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It’s Friday night, and once again, I’m waiting for my mother to come home from playing mahjong with her friends.
But this time, I don’t feel pathetic for getting home before my mother. I’ve been more social lately, hanging out with Peter on a regular basis. In fact, I was out until nearly one tonight.
And now it’s two.
Hmm. If Mom keeps this up, she might get another parking ticket.
I’m trying to read as I drink a cup of tea, but my gaze keep straying to the kirigami swan card that I’m using as a bookmark. I read over the message. I like when we’re together.
After I finished work, Peter and I went out for a late dinner at the bar with the decadent chocolate cake—which we had again, of course—and danced to the live band. And kissed in Graffiti Alley. I like that we have “our” places now.
Still, doubts continue to crowd my head.
There has to be something wrong with him.
No, you’re just being paranoid!
All men are assholes.
Not all men!
Ugh, the voices in my head are so annoying.
The front door opens.
“Valerie!” my mother shouts.
I head to the front hall. “Stop screaming. You’ll wake Dad and Sabrina.”
“I don’t care!”
“Are you drunk? Was someone slipping brandy into the tea?”
“Wah, silly girl! I do not drink and drive. No, it’s Peter! You won’t believe what Daphne told me.” Mom tugs off her shoes and puts on her slippers before heading to the kitchen. “He has been lying to you all along.”
I feel a bizarre kind of relief. I was right to be suspicious.
Sabrina hurries downstairs in her pajamas. “What’s wrong?”
“Your sister’s boyfriend!” Mom says. “I should have known.”
“Peter?”
“Yes, Peter,” I snap. “The guy you were ogling at Thanksgiving.”
At least Sabrina has the decency to look embarrassed.
Not that it matters. Because Peter has been lying to me.
“What is it, Mom?” I ask.
Unfortunately, she insists on putting on the kettle and taking out some cookies before she’ll say anything.
By the time she sits down at the table with me and Sabrina, I’m practically shaking. I can’t stand this anymore. I need to know what my boyfriend did.
“You know Daphne’s niece, Justine?” Mom says.
“Yes,” I say impatiently.
“She went to med school and graduated in the same year as Peter claimed he did. But Justine is certain there was no Peter in her year, and she looked up ‘Peter So’ on Facebook and found your handsome Peter. He is not a pediatrician. He’s in landscaping!”
Oh.
Well, that was rather anticlimactic.
“I know,” I sigh.
“You know?”
“Yeah.” I might as well tell the truth now. It has to happen at some point. “I told Peter to pretend he was a doctor so you’d like him. In fact, the night you got a parking ticket—”
“That law is such garbage!”
“—was the first time I mentioned having a boyfriend, if you remember. Auntie Minnie didn’t think I was good enough for Kent Lo, and I wanted to show you that I could get a guy you respected. So I made up a pediatrician named Peter, and when I met a guy named Peter at Ginger Scoops, I thought I’d take the lie a little further and ask him to be my fake boyfriend.”
God, this makes me sound like a loon.
“Wait a minute,” Mom says. “Peter is not actually your boyfriend?”
“He is now.”
“I am getting a headache.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t stay out until two in the morning playing mahjong.”
“Maybe my daughters shouldn’t make my life so difficult.”
“Hey,” Sabrina says. “What did I do? This is all Valerie.”
“You are majoring in English and film studies!”
“Right, right, I forgot that’s a sin.”
“Peter majored in English, too,” I say.
“I liked him better when he was a doctor.” Mom sniffs.
“He was never a doctor.”
“But I didn’t know that! You are serious, Valerie? You knew the truth all along and were lying to your poor, beleaguered mother?”
“You are not poor and beleaguered. And yes, I knew the truth all along. It was my idea, like I said.”
The water boils, and my mother gets up to make a cup of tea. Sabrina and I watch in horrified fascination as she grabs a small bottle of brandy from behind the cornstarch and pours a generous amount into her cup.
“I think that will hide the flavor of the tea,” I say.
“I don’t care! Wah, I can’t believe this. I was so proud of my daughter for landing a handsome pediatrician, and it was all a lie.”
“Does it really matter?” I ask. “Who cares if he’s a doctor? He treats me well. Why are you so concerned about appearances?”
She clucks her tongue. “You think making people’s gardens pretty is just as good as saving lives?”
“Enough!” I howl. “Not everyone can be a doctor—or even a doctor of rocks.”
“What’s going on down here?”
It’s my father, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Peter isn’t a doctor!” Mom shouts.
“I know,” Dad says.
“What?”
“I looked him up online after he came over for Thanksgiving.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted to avoid this?” He gestures feebly.
“Did you know that Valerie knew the truth?”
“No...”
“You thought your own daughter might be dating a liar, and you didn’t say anything? Aiyah! What is wrong with you? I came home and immediately told Valerie!”
“And woke me up!”
“Ah, your precious sleep. It’s always about your precious sleep...”
Sabrina and I look at each other and silently agree to get out from the middle of the argument. We tiptoe upstairs, although why the hell we’re tiptoeing, I have no idea. It’s two thirty in the morning, but everyone’s awake.
At the top of the stairs, Sabrina gives me a hug. I stand there for a moment in surprise before hugging her back—my family isn’t the touchy-feely sort.
“I can’t believe it,” she says. “You had a fake boyfriend! That’s so cool.”
I’m flummoxed that my sister considers this “cool” rather than “pathetic,” but I’ll take it.
“You always seemed, well...rather boring,” she continues.
“You could have stopped talking after you called me cool.”
She grins. “It’s just like To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before! Remember we watched that together? You secretly enjoyed it, even though you pretended otherwise. Why do you pretend not to like romance and things that are considered feminine? Was it a way of trying to fit in in your male-dominated profession?” Before I can answer, she says, “Ooh, is that why you named your fake boyfriend ‘Peter’? After the guy in the movie?”
“It is,” I admit.
“I’m glad you found someone. Peter is much better than Stephen. Where did he study English?”
“Queen’s. That part of the story wasn’t a lie, just his major.”
She nods. “That gives us something in common to talk about next time.”
“Don’t you dare show any interest in him. He’s taken.”
“I mean, talk about in a friendly, brother-sister kind of way.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Brother-sister kind of way?”
“I assume you’re going to marry him one day.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“Me. Marry. Him?” I finally splutter.
“Well, you should. Since you make each other happy and I doubt you can do any better.”
“Sabrina—”
“That wasn’t an insult. I’m just saying he’s great—for you.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “He is.”
Twenty minutes later, once my parents have turned down the volume on their argument, I snuggle up under my covers, waiting for sleep to overtake me.
But I keep thinking of Peter.
I’m paranoid after what happened with Stephen, but unlike when I was in university, I’ve been on the look-out for warning signs from the very beginning. Thinking back, there were so many issues with my ex, but I either didn’t see them or pretended they were no big deal. I was naïve and willing to overlook a lot for the first guy who’d wanted a real relationship with me.
Peter is different, though, and even if I’m a bit of a pain in the ass, he cares for me. He doesn’t show it with excessive roses or chocolates, or fancy dinners; everything he does is more low-key, but it’s just for me.
Taking me to the durian shop. Letting me have a whole day alone in his apartment. Giving me cards that are sweet, but not painfully mushy.
I’m in a happy, healthy relationship with a decent guy.
And it’s still hard to wrap my mind around that.
* * *
I’m scooping out some matcha cheesecake ice cream for a young woman when I feel a prickle on the back of my neck.
Sometimes this happens when Peter is near. I have a strange feeling of awareness, even before I see or hear him.
But this time, it’s different. Unpleasant.
I’m immediately on edge.
I continue scooping the ice cream, giving the woman more than a single scoop, afraid to glance up. Perhaps it’s one of those idiotic men who tell me to smile more or compliment my “almond-shaped” eyes.
This weird sixth sense doesn’t make sense to my logical brain, but I trust it.
And when I look up, after giving change to the customer, Stephen Shum is standing in front of me.
I wasn’t expecting anything good, but this is a surprise.
“Get out,” someone says.
It’s not me—I still haven’t found my voice.
It’s Chloe.
“Hey, hey.” Stephen holds up his hands. “I’m not here to make a scene. I just want to talk to Valerie for a few minutes.”
“Valerie has nothing to say to you, you asshole. Get the fuck out of my shop.”
This is out of character for Chloe. It’s not like she never swears—she totally does—but she’s a sweet person who never swears at someone quite like this.
Stephen definitely merits swearing, though.
“I came to apologize,” he says.
“She’s moved on. She doesn’t need your goddamn apology.”
Chloe’s face is red with rage and she’s holding her fist, as though restraining herself from reaching across the counter and punching him.
I appreciate having a friend who feels so much indignation on my behalf.
However...
Maybe I do need to talk to Stephen for closure.
Although closure is one of those wishy-washy things that I’m not sure I entirely believe in, I can’t help being curious about what he wants to say to me. And while I’ve started dating again, my past is still affecting me, and I haven’t tried to change where I am career-wise.
Yes, it will be hard without any references, with the gap in my resume, but I need to give it a try. Peter and my brother are right: that’s what I want to do with my life. Lately, I’ve been missing it more and more.
But I haven’t been able to consider it without freaking the fuck out.
What happened with Stephen was tied to my career, too. Maybe talking to him will help, though more than anything, I want to tell him off.
I wouldn’t have been strong enough to handle this before, but I am now.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “We can meet at the independent coffee shop down the street. Ten minutes, nothing more.”
“You don’t have to do it,” Chloe whispers.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ve got this.”
A couple minutes later, Stephen and I are sitting in the coffee shop.
“You don’t have long,” I say. “As soon as I finish this coffee, I’m out of here.”
“I always liked that about you. You’re direct.”
“Get to the fucking point.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m sorry I cheated on you and blamed you for, uh, not meeting my sexual needs. I’m now pretty sure that I wasn’t meeting yours.”
“Wow.” I fold my arms over my chest. “That’s a surprising amount of insight, coming from you.”
“Give me another chance.” He leans forward. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
“Such a cliché.”
“We were together for a long time. We lived together. And now you’re brushing me off?”
“Stephen, it was a year ago. I’ve moved on. I have a boyfriend—”
“Really?”
“Why are you surprised? If you want me back, you must think I’m desirable.”
“I do.” He shifts his hand toward me on the table, and I slap it away. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“Why would I make anything easy for you after what you did to me? But there’s no chance in hell of us getting back together. You need to get that weird fantasy out of your head.”
His lips thin. He’s not used to being told he can’t have what he wants; he’s a spoiled only son.
“At least come work for me,” he says.
“Work for you?”
“I thought you’d heard. I started my own company.”
“Mm. Fascinating.”
“Can you cut the sarcasm?”
“Nope.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re better than working at an ice cream shop. You have a degree.”
“Stop it. There’s nothing wrong with my job.”
“Sorry. I just mean that it’s not making use of your skills. You were passionate about what you did before.”
“You heard the details of what happened?”
“Yes, which is why I want to offer you a job.”
“So kind of you.”
“Valerie.”
“You used me,” I say, my voice trembling. “You never acknowledged it because it would have been too much for your precious ego to bear, but I’m better at certain things than you. You asked for my advice on a regular basis, and I gave it to you freely. You never thanked me. You never told me I was smart. It wasn’t just a quick question here and there. It was a lot, Stephen, and not just that. There was so much broken in our relationship, not just the sex”—I dart my eyes around the shop, a little embarrassed to be having this conversation—“but unfortunately, I didn’t know any better then. But I do now, and I want nothing to do with you.” I pause. “You know what’s fucked up? When my boss hit on me, I told Chloe, not you, because I worried you’d say something about me leading him on. I didn’t trust you, even before you cheated on me.”
I’m full of fury now. At Stephen. At myself for staying in that relationship so long.
“I don’t think you remember—” he begins.
“Guess what?” I drain the rest of my coffee and slap the mug on the table. It makes a satisfying thud. “I remember just perfectly, and I know you’re a piece of shit. I’m glad you’ve done some learning and are a slightly—slightly, mind you—smaller piece of shit now, but I don’t give a fuck. I have someone else, and I’m happy, goddammit, I’m happy. And if I was single, I’d still be happier than I was with you. I’m happier working at an ice cream shop than I would be working for you.” I shudder. “God, I can’t imagine the horror.”
“Stop being so dramatic. I can give you the chance you deserve.”
“There are other people who would give me a chance, too.”
“Who?”
I glower at him. “I’m leaving. I would say it was nice to see you, but it definitely wasn’t.”
I stalk toward the door, and another woman in the coffee shop gives me a smile and a thumbs-up.
When I saw Stephen, I didn’t feel even the slightest bit of affection, didn’t recall any nice memories. There is nothing in my heart for him. Nothing.
Good.
He doesn’t deserve it.
* * *
I wasn’t planning to visit Peter after work, but I need to see him. I need to feel his arms around me.
“Stephen came by today,” I say as soon as I step inside his apartment.
Peter stiffens. “What happened?”
“He wants me back. Apparently, he’s started his own company and he wants me to work for him, too.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him off.”
“Good.”
“It was nice to say all that shit to his face, but now I’m...”
Now that I’m with Peter, the lingering adrenaline that was pumping through my veins disappears. I feel drained.
He leads me to his couch and pulls me into his lap, and he just holds me. He tightens his arms around me and nuzzles my neck, and I feel safe. Cherished.
When his lips press against mine, I open for him, and we share a slow kiss, as if we’re moving through honey.
I love you.
The words slam into my brain like a ton of bricks, leaving me off-balance.
It’s true, though. It’s utterly true. I love Peter, and I love who I am when we’re together.
I’m prickly, I’m not exactly sweet-tempered, but all of that is okay with him. He’s willing to be there no matter what. He likes me for who I am, but at the same time, he makes me a stronger person.
I want to say it out loud, but I can’t.
The words are stuck in my throat.
I’ve only exchanged those words with one man before, the man I saw earlier today, and that relationship didn’t end well.
It’s scary to be in love. It’s scary to have this level of intimacy with someone.
But Peter is nothing like Stephen. I was freaking out before, convinced there had to be something wrong with Peter, convinced that such a kind, amazing man couldn’t actually be with me.
However, my doubts have been erased, more or less.
I thought Deepti would give me dirt on Peter. When my mother said Peter had been lying to me, I thought surely, it was something bad.
But, no. It isn’t too good to be true. This is really happening.
It’s so perfect, I still have trouble believing it, and I’m too frightened to say “I love you,” even though I know he’ll say it back.
After seeing Stephen, I’m vulnerable, scraped raw. I’m pissed at myself for not being able to declare my love, but I can’t help it.
I love Peter, and although our relationship has been real for a while, it’s now terrifyingly real in a way it wasn’t before, and I have the urge to bolt.
“What’s up?” Peter turns me so we’re facing each other.
“I’m scared.” This is the adult thing to do, to talk about how I feel, even if I can’t say everything.
“What are you afraid of?”
I gesture between us. “Being close to someone. I hate myself for feeling like this—”
“You don’t—”
“—because I know you won’t treat me like Stephen did, but since I suck at intimacy, that’s my only other experience. I tell myself that logically, I shouldn’t feel this way, but I still do. How have you had so many relationships? I can’t imagine opening myself up that many times.”
He runs a hand through my hair. Soothing. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
I release a shuddering breath.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
He’s right, but I felt otherwise for so long.
“I thought this was too good to be true, but it isn’t,” I say. “Though I still can’t help worrying, but I know I have to take a risk to have something wonderful and...” I shake my head. “Why is this all so difficult?”
Why can’t I tell you how I really feel?
“Valerie.” He puts his hands on my cheeks and looks me in the eyes. “What do you need? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
I blow out a breath. I won’t give in to my urge to run away forever. But...
“I need some space. A break.”
“A break,” he repeats.
“This has all happened so fast, from being in a fake relationship, to being in a real one, to...” To realizing I love you. “I know I shouldn’t need this, when you’re so kind and understanding, but I do. I will come back to you, I promise. I just need some space for a few days.”
He nods and looks down. “Okay.”
It makes me want to cry, the way he’s willing to give this to me so easily, just because I asked, even though I’m sure it’s not what he wants. Because Peter, unlike me, doesn’t seem to be dealing with any crazy fears or insecurities. He’s calm and confident and everything I wish I could be but am not. He loves me, I have no doubt; I know it sounds corny, but I can feel it in the way he touches me, in his every word. He’s been holding back, though, because he knows I can’t handle hearing those words yet.
How is he so perfect? How is he mine?
But he is. I know this.
He wraps me tightly in his arms and kisses my hair.
“Goodbye for now,” he says.