by Nadia Lee
I cover my mouth with a napkin before coughing up my last bite. My nose stings, and the sound I’m making is like a constipated frog’s croak. Totally undignified. But dignity isn’t worth my life.
I clear my air passage and am instantly remorseful for missing a perfect opportunity for vengeance. I should’ve spewed the food all over Luke. It’s the least he deserves.
I turn off my phone and suck down some coffee, still coughing a bit. Then I realize his hand is on my back, patting me gently. The touch is oddly comforting and…warm.
Ugh, no. What’s wrong with me? The snake that showed up in front of Eve way back when was probably warm and comforting too.
I wait for a shudder of grossness to shake me, but… Nope. Nothing. Instead, a teeeeny little part of me wants him to keep going with the seemingly innocent touch.
Maybe I should see a therapist.
Annoyed with myself, I shrug Luke’s hand off my back. “It’s rude to look over someone’s shoulder.”
“I didn’t really mean to, but…” He quirks an eyebrow, unwrapping his sandwich. “So you do actually eat lunch. Human after all.”
If we didn’t have witnesses, I’d stab him with my plastic spoon. Sadly, you can’t have a fairytale life in prison. “When’s your birthday?”
“March twenty-fifth. Why?” He leans closer and flashes a devilish white smile. “Are you going to get me something?”
“Yes. The ability to feel shame.”
He laughs. “Don’t bother. I was born without it.” He jerks his chin toward my phone. “That girl’s pretty enough, but I don’t think she’s your type.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m rapidly converting to the other team.”
He laughs again as though I’m being funny, which I’m not. Then I realize he’s laughing because he’s just that confident about everything. Does he really think I’m still entertaining his ridiculous proposal in the hotel room about sleeping with him? He said he could pay, but the only thing I want is David’s heart, and that’s beyond Luke.
“What about David?” he asks finally, a smile on his lips.
“He’s the only one keeping me hetero. For the moment.”
He smirks. “Tim really likes you.”
I tilt my head, suddenly confused. What does Tim have to do with our conversation? “Of course he does. I’m awesome.” I may not be the best on the team, but I strive to at least be one of the best. So far, it’s been working. I shove the last chip into my mouth and wash it down with the final sip of my coffee. I start to stand, but Luke stops me with a look.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
“Can’t.” I give him a bland smile. “I have a training session. Mandatory,” I add to let him know there’s nothing he can do. Career comes before men. That includes David, too.
“Tomorrow, then.”
“Can’t. Work.”
“You’re working Friday night, too?”
“Yup. I love work.” That part is true. I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing if I didn’t love it. “Work equals life; ergo, I have a perfect work-life balance.” And with that, I exit the cafeteria before Luke can throw any more days at me.
Chapter Eight
I leave the office at exactly five. Thankfully, Luke got the hint and stopped bugging me. Or maybe he just got sidetracked. It’s hard to tell with ThAssIMWa.
It’s probably time I added a more decisive rejection to my arsenal. Some men are just dense. Owen from the eighth grade isn’t the only example. Even my brothers, Nathan, Rob and Stan, can be s-l-o-w. It amazes me how all three managed to graduate top of their class from three different Ivy League institutions.
On the way home, I stop by my favorite Thai takeout place to get dinner for everyone. It’s my turn. I also go to the liquor store next door to get vodka and some stuff on sale because it’s been that kind of a day, and we’re probably going to play a drinking game.
By the time I get home, Michelle and Jan are both in the living room with the TV ready. I put the food and liquor on the table.
“That much?” Jan asks, blinking at all the bottles.
“Don’t worry. It’s mostly for me. Although you’re welcome to take as much as you want.” I stretch out. “Or we can do a drinking game.”
“No, I want to be sober tomorrow,” Michelle says. “Three meetings in the morning.” She sighs.
“And I have a call with Joe Choi at eleven thirty.” Jan shudders. “He’s sort of scary.”
“Nah, he’s a pussycat,” I say. The poor West Coast lead got an undeserved rep for being scary and picky because… Well. He is sort of picky, but I totally get it. I wouldn’t accept anything less than the very best either. “I mean, he is too sharp to talk to without a good night’s sleep and a clear head, but that doesn’t make him scary.”
We divvy up the pad Thai, green curry, and lemon garlic fish. I pour myself half a glass of OJ and fill the rest with vodka.
Finally, Michelle hits the remote, and the familiar opening music starts. I don’t understand a word, since the show’s in Chinese. Thankfully, there are English subtitles.
This is something that Sweet Darlings is trying as a part of its new diversity initiative—i.e., after receiving so many complaints about the previous boring and ineffective cultural sensitivity training we had. It had been outsourced to another firm, and the sessions mostly focused on how to avoid being offensive rather than how to foster a deeper understanding and appreciation for each other.
So now, we can either choose to do standard sessions by viewing lesson videos online or we can watch eight hours of a TV show written and produced in another country. However, the culture must be new to you. So for example, if you’re Korean American, you can’t watch a Korean show. Since Jan and I both find the traditional track boring as hell—Michelle didn’t comment, of course; she’s HR…although I’m convinced she’s secretly ashamed of such yawn-inducing educational material coming out of her division—we’re doing the TV show. And since Jan won the coin toss, we’re watching a Chinese drama she chose.
At first, we weren’t going to watch all fifty-eight episodes. Just eight hours of it—to fulfill the training requirement—but it was so addictive that we decided to keep going.
The hero has waited for his beloved for three hundred years—it’s a fantasy, and everyone apparently lives forever unless they’re killed in a war—and he finally reconnects with her in the new episode we’re watching. It’s a touching scene, beautifully produced. And the hero’s love and joy are palpable. Well, he did wait three hundred years. I’ve only waited four for David.
Jan starts sniffling, and I pluck a tissue from the box and hand it to her.
But my thoughts aren’t with the couple on the show. I keep thinking back to that damn woman in red. Does David like red, too? It’s possible. Red does go well with black…
I pull out my phone and check the social media feeds. What the fuck? It’s another picture of them, and this time with her in purple. She has a slim, well-manicured hand on his shoulder.
On his shoulder!
This doesn’t feel like rebound Tamiflu.
Just who is this chick? I’ve waited over four years for David! How long has she waited? Zero, I’ll bet.
And now that I think about it, since I don’t get to live forever, my four years is more than equivalent to the drama hero’s three hundred.
“That’s so romantic,” Jan says with a soft sigh.
“It is.” I take a long swallow of my drink, but the vodka isn’t enough. Because I’m feeling so damn irritated, I add, “But it’s fake.”
The drama didn’t even show all three hundred years. They just flashed a little caption saying, “Three Hundred Years Later,” so in reality, my almost-half-a-decade does mean more. And it isn’t like the drama couple has an annoying but gorgeous pest like Luke around to ruin their reunion.
It’s so unfair. I finish my drink and make another.
“Obviously,” Michelle says, ever the practical b
estie. “It’s a drama.”
“Fake or not, I’d rather watch something heartwarming,” Jan says.
“You mean manipulative,” I say.
“Manipulative?” Michelle asks.
“You know what they’re doing. It’s so obvious how they try to make you feel all…” I stop, searching for the right word and failing. This is why I didn’t major in English. I finish half my second drink and clear my throat. “You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t.” Jan wipes her cheeks, then looks straight at me. “Are you saying love is manipulative?”
“No, not love.” I shoo an imaginary fly away, suddenly uncomfortable with this inquisition. I’m usually the one asking the questions, not the other way around. And my head is buzzing. Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking so fast. I can generally handle my liquor, if I pace myself and have some food first. But I realize my dinner’s barely been touched.
Shit.
I say stupid stuff when I’m tipsy. “The way the whole thing was designed to show that some eternally unchanging love is possible.” I turn to Jan, trying in vain to think of an effective way to convince her I’m right. Then it comes to me in a flash of brilliance. “Matt’s a great guy, but you know he’s not waiting three hundred years for you.”
Jan scowls. “That doesn’t even make sense. It’s not possible to live that long.”
I wave that away, too. “You know what I’m saying.”
“Not really. What are you trying to say?” She grows serious. “Do you know something I don’t?”
I give up. You can’t argue logic with friends who are sober. They never get it. “Fine. True love fails.”
Michelle blinks, then pauses the show. “Okay. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Jan gives me a skeptical look. Jan, my recently de-virginized friend who has now opened her eyes to romance and seems to believe she knows better than me. “Come on.”
“It’s just irritating. I know what I want, I waited for it…and I can’t have it.”
“Oh my God, are you jealous of the TV couple?” Michelle asks at the same time Jan says, “Is this about David?”
Damn it. I’m not falling for this trap because it’s ridiculous. Well. I’m ridiculous, but I’m not admitting anything. Admission is like…acceptance. Defeat. If I don’t admit it, it means I’m persisting. And persistence is the way to adulting and winning at life. “Perish the thought.”
Jan’s not the type to give up now. She doesn’t look it, but she can be as stubborn as an arthritic mule. “It’s too funny. You’re jealous of a TV couple getting reunited because you didn’t get to do it with David even after all that prep.” Then she adds, “Oh and before we go any further, let’s agree not to get too graphic. For my own mental health.”
“If you keep this up, I’m gonna give you the full-on, blow-by-blow porno.”
“C’mon.”
“I ran into ThAssIMWa again,” I say, since I’m not really in the mood to be teased or talk about my lack of progress with David. “He came to my desk.”
“Really?” Michelle asks.
Jan stares at me curiously. “How come I missed this?”
“Maybe because you were in a meeting?” App dev teams have tons of sub-teams, and Jan’s always in meetings these days to work out specs for some super-duper secret feature that not even I’m privy to.
“You know his name?” she asks.
“Of course I do,” I say. “Luke, like that guy in Star Wars…except he’s really Luke Vader.”
Michelle gives me a look. “Luke Vader,” she says flatly.
I sigh. Why am I speaking with sober friends? They’re so slow. “He’s evil and devious.”
“So he came by just to see you?” Jan asks.
“No. He said he was in to see Alexandra.”
“Interesting,” Jan says. “I don’t think I know anybody named Luke in her social circle…”
I scowl. Alexandra raised Jan after she lost both her parents. If Luke were a family friend, Jan would’ve at least heard about him. “His full name is Luke Madison. Ring any bells?”
“Oh, the Madisons.” Jan nods. “Maybe he sort of knows Alexandra through his parents.”
“Who are they?” Michelle asks, leaning closer.
“I don’t know that much about them. Just that they often get invited to Alexandra’s parties. But I’ve never seen their son—Luke.” Jan turns to me. “But what could he have done to embarrass you? I mean, are you even capable of being embarrassed?”
“What?” I say. “I am the soul of sensitivity. Stab me, do I not bleed red? Will the wound not leave a scar?”
They just look at me. So…okay. I take a deep breath and tell them about the anal plug incident. I need to vent, and who better to vent to than your best friends, who you know are going to take this to the grave?
Jan is looking slightly shocked by the time I’m done. “You put it up your butt?”
“Generally speaking. In this case, Luke parked his butt over the thing.”
“Wow,” Michelle says. “That’s, like…crazy.”
“Over the top.” I swig more of the vodka. “Totally crossed the line.”
“Did he take it back?” Jan asks.
“Take what back?”
“The, ah, anal plug.”
“No. He just got up and left. Then he tried to kill me in the cafeteria, while I was looking up what David’s been doing.”
“How? Did he throw a dildo at you?” Michelle says.
“No, no, no.” I shake my head. It’s like Michelle and Jan are being slow on purpose. I don’t think I was ever this unhelpful with their problems. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then what?”
“He gets on my nerves. Like steel wool, super abrasive and annoying. The worst thing is, he won’t stay down.”
Michelle gasps. “Did you kick him?”
“No, but when you have annoying steel wool rubbing against you, you put it away, under the sink, right? With the rusty pipes and all?”
Michelle’s beautifully shaped eyebrows pinch together. “Uh… I guess…”
“You do, and it’s doubly annoying when it keeps coming back out to scrape you.”
“What did he say to annoy you?” Jan asks. “Just showing up at the cafeteria can’t be it.”
“The question is probably what David did,” Michelle says with a pseudo-sagacious nod. “Right?”
Because it’s less ridiculous than maintaining the pretense that I’m jealous of a TV couple, I say, “He posted some pictures of himself and a woman I don’t recognize. She wasn’t even wearing black!” The last part is more like whine, and I want to slap my own cheeks because I really hate whining, and I hate it even more when it’s drunk whining.
Michelle shrugs. “Like I said—a rebound girl. No reason to worry.”
“What if she isn’t? I never felt the need, and I dumped Gerald only three days before David broke up with TWIMWa.”
“You never cared about Gerald.”
“That’s not true!” I say. “I did…until he cheated.”
Michelle rolls her eyes. “You were with him for…what? A month? David was with her for, like, half a decade. You don’t get over a major relationship in a week.”
Jan nods.
“Why are you nodding?” I ask, bewildered. “You’ve never broken up with anybody.”
“But I went through that thing with Matt when I thought he was using me, and wow, that hurt. And we hadn’t been together that long. After years…I can’t imagine.” Jan shudders.
I scowl. She was a wreck for almost a week. I felt bad, so I did what I could do to fix things. “Okay…but David isn’t skipping work.” Jan stayed in bed for days.
“Men are less sensitive than women,” Michelle says. “Matt showed up for work back then, too…even though he looked like hell.”
“Yeah, well, David doesn’t exactly look like he’s clawed his way back up from the Inferno,” I point out. In fact, he lo
oks disgustingly healthy and attractive in his photos with that girl. But maybe he’s just more of an expert at hiding rebound-itis than Matt. He is in marketing, after all, and marketing is all about the packaging. But shouldn’t a lawyer like Matt know how to lie better? “How do I know when he’s ready?” I ask. “Is there, like, a formula? One week per year? Is that enough?”
Jan frowns. “Wouldn’t he need more time? You know, the longer the relationship, the more you feel for the other person?”
“So…logarithmic?” I can still do the math, although I’m going to have to look up some of the details. It’s been a while.
“Time isn’t the only consideration,” Michelle adds. “There’s how intensely he loved her. Oh, and any special memories, like if she was his first this or that, you know?”
My head hurts. I reach for more vodka. “Okay, fine. Multivariable algebra.”
“Don’t you think multivariable derivatives would be more like it?” Jan suggests, finishing the last of her noodles.
I put a finger on the throbbing point in my forehead. “So what are the variables?”
Michelle shoots me a sympathetic look. “Girl, if we knew that, we’d be sitting on a fortune.”
Chapter Nine
The next morning, I get up at my normal time, change into my running shirt and leggings, and pull my hair into a tight ponytail. After fifteen minutes of good stretching and warmup, I start running. The early morning is still dark in February, the air frigid. My breath fogs as I pick up the pace. After a minute or so, my muscles start to get into the rhythm, my blood pumping.
I love this hour, when I get to be alone and think. It gives me a kind of clarity that nothing else can.
Instead of going to sleep like an intelligent person, I stayed up late stalking David’s social media profiles. Too many pictures of that damned woman in red…purple…whatever. The latest photos show her in magenta.
Bitch.
And unless I’m mistaken, there’s a shot of them at a departure gate in SFO. Does this mean that Rebound Tamiflu’s coming to Virginia with him?
Tagging along is serious. Surely it’s beyond the boundaries of acceptable rebounding.
