she should suck it up and pay for an expensive apartment to buy her time to find something better. She wasn’t poor, but she hadn’t been scrimping and saving for a house like Lex had, and she didn’t have a generous cushion in the bank. How long would she be able to live with rent that ate up four-fifths of her monthly income?

  She could try to squeeze her stuff into her parents’ tiny home, but she didn’t think she could survive the commute — three hours every day. Plus she didn’t want to have to move in with her adulterous rat fink father, on whom she’d wasted thirty years of unctuous adulation.

  (Oooh, unctuous adulation. Who said reading romances didn’t make a girl smarter?)

  She hadn’t talked to anyone about her dad since the news had put her mother in the hospital. She needed to do something at some point, but how to pick a good time to confront her parents about something that might tear their marriage apart?

  The housing in the Bay Area was supposed to be a renter’s market right now, but yesterday had turned up nothing. Why the sudden drought? Wasn’t God going to come through for her?

  Her cell phone pierced through the quiet, making the Asian guy miss a spike. “Hello?”

  “Is this Trish? This is Mrs. Choi, from church.”

  She was going to be fired from teaching. She’d sent Griselle into a nervous breakdown. One of the parents was suing the church. “Everything okay with Sunday school?”

  “Oh, yes, dear. This isn’t about that. Are you still looking for housing?”

  Trish shot up from the bench. “Yes!”

  “Well, my nephew George — I don’t know if you know him, he doesn’t go to our church anymore. He bought a house in San Jose, but he decided to go on a yearlong overseas mission. He left for training in Missouri and asked me to find someone to rent his home. To pay the mortgage, you understand.”

  She crossed her fingers. “Where in San Jose, and how much?”

  “Near the border of Los Gatos, near Camden Avenue and 85. But the rent is a bit expensive . . .” She named a price.

  Trish broke into a frenzied happy dance in the middle of the park. A wiggly terrier barked at her, and its owner tugged it away, casting her a nervous glance.

  “Mrs. Choi, that’s quite a reasonable price. Are you sure that’s correct?” You didn’t forget a zero or anything like that, did you?

  “Oh no, it’s correct. George sold some stock and paid a large down payment, I believe. That’s the amount of his monthly mortgage payments.”

  Trish could have kissed George. Wonderful, financially responsible young man. Should she take it, sight unseen? Well, it was George’s house or the ’hood. Trish didn’t know San Jose very well, but Los Gatos reeked of affluence. It was also about thirty minutes from work. Even if she didn’t like the house, she at least had a place to stay while she looked for other housing. “Mrs. Choi, I’d love to move in. As soon as possible.”

  “Oh. Why don’t you move in tomorrow? Here’s the address . . .” It was off of Highway 85. Better and better. “I’ll meet you at the house tomorrow. Around noon?”

  “Yes, thanks, Mrs. Choi.”

  Trish hung up with her heart still pounding with adrenaline. She had so much to do. She needed to call Jenn, who had promised to let her use her brand-spankin’ new SUV — Trish had only had to bully her a litt
le — and to help her move. She hadn’t told her mother about anything — Marnie, the fire, the eviction — so she needed to break the news to her today. Oh joy.

  But at least Trish had a place to stay. Thank you, God. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

  “Venus, I love you, but you’re taking up valuable car space.” Trish leaned against the open passenger side window of Jenn’s SUV when they drove into her company’s parking lot.

  Venus motioned back with her head. “Lex brought her car, too.”

  Oh, good. She turned her head to see Lex drive up in the used Toyota Camry she’d bought last year. While it wasn’t new, it was still ten years younger than her last klunker. Since Lex had driven, Trish supposed it was better that Venus take up car space than try to help move her stuff in her little sporty convertible.

  Trish was very glad no one came to work that Saturday morning to witness the four cousins carrying boxes out the back door of Valley Pharmaceuticals. She’d stored her futon bed in Venus’s living room, and she didn’t have as many boxes as she thought. There was room to spare in Jenn’s truck, Trish’s little RAV4, and Lex’s Toyota.

  “Why don’t we put everything into two cars and drive together?” Venus leaned a hip against Jenn’s truck.

  Jenn put a box into her trunk. “Let’s leave Lex’s car.”

  “No, can’t.” Trish stuck a box into the truck. “Security would tow it.”

  “Well, then, let’s leave your car. They won’t tow that.” Venus moved to remove a box from Trish’s backseat.

  They crammed the SUV and Lex’s car, with just enough room to spare for Trish to ride with Jenn and Venus.

  “And we’re off!” She trailed her arm out the backseat open window as they headed out of her company parking lot, Lex’s car trailing behind them.

  “Hey, you guys!”

  “What’s that?” Trish tried to lean forward, but the lamp on the middle console nearly took her eye out. “That sounds like Lex.”