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Penguin Pip: Looking good, Fred! I love the bow. It’s so sparkly.
Merry Lamb: I haven’t seen you hanging out with Shelly lately.
Fred the Alpaca: Shelly has spent the last week walking up the stairs. You know how slow turtles can be.
Penguin Pip: Did your humans have a fight?
Fred the Alpaca: No.
Rose tossed her third necklace aside. Nothing she put on was quite right. She wasn’t usually so indecisive about what to wear, but then again, she didn’t usually have a roiling mass in her gut.
Though she was no stranger to anxiety, this seemed different from normal. She supposed it was because she had this idea—where she’d gotten it, she wasn’t sure—that the third date was often when people slept together.
Except she wasn’t ready to sleep with Ray.
She put a few condoms in her purse, just in case she changed her mind, and she was heading down the stairs when the doorbell rang.
She opened it to reveal Ray. He’d wanted to pick her up tonight, and she’d figured she was comfortable with that now. He was wearing a suit, no tie, shirt open at the collar.
“You look nice,” he said.
“So do you.”
See? It was easy to say stuff like that to him. It wasn’t a lie, even if he didn’t make her heart pound quite the way Cal did.
Ray took her to a Portuguese restaurant a little west of where she lived. A place with white linen tablecloths and servers in perfectly pressed shirts. She’d heard of this restaurant and had wanted to go here for a while, but she hadn’t because it was rather expensive and it also seemed like the sort of place you went to on a date, not with friends.
But tonight, she was on a date.
There was lots of seafood on the menu. They decided to split the grilled squid as an appetizer, and when it arrived, it looked amazing. Rose was about to spear a piece with her fork when Ray said, “Would you mind if I took a picture?”
“No, go right ahead.” She totally understood the impulse to take pictures of food, especially when it looked as pretty on the plate as this did.
He took a photo, then slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll put it on Instagram later,” he said, and she appreciated that he wasn’t going to spend any more time on his phone now.
She bit into a piece of squid and groaned. Yeah, that was incredible. She didn’t miss how Ray focused on her lips as she enjoyed her food.
“Do you have an Instagram account?” he asked. “I’ll follow you.”
“Yes! Well, sort of. My alpaca has an account.”
“Your alpaca? I think I misheard.”
“No, I have a stuffed alpaca named Fred, and I take pictures of him wearing pretty ribbons, drinking boba...” She trailed off when she saw the expression on Ray’s face.
“Is this a favorite childhood toy?” he asked.
“No, I got Fred a couple of years ago from my friend’s store. I take pictures of him with my other plushies, too, but he’s the star of the account.”
Ray seemed perplexed, and she understood. She was an adult; she wasn’t supposed to love stuffed animals so much. He’d probably be appalled that she slept with one and found it comforting.
But he’d eventually accept her love of plushies, right? Even if he didn’t understand it?
Suddenly, she started to worry about all the things she’d have to tell him sooner rather than later. How would he react when he found out she was depressed? Would he assume she just wasn’t trying hard enough to get better? What would he say when she told him about her mother? When she told him that she could never carry a pregnancy because the toll it would take on her would be too great?
That was when it hit her: she didn’t want Ray to get to know her better. The idea of opening up to him was scary—and it wasn’t the sort of fear that she knew she should push past. Her gut was telling her no, and this time, she would listen. He wasn’t the right guy for her.
On the other hand, she felt comfortable with Cal; she didn’t fear telling him things, and he often understood her without being told. That was rare, and she shouldn’t dismiss her feelings just because he was her roommate. Because he’d once—in a bout of rotten luck—gotten his phone run over by a truck. They were very different people, but he still got her. Rather than laughing at Fred’s Instagram account, he’d bought a stuffed turtle, and when she’d had a bad night, he’d left her a note from his turtle.
She couldn’t deny how she felt about him any longer.
As Rose became aware of her surroundings again, she realized that Ray was eating more than his share of squid.
That wasn’t acceptable.
She grabbed the biggest piece and stuffed it in her mouth, but she struggled to swallow. She didn’t want to be here with Ray, though she did want to eat the seabass she’d ordered. This place was supposed to have good desserts, too.
Rose had just decided to wait out dinner when his hand brushed her knee under the table, and she stiffened.
“What’s the matter, Rose?”
She heard him say it with a sneer, but maybe that was just her imagination. She pushed his hand away, and he didn’t try to touch her again.
The server came to clear their dishes, and Rose waited until he was gone before saying, “Look, I’m really sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work out.” She gestured between her and Ray.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You were just using me to enjoy some nice meals.”
She tensed. “What? No. I can pay my half.”
“Let me guess. There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
“Actually—”
“That white guy you live with, right?” He snorted. “Figures. I thought you were different, but you’re not. You’re just like all the Asian girls who won’t date Asian guys.”
This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. She gripped the seat of her chair with both hands. “Um...I dated you?”
“You were using me.”
“No, I really thought it might work out! I went on the dates because I liked you.”
“But if a white guy shows any interest, you’re always going to pick him.” Ray shook his head. “You have it so easy.”
Welp. She was on a date with an MRAsian.
“You think our lives are better than yours,” she said, “because some white men fetishize Asian women?”
“Poor you,” he said sarcastically. Patronizingly. “You’re a traitor.”
“Yeah, poor me indeed. I’m on a date with you,” Rose shot back—most unlike her—just as the server arrived with their meals.
Now she had a decision to make: what the hell should she do with her food? It was exquisitely plated and smelled delicious. She wanted to take a picture then eat it, but she sure didn’t want to do that in the company of Ray.
There were a lot more words on the tip of her tongue. It was instinctive to defend herself and point out that her longest relationship—fifteen years ago now, but still—had been with an Asian guy. And that, if anything, she’d imagined she’d marry an Asian guy; it had seemed likely that such a man would better understand certain aspects of her and her family. She also had things to say about Ray’s lack of respect for Asian women.
What was the point, though? He wasn’t going to change his mind because of anything she said. Why put herself through all that?
“Excuse me,” she said to the server, just as he turned to walk away. She shot him a smile that she would no longer spare for Ray. “Could you box this up for me? Then I’ll pay for it—just my main course. Thank you.”
“Certainly,” he said, though Rose thought he looked unimpressed that she was taking her food to go. This was not the kind of restaurant from which people took doggy bags, but she was going to pay for her food and eat it, dammit.
“You’re causing a scene,” Ray hissed.
“Me?” she whisper-shouted. “Me?”
“Just because I didn’t approve of you having an Instagram account for your stuffed alpaca.”
There really was no point in talking to this guy.
She quickly texted Charlotte, asking if Charlotte and Mike—who lived nearby and had recently bought a car—could pick her up ASAP. Even trying to use Uber seemed too complicated right now, and Rose could use a familiar face.
The server returned and she paid the bill, her fingers shaking on her credit card. Then she grabbed her food and hurried outside without looking to see if anyone in the restaurant was staring at her.
She found a nearby coffee shop and bought a tea while she waited for Charlotte. Her hands were still shaking, and when her friend came through the door, Rose started sobbing, the adrenaline she’d felt earlier completely disappearing.
“What did he do?” Charlotte demanded as she helped Rose into the back seat of the car.
Rose fumbled with her seatbelt before telling Charlotte what had happened at dinner.
“That fucker,” Charlotte muttered. “He knows where you live, right?”
Yeah, even before he’d picked Rose up tonight, he’d known. She’d given him her address because he’d said he wanted to send her something, and then she’d received the roses.
“I don’t think he’ll do anything,” she said. Though, in retrospect, telling Ray where she lived—before they’d gone on a single date—hadn’t been the brightest idea. But, maybe because she hadn’t dated in so long, that hadn’t occurred to her earlier. “Besides, Cal is there.”
Cal. Yes. She’d been thinking about him when she’d told Ray that it wasn’t going to work out, but then her brain had been consumed with Ray’s comments and the realization that he was a piece of shit.
Sure, Ray had a point—Asian men sometimes had it tough in the dating world. He’d said that before. But it didn’t mean Rose owed him anything.
And his biggest problem for dating? He was an entitled asshole.
Damn, she should have listened to her instincts when she’d thought there was something a bit off with Ray. It was just difficult to trust herself at times.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Charlotte and Mike. “I’m sure you had plans for the night.”
“Shut it,” Charlotte said. “Texting me was the right thing to do. Now...ooh, there’s a parking spot.”
Mike parked a few houses down from where Rose lived. She clutched the doggy bag to her chest as she walked up the stairs to the house. Mike and Charlotte followed.
“You don’t need to...” Rose began, but then she realized that all the lights were out. Not surprising. Cal hadn’t been home when she’d left, and she’d only been gone just over an hour. She’d feel better having company until he returned.
Rose didn’t text him, much as she wished to see him. She didn’t want him to rush home, and she still had her dinner to eat. She opened up the box, sat on the couch, and stared at the food. It didn’t look nearly as pretty as it had at the restaurant.
“You want me to get you a fork?” Charlotte asked.
Right. Utensils would be good.
Rose nodded. “You can also open the white wine in the fridge.”
Charlotte returned with the wine bottle, two wineglasses, and a fork. While she poured the wine, Rose hugged her sloth plushie to her chest before trying a bite of fish. It didn’t taste like it was worth what she’d paid for it, but that wasn’t the restaurant’s fault. She considered not finishing her meal, then decided she ought to have some sustenance.
Yes, she needed to focus on the basics for now. Staying safe. Food and water. A small glass of wine, no more. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“So,” Charlotte said, “you like Cal after all?”
“I do,” Rose said.
But when she confessed her feelings, what would he say?