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Tuesday—which is now part of my weekend!—my brother wants to meet me for lunch at the poke bowl place in Baldwin Village. We sit across from each other, me with my squid bowl and him with his salmon bowl, and for some reason, conversation isn’t easy between us. Usually, Alan and I get along well, but today, it feels awkward.
Or maybe it’s not him...it’s just me.
I can’t get Peter out of my mind.
Specifically, I can’t get the conviction that there must be something wrong with Peter out of my mind. I banished my fears for a little while after that conversation with my friends—and my friends assured me, after our triple date, that Peter is great—but now, those fears have returned.
When I was telling Peter about what happened last year, a part of me couldn’t help feeling like surely, this would be the end. He wouldn’t believe me, or he’d say I should have stayed at my job until I found a new one, or he’d wonder if maybe I was encouraging my boss, and that’s why he made a pass at me.
But Peter did none of those things.
The other option was that he would have been overcome with anger and demand I tell him where to find Stephen so he could beat the shit out of him, and when I refused, I’d have to spend an hour calming him down, as though he were the victim, not me.
But he didn’t do that, either.
He was simply supportive. He listened. He didn’t push me. He was properly outraged, but still calm. When I asked him to help me forget, he did.
In other words, he was perfect.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. The things I feared—those would have been out of character for him.
Nobody’s perfect, though, and men have a tendency to be complete tools.
There must be something wrong with Peter, some skeleton in his closet. But what?
I push that aside and try to focus on my brother, try to think of something to ask him. Unfortunately, his geochronology research bores me, though the basic concept is cool. I’m glad he’s found something he loves, even if Mom complains and says, “What are you going to do with that degree? Help me if I have a sick rock in my garden? Better to be a real doctor than a rock doctor.”
I chuckle at the memory, then have a bite of my food and turn to one of my regular topics of conversation with my brother.
Instruct-Ed.
“So,” I say, “any of your students manage to change their quiz marks again?”
“Nah, I figured out how to stop that from happening. It was completely non-intuitive, however. It would never have occurred to me if one of the customer support people hadn’t told me what to do, and they acted like it was just common sense.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe a big company makes such awful software. If only I could...”
Alan puts down his chopsticks and leans forward. “If only you could get your hands on the code. I know. You say that every time. You always ask about the course management software and fantasize about fixing it.”
“Maybe ‘fantasize’ is putting it a bit strongly—”
“I can’t stand to see you doing this to yourself. You want to be a software developer again. So do it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is, if you want something badly enough. I hate to see you wasting your life on scooping ice cream.”
“Stop being a snob.” I stab at a cherry tomato. “It’s an honest day’s work. Nothing wrong with that.”
“But you’re too smart for it.”
“Such a snob.” I shake my head again. “Is this why you wanted to see me for lunch? Just so you could critique my life choices? You sound like Mom.”
“It’s frustrating to see how all your confidence was stolen. You think your boss had ulterior motives whenever he complimented your work.”
“I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” It’s true; that crushed some of my confidence. But I still have some conviction that I was good at what I did. I just don’t know how I could stand it if that shit happened again. Alan thinks it was an aberration, but I’ve read so many #metoo stories. I know it’s not uncommon.
And yes, I have to deal with some shitty behavior from customers at Ginger Scoops, but they’re not in positions of power over me.
Plus, it’s not that simple for me to get another job. I already tried.
“I’m not talking about this right now,” I say.
He sighs. “Alright.”
I eat my poke bowl in silence, hating that I feel uncomfortable with my own brother.
* * *
I go to Peter’s after lunch. His parents are back from vacation, so they no longer need him to look after Biscuit, and Peter is living in his apartment once more. He’s not home now, since he’s at work, but he said I could relax here for a few hours.
I help myself to some of the smoked plum juice in his fridge before I start watching Netflix in peace and quiet. No mother to yell at me. No sister to argue with me. No father to...well, my dad doesn’t say much, but he’s always there.
At five o’clock, I hear the key in the door.
Peter is home!
I scurry to the door, and when he steps inside, I greet him by throwing my arms around him and kissing him on the lips.
“Hey, you,” he says. “I could get used to coming home to this.”
I smile back at him, even though I feel a twinge of discomfort. At his words, I can’t help but think of being a housewife, and that was never what I wanted.
But, yeah, it’s nice to be here to greet him after a day of work.
He showers while I make a pot of tea and take out the Japanese cheesecake I bought earlier. When he returns, he’s wearing only a pair of pajama pants, his white T-shirt slung over his shoulder.
“That’s an interesting way to wear a shirt,” I say. “Normally one would make use of the arm and neck holes and not show off one’s...” I gesture toward him.
“Show off my what?” he says with a smirk.
“Chest. Abs. Body in general.”
“So glad you like my ‘body in general.’ That’s a surprise.”
Then he puts on his T-shirt and sits down at the counter with me. We eat our cheesecake in companionable silence for a minute, holding hands.
“Valerie,” he says, “I want to help you get your career back. Whatever kind of support you need, I’m there. Have you considered going to a lawyer? I don’t know exactly what they could do, but maybe—”
“I can’t afford it, and I can’t imagine going through that.”
I nod. “I understand. What about asking Sarah’s boyfriend—”
“No.” I stiffen and think of my conversation with Alan. “I’m not going back to that world. Why would I want to work in an industry that did that to me?”
“But you loved it. Don’t let them chase you out for good. You’re going to do great things. I believe in you.”
Well, I’ve finally figured out what’s wrong with Peter So.
He believes in me!
The cheek of the man.
“I’m not asking Josh for a job.” I push a little piece of cheesecake around on my plate. “Sarah suggested it, too, but I’m not going to take advantage of our friendship like that.”
“People use their connections all the time in business. Obviously, you’ll still have to do good work, and I know you will. Just ask. See what happens. If you were a rich white dude, you wouldn’t hesitate.”
Reluctantly, I chuckle.
He strokes my hand. “I just want you to do what makes you happy.”
“I won’t be happy. Maybe initially, but bad shit will happen.”
“You don’t trust Josh?”
“He’s not the only person at the company.”
Peter sighs. “Okay. I’ll drop it for now. I know you went through something terrible.”
And sure enough, he doesn’t mention it again that day.
* * *
It’s a bit of a relief to go back to Ginger Scoops on Thursday, to straighten the tables and put away the patio furniture, to make a banana split with green tea ice cream, chocolate-raspberry ice cream, and strawberry-lychee sorbet, as well as an excessive amount of chocolate sauce and sprinkles. It’s a relief to make bubble waffles. It’s a relief to wipe down the tables and mop the floor.
Ginger Scoops isn’t my favorite place in the world—goddamn customers—but it’s been a refuge of sorts for me, and I’m thankful to Chloe.
Alan and Peter just don’t understand what it’s like. Most men don’t.
But Peter has been lovely. He tried his best today, even if he didn’t fully get it, though I’m still convinced there must be something wrong with him.
Other than the fact that he believes in me and doesn’t like durian, of course.