Chapter Sixteen
Evan, can I see you in my office?” Naomi asks as she passes his desk early Monday morning.
He looks up from his computer with a start, heart hammering in his chest. Immediately, he thinks she knows about him and Dalisay, and he has to swallow the bite of his croissant hard, it’s suddenly so dry.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, trying not to look at Riggs as he follows her.
Even in heels, Naomi is a brisk walker and she’s already sitting at her desk by the time he gets to her office, which always smells like lemon Lysol. Normally when he’s in here, it makes his nose itch, so he constantly feels like he has to sneeze, but now his dread has shut down his senses. His armpits are already sweating.
Naomi won’t even look at him, eyes cast down to her desk. That can’t be a good sign. He can’t lose this job. There has to be something he can do, something he can say that will fix this, but what if it’s not enough? He has to think of something that won’t get Dalisay fired either. If one of them has to go down, it’ll be him.
“Close the door,” Naomi says. He does, robotically.
When she indicates for him to sit, he does, and she slides the paper in front of him. He always thought a pink-slip was, well, pink, but the one in front of him is just a regular sheet of paper. And as he reads the words on the page, they don’t make sense at first. He has to read it a few times for them to sink in.
“ ‘Senior editor’?” he asks, looking up. “Me?”
Naomi leans back in her high-backed chair, one corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Eliza put in her two weeks—it’s still not announced yet—but she suggested we replace her with someone internally, and your name was the first that came to mind. You’re a good fit to lead the European team in her stead.”
Evan’s whole body starts tingling. He didn’t even know Eliza, his senior, was leaving. This is the absolute last thing he imagined would happen right now. “A promotion?”
Either Naomi doesn’t notice that he’s been rendered dumb, or she doesn’t care. “That analysis you wrote with Dalisay really impressed us. Those kinds of articles will be a staple going forward. Of course, you’ll have to travel more, but it comes with a significant raise and title change and … Is this something you’re interested in?”
Evan blurts out, “Hell yeah!” And then he clears his throat, gathering his professionalism. “I mean, yes.” He can barely sit still.
Naomi smirks. “Good. We’ll iron out all the details later, but for now get whatever projects you’re working on done, and then we’ll start talking about next steps.”
Evan thanks her profusely, standing on shaking knees, and leaves before he explodes with joy.
On the main floor, the first thing Evan does is look for Dalisay. She’s not at her desk, but he catches a glimpse of her back as she heads toward the storage closet. Without moving too quickly, he follows her while glancing around for anyone who might notice him, trying his very best not to sprint.
In the cramped closet, he finds Dalisay humming while she reorganizes the untidy shelves. He ducks in after her, pulling the door closed behind them. The single bulb above them is dim, but it still catches the brightness of her eyes when she turns to face him.
“Evan, what are you—”
He kisses her, holding her head in his hands, and her initial surprise fades as her arms lift, pressing her hands against his back. He sucks on her lower lip, dragging his teeth in a way that makes her sigh. Kissing her here and now feels dangerous, and it makes it all the better.
After a moment, she pulls away, having the same thought. “But we’re at work! Someone might see!”
“I’m gonna be a senior editor,” he whispers, his face close to hers. “Senior editor!”
Dalisay’s eyes widen “What!” she whispers back. “Evan! That’s amazing!”
“You’re the first one I wanted to tell! No one else knows!” He kisses her again, and he can feel her smile against his lips. Excitement pumps through him, making him feel like he could fly. This is all he’s ever wanted, and now he has it. Without Dalisay, this moment wouldn’t be so sweet. He wants to remember this day forever, brand it in his mind with the taste of Dalisay’s cherry lip gloss, the pinch of her nails as they dig slightly into his back when she grabs his shirt, the smell of her lavender lotion when he kisses down her neck. Sharing this small victory, even in secret, makes him feel unstoppable.
He’s getting hard being this close to her, especially at work. He knows it’s risky doing this right now, here, but he doesn’t care. He wants to hold her, touch her, taste her. He imagines all the things he could do right now: lift her skirt, pull aside her underwear, and push himself inside of her. Every muscle in his body tightens with anticipation. A small voice in his head tells him to take it easy, but when she winds her hands up his neck, cradling his head in her hands, the voice fades away. What’s the worst that could happen?
Dalisay seems to have the same thought, because she lifts one of her hands off the side of his head and guides his hand under her blouse. He squeezes her breast and lets out a breathy laugh against the goosebumps rising on her neck. This feels too good to stop.
“We might get caught,” she whispers, but he can hear the throatiness in her voice. He nips her neck, and she stretches it for him, undermining her caution with a soft moan. She throws her arms out, keeping her balance against the shelves.
“Only you come in here to organize things,” he says, stroking her ribs under her blouse.
“Someone has to.”
“And someone has to kiss you until you stop thinking about organizing things.”
He braces one hand on the shelf behind her, letting the tips of his fingers trace the outer edge of her lace bra while he meets her lips again. Is it the same one she wore the first time they slept together? He wants to see for himself. There’s too much padding between them; he wants to tear it off her.
She traces her hand on his pants, against his erection, and—
The storage room closet door whips open and Dalisay practically pushes Evan away and Evan’s stomach drops. Dread makes his whole body go cold as he blinks at the shadow in the brighter office light.
It’s Riggs. He just stares at the two of them, hand still on the doorknob, his expression surprised at first before settling into a performative flatness. Dalisay meets Evan’s eyes as she uses the back of her wrist to wipe her mouth.
The sight of Riggs is a distinct boner killer.
Evan knows that Riggs knows he caught them, but—like a good wingman—Riggs plays it cool. His gaze looks beyond them, pretending like he doesn’t see them as he reaches past their heads, grabs a box of red pens, and then slowly he closes the door.
After a beat, Evan and Dalisay smother their laughter behind their hands, relief making both of them giggly.
“Okay, yeah,” Evan admits, grinning. “That was too close.”
Dalisay closes the gap between them and fists the front of his shirt. “Let’s press pause and pick up where we left off tonight.” She drags her hands down his chest, firmly placing them against the front of his pants in a way that makes his spine go rigid, especially when she looks at him like that with pouty lips and half-lidded eyes. “I’m not done celebrating with you yet.”
“My place?” he asks, barely able to breathe. There’s too much fabric separating them, and he might go insane not being able to touch her.
“Yes, your place. I’ll be drawn and quartered if my family heard the noises you’ll be making coming from my bedroom.”
Oh, God … Evan automatically moves in to kiss her again, but she presses her hand to his mouth and smiles, stopping him in his tracks. His lips smoosh against her fingers.
Her dimples deepen before she spins away, leaving the storage room so Evan can regain his composure alone. It’s impossible to stop smiling. This woman drives him crazy in all the best ways.
The next week, when she comes over after Mass, Evan watches Dalisay—naked, warm, soft—sleeping next to him. He was supposed to make brunch, but they had sex instead, and she fell asleep almost immediately after. He’s not complaining. She’s exhausted, obviously, so he tries not to move to avoid waking her up so he can be this close to her as long as possible. He likes looking at her slightly parted lips, watch as her soft, slow breathing makes her chest rise and fall, how her eyelashes just barely rest against the soft skin under her eyes when they’re closed. It’s in that moment that Evan realizes the truth.
He really likes Dalisay. Like, really likes.
He doesn’t know exactly when it happened; it’s not like it was a definite lightning-strike moment. It just did.
It could have been so easy to ignore these feelings and win the bet, go their separate ways. He goes cold at just the thought.
He hasn’t felt this way about … well, about anyone. Not for a long time. It’s a kind of certainty that’s almost tangible, like a solid fist behind his rib cage that refuses to unclench.
Evan has invited her into every aspect of his life. They go on long walks with Tallulah, spend hours in bookstores and libraries, and she’s even started coming to D that she has a habit of tidying the table whenever they go out to restaurants, adjusting her glass and plate just so before she can eat; how unconsciously she drums out beats on any flat surface she can touch, even sometimes tapping out a paradiddle on her hips when she’s feeling awkward. He doesn’t know if she realizes she does it, and he’d never point it out in case she became self-conscious about it and stopped.
She’s so expressive, like when he tells her something that catches her off guard, and her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes get big and that when she smiles so wide it stretches across her face, like she wears what she’s thinking. Even when she’s reading, he can see the emotions flick across her face, reacting in real-time to the events on the page. Everything in him makes him want to ask her what she’s thinking about.
She’s sharp, and clever, and he loves how she’s all his …
Whoa. He actually thought it. Loves.
It shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise, especially when yesterday, as he was walking Tallulah, he found himself standing in front of a jewelry store, staring at rings in the display window. He laughed about it, thinking of himself as Gollum drawn to the One Ring. Of course, it’s still so early in their relationship to seriously be considering marriage, but he can’t help that he is already imagining spending his whole life with her. He didn’t buy the ring. But the fact that he considered it says more than he’s willing to admit.
Of course, he’s serious about her. Every chance they get, they’ve been having sex at his condo, but she’s never stayed the night, always choosing to go home before it gets too late. She says she doesn’t want her family to know they’re doing it, that it’s hard for her to feel normal about dating because she wasn’t allowed to for so long.
Her family is a lot different than his. They’re way stricter, for one, and he knows it comes from a place of love, that they care about her well-being, but it’s a stark contrast to his own upbringing. Most of the time he felt like he was raising himself, not because his parents were neglectful, but because they wanted Evan to be more independent. But what would Dalisay’s family think if they found out he’s looking at rings already? What about his own parents? Would they say he’s being too hasty? That he’s getting caught up in his feelings? Would they try to talk him out of it?
He’s deep into a thought spiral when Dalisay stirs. When her eyes crack open to look at him, he smiles. All his worries melt away.
“Did I fall asleep?” she whispers.
“Only for a little bit,” he says and brushes the hair out of her face to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.
“Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She does that a lot, apologize for things that don’t require it. It’s so distinctly Dalisay, it’s almost become a punctuation mark she uses.
With a cute groan, Dalisay wraps her arm over him and pulls him closer, nuzzling her cheek into his chest and draping her leg over his so he’s enveloped in her warmth. Her hair smells like vanilla and her smooth skin like lavender. Out of habit, he places another kiss on her crown.
“Were you watching me sleep like a creep?” she asks.
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Okay, creep.”
“You were snoring so loudly, you’re kind of hard to ignore.”
She playfully slaps his chest. “I was not!”
Evan chuckles, and Dalisay twists to look at him, digging her chin into his sternum as she smiles. It kind of hurts, but he would never tell her that. He doesn’t want her to go.
“So …,” he says, “you can say no if you want to, but my dad and stepmom want to meet you.”
Dalisay lifts her head ever so slightly and drags her hand up to rest on her chin, sparing his ribs from the surprisingly sharp power of her bone structure as a serious look crosses her face. “Why would I say no?”
Evan shrugs. “Maybe I’m a little nervous and I’m hoping you’ll say no for me?”
“Nervous? What do you have to be nervous about? They raised you! I want to see where all this comes from.” She waves her hand over his face. “I want to meet them. Where do they live?”
“Carmel. When I told him about my promotion, my dad mentioned it was a good enough reason for us to take a day trip to visit them this weekend.”
Dalisay hums. She isn’t as familiar with the geography, but it thrills Evan that he can show her where he grew up. “Where’s Carmel?”
“A little ways south. Couple hours driving. We could borrow JM’s car. I don’t trust Bettie to make the trip.”
“What’s wrong with Bettie?” Dalisay asks, her eyebrows creasing. She looks as concerned as if Bettie were a real person.
“What isn’t wrong with Bettie?” he asks, grinning. “But I don’t want us getting stranded on the side of the road somewhere. It’s not half as fun as it looks in the movies.”
Smiling, Dalisay’s fingers trace thoughtfully over Evan’s chest, tickling him with her silky touch. “Should I bring something?” Despite her smile, he can hear an edge of nervousness in her voice.
“You don’t have to.”
“I’d feel rude coming empty-handed,” she says.
“It’s not rude. Really, they won’t expect anything of you.”
Dalisay lifts herself up on her elbow and looks at him. “I want to make a good impression.”
“It’ll be great,” Evan says, assuring her with a peck on the lips. “We’ll make it a road trip, drive down the coast, our first couple’s vacation.”
He sees the fantasy light up her eyes, no doubt imagining driving the coast with her hair blowing in the wind. “Okay. Then I’ll make leche flan,” she says. “It’s my mom’s specialty. Always a hit at parties. I’ll use her recipe.”
“You don’t have to try to impress them,” Evan says, smiling. He kisses her again. “They’ll love you no matter what.”
Like I already do, he thinks.
Late winter in San Francisco is cold compared to Manila, but Dalisay rolls the windows down and lets the wind whip through her hair as Evan blasts classic rock hits for them to drive along to. The sun rises through the gray, misty morning air, and by the time they get through Half Moon Bay, it’s warm and bright as they follow the coastal road, curving and winding through green farmlands and cliffs that overlook sandy beaches.
With her leche flan tucked carefully in a cooler at her feet, Dalisay can relax for a little bit. Her mom helped her make it, a sign that she wants Dalisay to impress Evan’s parents as much as Dalisay does. But all of Dalisay’s worries go by the wayside as Evan drives, singing along with the music. Smiling is easy when she’s with him.
The views are spectacular, sometimes literally taking her breath away. It’s not every day she sees a pod of whales breeching the ocean surface, a couple of seals sunbathing on the rocks, and—the best one yet—a raft of sea otters holding hands in the surf. Dalisay nearly yanks the steering wheel so they can stop and get a better look.
By the time they reach Evan’s parents’ house, it’s a little after noon. Unlike the picture-perfect fairy-tale-like cottages Dalisay saw in the rest of Carmel, the Saatchi house is a little more subdued. It’s painted a soft, buttery yellow with a nut-brown roof. Large windows overlook a neatly kept lawn, and a balcony on the second floor rises above a patio shaded with a large green umbrella. Like Evan’s condo, it’s neat, stylish, and orderly—Dalisay can tell even just by looking at the exterior.
Her stomach sits high with nerves. She clutches her cooler and glances at Evan, who smiles at her, softening her heart a little, and leans over to kiss her forehead.
“Let’s go,” he says.
She takes a deep breath and exits the car.
Mr. Saatchi is already on the porch. He must have heard them come up the driveway. Seeing him, Dalisay knows where Evan got his full head of hair and strong jaw from. Good looks run in the family. He’s a white man in his sixties, similar in age to her own mom.
Evan bounds up the steps and greets his father, giving him a huge hug and slapping him on the back.
“There’s my senior editor!” Mr. Saatchi says, his voice low and booming.
Evan pulls back, grinning, and turns to Dalisay. He holds out his hand for her and she steps up. “Dad, this is Dalisay Ramos.”
“Of course! So good to finally meet you, Dalisay,” he says. His handshake is firm and well-practiced. “Evan’s been talking nonstop about you.”
Heat spreads up Dalisay’s face. Hearing that Evan talks about her to other people is a wonderful feeling even if she knows she should be used to it by now. It’s surreal in the best way possible to know that he thinks about her even when she’s not around. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Saatchi.”
“Please, call me Jim.”
“Sure, Jim.” Dalisay smiles, feeling more at ease now.
Jim waves them inside and Dalisay immediately begins to take off her shoes in the entryway.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” says Jim. “You can leave them on.”
Dalisay is taken aback. When Jim disappears deeper into the house, Dalisay leans into Evan and whispers, “You don’t take your shoes off in American houses?”
“Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t.”
“They’re not bothered by dirt?”
Evan shrugs. “It’s their house. I wouldn’t worry.”
But Dalisay does worry. She would feel awful if she tracked in something from outdoors that could ruin the rugs or scuff up the hardwood floor. Evan takes his shoes off at his place, and she figured his parents would share that practice.
“It bothers me. I’m taking them off,” she whispers, doing so before she and Evan head further into the house.
The Saatchi home is pristine, full of sunlight that bounces off egg-shell-white walls and sleek, monochromatic mid-century modern decor. The living room is furnished in a way that reminds Dalisay of a dentist’s office, all neat and tidy, and she starts to wonder if that’s the Saatchi way. Order and uniformity. The kitchen is new and shiny, sparkling as if it’s never been used before, and Dalisay figures they must clean it a lot to keep it looking that nice. It’s like something out of a magazine.
She hears a woman’s voice coming from the patio. “They have arrived! Hello, hello, helloooo!” Evan’s stepmom appears from the patio, Jim in tow. She’s a tall, thin white woman in her sixties wearing a tailored dress, gold hoop earrings, and a big sun hat.
“Hey, Jenny,” Evan says and hugs her. Dalisay notices that while he smiles, and greets her, his shoulders are stiff. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you must be Dalisay!” Mrs. Saatchi says and gasps. “Look at you! You are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Dalisay says, blushing. “It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Saatchi.”
“Oh goodness, calling me missus makes me feel old. Please, call me Jenny. Oh my, are you barefoot?”
Dalisay looks down at her painted toes, still bright blue from the pedicure she got with Lola last week.
“She didn’t want to get the floors dirty,” Evan explains.
Jenny goes slightly pale, lips pursed, and she tries to smile, but it looks like she swallowed a fly. “I have a terrible thing about feet, especially on the floor. It’s just that feet are so disgusting, um—Would you mind putting your shoes back on?”
Dalisay’s mouth opens and closes several times, stunned. Her whole face is blazing hot. She looks at Evan, who looks equally stunned. Blinking rapidly, she turns back to Jenny. “Oh, uh, yes. I’m sorry!”
Dalisay hurries back to the front and slides her shoes back on. She can hear conversation happening in the other room, Evan probably explaining, and Dalisay lingers in the entryway for a moment to gather her wits. Jenny practically called her feet disgusting. But she washes her feet every day; they’re not disgusting. And aren’t shoes from outside grosser than bare feet anyway?
Dalisay closes her eyes and takes a breath. Her pounding heart feels like it’s going to leap out of her chest, but she reminds herself it’s not the end of the world. She can do this.
When she comes back to the living room, she can hear Jenny saying to Evan, “I understand that, it’s just that the cleaners already did the floors, and I don’t want to call them back for—” Her face lights up with a smile when she spots Dalisay. “Oh! Thank you, Dalisay! I really appreciate it. I love your shoes! Super cute.”
Evan looks beleaguered, the skin around his eyes tight, but Dalisay just smiles and says, “Thank you!” Jenny beckons them all to the patio where the table is already set.
“I also wanted to thank you for having us over,” Dalisay says, “so I brought some leche flan.” She lifts the cooler slightly.
“Leche flan?” Jenny asks, looking at Evan for clarification.
“Ah, yes,” says Dalisay, “it’s kind of a custard. Eggs, milk, sugar.”
Jenny sits at the opposite side of the table. “Oh, dear, that sounds lovely, but we’re vegan!”
“When did that happen?” Evan asks, surprised.
“We heard some program on NPR a while ago about how important it is—for the environment, et cetera—to go vegan and, well, we were already halfway there with vegetarianism, so we figured might as well go the whole way!”
Dalisay’s heart sinks. Evan notices the look on her face, and he leans in closer to her as Jim brings out a bowl of salad and Jenny pours everyone glasses of sparkling water. “It’s no big deal,” he whispers. He must see the look on her face and adds, “They’re not offended.”
“What do I do with this? I can’t bring it home,” Dalisay whispers back. “If my mom finds out her famous flan was a failure, she’ll be devastated.”
“We’ll keep it at my place and bring it to work on Monday. Everyone at the office will eat it in ten minutes, I promise.”
Dalisay sighs and nods.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” he adds. “About the shoes or any of it.”
“It’s okay. I know for next time!”
He squeezes her hand, and she sets the cooler at her feet.
The Saatchis are more restrained, quieter, than the Ramos family. They’re polite, and kind, and they ask Dalisay about herself, but Dalisay is so used to the chaos at home, it feels more akin to a job interview than meeting her boyfriend’s parents.
Evan tells them how they met, the stages he went through in Filipino tradition, and how it took some time to win her over.
“You two are simply adorable,” Jenny says, leaning back in her chair with a smile. “Simply adorable! You haven’t looked this happy since Becca, Evan.”
Evan deflates a little at that. His eyes dart to Dalisay, as if to apologize, and she can tell he’s nervous about how she might react.
“Did Evan tell you about his last girlfriend?” Jenny asks, sensing the shift in the air.
“He did not,” Dalisay says.
“We don’t have to …,” he mumbles.
“What?” Jenny cries, clearly not getting the hint. “I mean, you were going to marry her. Isn’t that something you two should talk about?”
Now that makes Dalisay’s eyebrows shoot up. Marry?
Jim clears his throat.
The muscle in Evan’s jaw jumps. “It wasn’t like we were making plans or anything. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” Evan’s eyes dart to his father, but then lower to his plate of food.
Jenny gestures with her fork. “Well, you wanted to! It’s not nothing. I’m just saying!”
Dalisay glances at Evan, who looks like he wants to slide under the table.
Finally, Jenny seems to understand as her eyes go to Dalisay. “I meant no offense to you, though, dear, you’re just darling.” She looks at Evan, then back to Dalisay. “Wait, you didn’t know?”
Dalisay puts on a smile but it’s a reflex. The awkwardness is almost tangible.
“Dalisay knows about Becca,” says Evan. “Just not all … this.” He looks at Dalisay apologetically.
Jenny flounders. “Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said anything. Ignore me. And don’t read into that, Dalisay! You’re just a delight. So much more …”—she rubs her hands together, searching for the right word before settling on “demure! All compliments, all compliments!”
“Jenny—” Evan starts, but Dalisay cuts him off.
“It’s okay! I don’t mind that Evan has dated other people. We’re …” She’s not sure if she should just tell his parents they’re not that serious yet. They’re just having fun. But she has a feeling that won’t necessarily make things better. “It’s okay,” she repeats.
Jenny seems to sense this too, because she blinks, a smile still stretching across her face, and says, “Okay! Well then! Who wants some iced tea? Yes? I’ll get it!”
When she excuses herself, making a lot of noise in the kitchen, Jim finally speaks up. “Don’t be mistaken, Dalisay. When Evan told us about you, we were so happy he finally found the right person. What he had before?” He bats his hand. “The logistics of it just didn’t make sense. Besides, then he never would have met you.”
The word “logistics” sticks out to Dalisay, but Evan’s face is fully red by this point. Whatever happened between him and Becca still bothers him. A part of Dalisay wishes he would tell her, but she would never want to pressure him. Clearly he didn’t tell her for a reason. She’s surprised by how insensitive his parents are when he’s obviously uncomfortable.
When Jenny comes back carrying a fresh pitcher, Dalisay says brightly, “This salad is delicious, Jenny. I’d love to know the recipe.”
“Oh, we never cook,” Jenny says, sitting back down. “We always order in, don’t we, Jim?”
Jim nods, digging into his kale.
So that explains why the kitchen is spotless. It’s hardly ever used. Dalisay feels like she’s met a roadblock, but Evan still looks like he wants to crawl out of his skin. She tries again. “Can you tell me more about the Persian roots of your name, Mr. Saatchi? That region of the world is a bit of a blind spot for me. What does it mean?”
Jim shrugs a shoulder and says, “I’m not really sure, to be honest. Never something I’ve asked about.”
“You haven’t been curious? Like, tracing back your family tree?”
“No. Just never had the inclination to, I suppose. I think of myself as more of an American anyway. It’s not my culture.”
The Saatchis are so unlike her family.
Her surname Ramos means “branches,” a fact that was drilled into her brain at an early age. It’s almost like her parents were preparing her for appreciating the literal branchlike family tree, a way to remind her where she came from and be proud of where they are now. To hear that the Saatchis aren’t intrigued by the origin of their name is perplexing to Dalisay.
Her attempt at yet another conversation starter fails. But Evan swoops in, attempting a recovery.
“Dalisay’s family are all from Manila,” he says.
“Manila!” both his parents echo, impressed.
“We’ve always wanted to go there, haven’t we, Jim?” Jenny says and Jim nods in agreement. “It must be so strange, moving here. What’s your favorite thing about living in America so far?”
Dalisay thinks about it a moment and glances at Evan. “I can think of a few reasons I like it.” Evan’s mouth curls up and hers does too. “But I like working here. There are a lot of opportunities for me now.”
“That’s good,” says Jim. “Overnight is a highly competitive company.”
“Yes! I really wanted to work there. I didn’t think I was going to get the position when I applied. I was up against a lot of qualified candidates.” She reaches out and Evan takes her hand, smiling knowingly. “But I’m glad it all worked out.”
Jenny lets out an “Aw!” and smiles at them holding hands.
Jim grins too. “I told Evan when he first started there, it was only the beginning. He’d be crazy to quit. I’m glad I’m right about something.” He laughs deeply.
Dalisay remembers when Evan mentioned that his dad didn’t approve of his career at first as Evan’s smile drops a little, but Jim changes the topic this time, talking about wine, and Evan seems more grateful for the reprieve than she does.
On the drive home, Dalisay spends most of the time looking out the window at the passing countryside.
“My stepmom is well meaning,” Evan says, “but she can be a little oblivious sometimes. She says things that can come off a little insensitive. Not a little. And not even ‘insensitive,’ just racist. Like ‘demure.’ Shit, I’m sorry.”
“She must really like Becca,” Dalisay says, amused.
Evan huffs a laugh. “Sometimes I think she wanted me to marry Becca more than I did.”
Dalisay watches him for a moment, inspecting his profile. She can see through his smile that there’s a tightness in his eyes, so she has to ask. “Is this the champagne bucket incident?”
Evan stares ahead at the road, and nods.
“Did you really want to marry her?”
Evan goes quiet, as if searching for the right thing to say on the road signs. “Yeah,” he says, after a moment. “We were serious. No plans, or anything, but I … I thought I was ready.” He squints, as if shielding his eyes from the sun, and drags his teeth over his lower lip. “I got talked out of it.”
Dalisay doesn’t say anything. Evan takes one hand off the steering wheel and reaches toward her so she can hold it.
“Seriously, Becca is in the past. I promise. Jenny might not be over it, but I am.”
“I believe you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”
“It’s okay,” Evan says, glancing at her quickly before returning his eyes to the road and taking his hand back. “Really. I didn’t mean to keep secrets, I just figured we’d talk about it later. But I guess there’s no point now. Becca and I broke up because she got a job in Boston, working at the aquarium. It was her dream, and she wanted me to move with her. And I was going to. I would have quit Overnight and moved across the country.”
Dalisay’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised.
“I know, shocking, right? Me, quit my dream job?” He laughs, catching her expression, but his smile falls again. “When I told my dad about it, it didn’t go over well. He thought I was valuing her career over mine, and that we weren’t serious enough for such a big change, that I was dumping my future for …” He trails off. Suddenly, his dad’s word “logistics” floats through her mind.
“Long story short, my dad talked me out of it,” he continues. “Long distance was out of the question. It was either all or nothing. So I took Becca out to this fancy restaurant that made me wear a jacket, maybe to try to get her to stay so we could be together, or maybe I already knew it was too late and was trying to lessen the blow …” His smile is sad, as if he’s amused by his own mistake. “She ordered champagne, thinking we were celebrating, but I … broke up with her. After she left, I grabbed the bucket of ice and dumped it over my head so I wouldn’t cry in front of everyone.”
“Evan, that’s …”
“Ridiculous? You can say so. I think it’s pretty ridiculous at least.” He laughs again, but there’s no joy in it. “I know Becca and I are over, it’s done, but … if I’d done what I wanted, instead of listening to what my dad wanted, what could have happened? You know? Not to make it sound like I’m not happy with you right now, but it’s one of those moments that you wonder what would be different if you’d gone right instead of left.”
A lump forms in Dalisay’s throat. “No, I know. Really. I do.”
Her whole life, all she wanted to do was write, and if she’d listened to her parents when they tried to talk her out of it, where would she be? Sometimes she stays up at night and thinks about it. Just like she thinks about how she might have to pick between supporting Nicole and appeasing her mother one day.
Evan clears his throat. His words sound thick now. “Maybe I’m psychoanalyzing too much, but my parents’ divorce was … rough. I know, being able to look back, none of it was my fault, but at the time I really thought that I didn’t do a good enough job being their son, that I was somehow supposed to keep them together, that their fights were always about me. But when my dad told me to put my future first, it was like getting a sneak peek at the truth. And for a brief moment, when I watched Becca walk out that door in tears, I wondered if I was going to wind up like him and … it scared me. I never want to be that person who lets other people decide things for me. Never again.”
Dalisay remembers how upset he was when the parol broke, like it was his responsibility to please the people in his life, and suddenly a lot of things about him start to make sense. The only son who bears the burden of a parent’s expectation. Anything less than exceptional is unacceptable.
Dalisay lifts his hand to her mouth and kisses it. “Thanks for telling me,” she says. “I’m sorry you sort of had to.”
Evan laughs and groans.
“Hey,” she says. “I’m glad I’m with you.”
Evan glances at her again, his brown eyes warm, crinkling at the corners when he smiles. “Me too. I wouldn’t change us for anything.”
“Good. Because if you did, I’d be the one emptying a champagne bucket over my head.”
“Don’t get me thinking about you in a wet T-shirt until we get home,” he says, narrowing his eyes at her mischievously.
She gawps at him and smacks his arm playfully as he laughs, and she laughs too.