Chapter 18. Always Heed Your Internal Alarms
CHAPTER 18
Always Heed Your Internal Alarms
GPG get-together tonight with Jacqui, 7pm. U free?
I’ll pick u up at 6.
My stomach did a somersault when I read the message.
“Everything okay?”
I looked up at Mike. We were at Java Spice for lunch, and I’d been scrolling through my emails as he chatted with Mr. Tanujaya when Alec’s message popped up.
“All good.” I tossed my phone back in my bag without replying to the message. I needed time to think it through, maybe do a pros and cons list before replying. The right thing to do was to say yes, but I wasn’t ready for the awkwardness that would inevitably set in. I hadn’t seen him for a few days, because he’d been leaving the house earlier and coming back later than usual, presumably to avoid me after the weekend’s WhatsApp conversation.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you last week, but where are you from?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I moved out here from the East Coast.”
“No, what I meant was, where’s your family from?” Mike pointed at himself. “Me, for example, my father was born in the States, but his grandparents migrated from Taiwan back in the 1800s. Is your family Chinese? Korean? Japanese?”
“I was also born here in the States, but my parents are Chinese Indonesian. They migrated from Indonesia when they were younger.”
“Ah. That’s why you wanted to meet here for lunch.” He nodded. “You ever visited your families overseas?”
“Several times. Would love to go back someday.”
Our food came—grilled chicken and rice for him, and mie goreng for me. I might have definitely did not order that dish because it reminded me of what Alec had made for my birthday.
“I haven’t been to Indonesia, but I heard it’s beautiful. Bali’s on my bucket list. Maybe we can do a trip together, see the country, visit your extended family.”
I raised my eyebrows as an alarm quietly rang at the back of my brain. One coffee meet-up and one lunch, and he was already inviting himself to go on an overseas trip to visit my family? “Uh, maybe we can talk about it later.”
“Of course.” He gave me a warm smile. “I think you’re really cool. I’m so glad we met.”
“Thanks.” I stopped myself from singing him the same praise.
Mike dumped a spoonful of chili sauce on his chicken, his smile growing bigger. “You know, I’m a strong believer that we don’t meet people by accident. Our paths crossed for a higher reason. Both my brothers got married in their midtwenties, and they were already expecting their second child at my age. Clearly I have to make up for lost time, don’t I?”
I blinked at him once, then twice. The alarm became louder, and suddenly it seemed like spending two hours in the car with Alec and faking the role of his girlfriend in front of Jacqui wasn’t such a terrible idea.
Did I hear him right? Was he implying that our paths crossed because we were meant to be together? After two (non) dates?
First George, now him. What the hell was wrong with these men?
I should at least give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself and unnecessarily jumping to incorrect conclusions.
I reached for my pump to bolus for my food, only to remember that my insulin reservoir was running low. I was rushing this morning and didn’t have time to change my pump site before leaving, so I’d have to revert to using an insulin pen for now.
“Sounds like you’re close with your siblings.” I took out the small pouch that always lived in my bag, filled with my insulin pen, my glucose meter, and a bunch of test strips. I chose a new sterile needle, attached it to the insulin pen and primed it, then checked my levels on my CGM app. “Does your family live in Port Benedict too?”
“ Whoa. ” Mike recoiled, his eyes going wide. “What are you doing? What’s that?”
I’d forgotten he’d never seen me do this. The last time we went for coffee, he didn’t even notice me bolusing with the pump. “I should’ve explained.” I gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s an insulin pen. I have type 1 diabetes. I need to take insulin before any meals, so my blood sugar doesn’t skyrocket. The insulin in my pump is running low, so the pen is my backup.”
“ Diabetes? You’re what, twenty-three, twenty-four? How can you have diabetes already?” Mike stared at me, his mouth gaping open. “What, have you been eating too much sweet stuff your whole life?”
The alarm was now blaring louder than a police siren. I re capped the pen, preparing myself for a lengthy explanation. “It has nothing to do with eating sweet stuff. More to do with the fact that my pancreas isn’t producing any insulin.”
Mike raised one skeptical eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure about that?”
“One hundred percent positive.” I gave him a sweet, syrupy smile. “Would you like a full medical explanation on how my pancreas stopped working?”
“No, thanks.” He scrunched up his nose with distaste. “My grandpa is also diabetic, but he said it’s probably because he practically lived on Coke and junk food when he was young. He’s never had to do any injections though, so yours must be really bad.”
If I had a dollar for every time I had to explain this to people. “That’s because your grandpa is a type 2, and they don’t always require insulin injections. Whereas someone with type 1, like me, is insulin-dependent for life. This,” I pointed at my pen, “is a lifesaving device.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”
This guy was stretching my patience. “I wish I was, but I’m not. Insulin is an essential hormone. Since my body can’t produce any, if I don’t have these injections, I couldn’t survive.”
Mike let out a disbelieving scoff. “Come on, that sounds so dramatic. So you can’t eat sweet stuff, right? No big deal. You won’t die from it or anything.”
“Actually, if my blood sugar drops very low, I could lose consciousness and die. Or the opposite, if it stays too high for too long, I could die as well.”
“Shit.” He blew out a long breath. “Glad it isn’t me. I think that’s enough medical lecture for today. I’m gonna start eating before it gets cold.”
I’d lost my appetite, along with my interest in this so-called lunch date. The only reason I still tolerated him was because I needed to have something to eat, otherwise my glucose level might dip. I uncapped the insulin pen again. “Go ahead. I’ll just do this first.”
Mike shuddered. “Can you do that somewhere else? I hate needles.”
“I’m doing it under the table.” I was gritting my teeth. “You won’t see anything.”
“But I still know you are.” He was cringing, waving his hands as if shooing me away. “Seriously, I can’t stand them. Go do it in the toilet or something.”
What an asshole.
I strongly considered throwing the contents of the teapot in his face, but I didn’t want to make a scene. Although his reaction didn’t surprise me, because this wasn’t the first time someone had had a strong reaction to my using an insulin pen. An older man once saw me doing it in a restaurant and told me that it was disgusting and inappropriate to do in public, and that I should go to the bathroom instead. Then he called the restaurant manager on me.
But I knew it wasn’t worth my time and energy to pay attention to people like that elderly man or Mike. I could be frothing at the mouth trying to explain to them about my condition, but if they refused to open their mind and listen to my explanation, then there was nothing else I could do to change their minds.
And at the end of the day, their opinion didn’t really matter to me.
Without saying another word, I did my injection on the spot, ignoring Mike’s repulsed looks, then finished my lunch in record time.
Alec had been wrong: Mike Chang wasn’t only after a good time.
But he was, most definitely, one of the most unpleasant men I’d ever met.
The minute lunch was over, I deleted Mike’s number, turned my phone off, and buried myself with work.
After I changed my pump site, I called a friend of Jenna’s who was looking for work. I only had the budget to hire one person right now, and she was so bubbly and nice, I decided to hire her at the end of our call. Then I ordered boxes, paper bags, and stickers with the new bakery name. I’d finally settled on Twisted Sweets, because it perfectly described the concept I was going for. I also signed up for every social media account in existence and posted teasers across all the platforms: photos of some freshly baked croissants and cinnamon scrolls; a buy one, get one free offer for the first opening week; and a short video on how to frost cupcakes.
I spent the afternoon testing low-carb donut recipes with my new oven, experimenting with different fillings. By the time the donuts were cooling on the rack, I’d added three flavors to my menu rotation: cinnamon sugar donut, blueberry cheesecake donut, and my personal favorite, the chocolate hazelnut donut. Before I knew it, it was almost six, and I was turning off the lights when a knock at the door startled me.
“Good. You’re still here.” Alec pushed the door open and strolled in. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You haven’t replied to any of my messages.”
“Oh, hey. I turned my phone off.” I reached into my pocket and switched it back on. There were three new messages from him, the last one an hour ago, saying he was coming to pick me up. “I’ve been swamped with work. And obviously not dressed for a corporate shindig.” I pointed at my T-shirt and old jeans, covered in flour and blueberry stains. “Just tell Jacqui I’m unwell. Give her my regards, will you?”
“We’ll swing by the house so you can change. We just need to show up, chat with her, and shake some hands. It won’t take too long. One hour, tops.”
“The last time you said something similar, we ended up staying there for three hours, and you were intoxicated.” I locked the door as The Kiss That Never Happened suddenly flashed back in clear, vivid images, and I mentally stomped on the memory with a fierceness that could have eradicated whole civilizations.
“That won’t happen again. We’re so close to signing the deal. This will be one of the last things you’ll have to do. I promise.”
After the horrible lunch with Mike, I wasn’t in the mood to socialize and play fake loving couples for Jacqui. But he was right—we were almost at the finish line, and I couldn’t jeopardize this for him.
“Fine. No more than one hour.”
“Awesome.” A big grin split his face, the dimple winking at me, and suddenly the thought of having to endure polite fake chats with Jacqui was worth it. He unlocked his car with a beep and opened the passenger door for me. “Might be easier if we leave your car. I can drop you off here tomorrow morning.”
I paused. “Will I have to listen to your God-awful podcasts again?”
“I only play construction podcasts in the mornings. I listen to history podcasts at night. Halfway through the history of Byzantium right now.”
My eyes widened.
“Did you know the Byzantines loved sweets and desserts more than anything, and they were the first to use saffron in their cooking? So fascinating.”
“Hell no.” I slammed the door shut, nearly dismembering his fingers. “I’m not getting in your car if I have to listen to history podcasts. No offense to history enthusiasts, but that was one of my worst subjects in school, so I’m steering clear of it for the rest of my life. Not even if you threatened to tor—” I stopped at his amused look. “Listen, I’m nothing if not generous, so I’m willing to compromise. No history podcast, but we can listen to one of your construction ones on the way there. And we’re putting on my playlist on the way back.”
“I was kidding.” Alec chuckled. “You should see the horrified look on your face. I wish I had taken a picture.”
I could still hear his amused chuckles even after he’d closed my door, sending warm fuzzy butterflies swarming through my stomach.
Leaving me to wonder how I’d survive the next few hours.