23. Lina
Lina
Through the foggy condensation clinging to the windows, I watched a man clad in all black approach. He wasn’t wearing a coat despite the chilly February night winds. Even then, in the darkest of clothes and under poorly lit conditions, anyone could see his strong physique.
He had a wide chest that tapered down to a slim, lean waist. He had burly arms, and with his long legs, he looked taller than he was. The fall of his black hair over his forehead and the quirk of those cynical lips moved with intention and confidence. Arrogance, even.
The way Jonathan Lo glided through the world never changed. He had always been like this, and it was nothing new. Yet, with the way my breath hitched at the sight of him and the warmth touching my cheeks, it was a confirmation that something had changed between us . . .
Or, more specifically, in me when it came to him. I felt it earlier when I saw him in the lobby of that ostentatious restaurant, but I pushed it down. Now those fluttering emotions were back, stronger.
Why him? The one who, merely a month and a half ago, admitted to his disdain for me yet still helped me in the next breath.
I unlocked the doors for him with a loud click. “That was fast,” I said as he opened the driver’s side door. He wasn’t even gone for ten minutes.
A cocky, lopsided smirk pulled on his lips. “Called the owner, told him I had a hungry girl with me, and I got some special services. I jumped the line by going behind the truck. That’s why I parked far over here, so no one would see.”
“You used me as an excuse to get food ahead of all those people? That’s unfair,” I stated as a matter of fact.
“Lina, you’re hungry, and I’m just trying to feed you in case you become an angry, ravenous woman ready to rip me to shreds because the tiny pretentious bits of food you ate didn’t satisfy you,” he said.
My stomach agreed with a loud grumble.
I froze, heat scorching my face as Jonathan laughed.
He handed me two large paper plates covered in aluminum foil with a small paper bag sitting on top of it.
With a momentary dip from the car, he climbed in with a large, iced pink drink in hand.
His body was so warm that heat practically radiated from him like a furnace.
My icy hands almost reached out to ghost over his skin and warm up my fingertips.
He glanced at my bare feet, and I could’ve sworn his lips curled tighter.
“You know the owner of this taco stand?” I asked.
“Yeah, we’re regulars, and we befriended him. Come here every Friday night with Julie and the crew,” he answered. “There aren’t any seats outside, so we can eat here in my car. Unless you want me to drop you off at your place?”
“We can eat here,” I said. When Jonathan nodded and turned on his car, I spoke up again. “Are you driving somewhere else?”
Warmth blustered through the vents, drawing a veil of heat over my body.
The cloudy, white condensation on the car windows began to thin.
Jonathan reached over to the console and turned on the heat to its hottest temperature and pointed the vents directly toward me.
He also pressed some more buttons on the driver’s side as the seats started to warm up.
“No, it’s to keep you warm.”
He glanced at my bare thighs. Goosebumps raised along my skin there, making me flush again. He sighed, reaching into the back seat. In a matter of moments, a thick coat was flung across my exposed skin.
“Thank you.”
Jonathan hummed. “For the food,” he nodded toward the paper plates covered in aluminum foil sitting in the middle divider. “I hope you enjoy the al pastor tacos. They’re amazing here.”
“Thank you again,” I repeated, sounding like a broken record.
He shrugged those broad shoulders, his smile stretched from ear to ear. “You keep thanking me.”
I scoffed. “That’s because you keep going out of your way to help me. I could’ve gone home on my own.”
“I’m perfectly aware you’re a capable and independent woman, Lina.” He reached over to pull napkins out of the glove box. His shoulder brushed into mine. “However, I need you to understand that I got you. I’m taking you home and making sure you’re safe and sound for my peace of mind.”
“Did you also make sure whether your date made it home safe and sound?”
He paused for a thoughtful moment to take a sip out of the icy drink he held. He said, “I’m not emotionally invested in her, so I didn’t. But from what I could gather during our date, she’s as perfectly capable as you are.”
“Not emotionally invested?” I asked as he took another drag of his drink.
His wet tongue swiped across his dry lips as his brows cocked at me. He leaned back into his seat, watching me closely. “Yes. I don’t like her.”
My lips fell open, but I couldn’t utter a single word. I didn’t dare. I turned my attention to the cooling food on my lap and began to unwrap the aluminum foil. His face was too distracting. I immediately gathered my emotions under my usual mask of indifference.
“Earlier, you asked me what encouraged me to go on this blind date. What was your reason to go on your blind date?” I asked.
“My mom. She wants me to consider settling down like my sister and cousin. You know, getting married and having kids and all. She’s been trying to convince me to go on a blind date for couple of years already.”
I stole a glance at him. “What was different about it this time?”
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on his food.
“She started talking about the possibility of her passing away—how she didn’t want to die without knowing Julie and me weren’t alone after she was gone.
She’s not sick or anywhere close to old age.
But we never know how much time we truly have left with someone until they’re gone, like my dad.
He died unexpectedly when I was six due to an aneurysm. ”
“I—” I started and lost my voice to surprise. I didn’t know his dad had passed away. “I’m sorry about your loss.” Those were the only words I could say.
He wore a gentle smile, keeping his gaze and hands locked on unwrapping his food. “It’s alright. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
I thought his parents were divorced when he mentioned that his family only consisted of him, his sister, and his mom. I never considered that his dad had passed away.
“My mom isn’t wrong, though. Regardless of whether my dad was still here with us or not, it’s the truth,” he continued.
At the same time, we both reached into the small paper bag on the center console for the toppings and condiments. Our hands brushed against one another’s before Jonathan flinched. He snatched his hand back.
“Your hands are as cold as ice!” he exclaimed as I pulled out what I needed.
I simply smiled at him as I poured salsa roja and guacamole salsa all over my two tacos. “It’s cold outside. What did you expect?”
“Well, the heat is at full blast, so I’d expect you to be warm and cozy by now,” he huffed, grabbing his share of condiments.
“I get cold easily,” I scoffed.
He shook his head with a soft huff. “Just like my sister.”
We took a moment to eat our food before we continued talking, moaning in agreement about how great the street tacos were.
Every once in a while, he’d offered me his drink, and I’d take him up on it, sipping the watermelon agua fresca.
The two of us finished the food in a matter of minutes.
Jonathan went back out to toss the trash.
Before he did, he turned off the car, allowing me to sit in silence.
The loud chatter from the line for the taco truck reached us from the distance as cars drove by on the road.
I was never the type to truly enjoy the nightlife.
I’d gone out with Mary and Eric twice before, to bar hop with Eric’s friends, and I didn’t like it.
There was something about being out in the darkness, even with a large group of friends, that unsettled me.
It gave me anxiety because I always felt like someone was watching me from the darkness. However, I didn’t mind sitting in this poorly lit parking lot, just eating and enjoying the slow drip of time. With Jonathan, I felt relaxed.
“You’re not cold, are you?” he asked when he came back to the car.
I offered him some hand sanitizer to get rid of the grease and oil from the tacos; he accepted without hesitation. I also offered him a strawberry hard candy from my bag, which he declined.
“No, it’s hot now. Your jacket is warm enough. The food was great, by the way. Thank you,” I answered, playing with the strawberry candy.
Jonathan smiled broadly, leaning back in his seat. He finished sipping his drink. “Glad to hear you like it.”
He didn’t move to start the ignition again, nor did I want to mention anything about heading home. Being here with him was nice. Comfortable. I enjoyed it.
“You and your sister seem really close,” I said.
He nodded instantly. “Yeah, I’d say I’m quite close to her. Same goes for Shoua. She’s essentially our older sister,” he said.
“I like how you and Julie bicker. It’s funny.”
He shrugged. “I guess it’s funny, but I think most people find it annoying. It’s just what siblings do though, right?”
I hesitated, unsure. “Not my siblings. Neng and Mai are older than me by six and eight years. They’re closer in age, so they bicker. But I don’t. If I responded to their remarks, it’s considered an offense. Not just a simple jab.”
The words were supposed to stop there before I divulged any more of myself, but my lips kept moving.
In this tiny space, lost in time and darkness, I felt safe enough to just talk—to say the things I had always wanted to say.
I had only divulged these things to Mary once, and then never again, not wanting to feel like I was pitying myself.
With Neng stalking and harassing me and the lack of empathy from my parents or Mai, I’d begun to ponder it all again.
“Both my older sister and brother say I grew up being the favorite while they were the ones our parents never cared about . . . which, I suppose, is also the reason why we were never close,” I said.
“The truth is this: our parents never cared about anyone else but themselves. They were never home to care for us. They stopped caring the moment my sister was old enough to make us a pot of rice and scrambled eggs.”
I sighed, looking out the windows. Everything was slowly being cloaked in foggy condensation again as I thought about Mai and the responsibilities thrown at her at such a young age.
I frowned. “I don’t know how any parent would expect an eleven-year-old to look after her younger siblings, but my parents did.
Even then, once my siblings became teenagers, they were never home.
I learned how to care and look after myself at a young age. ”
I paused for a handful of seconds, allowing myself to let the words I just muttered ring out loud.
“My family dynamics are complicated. I’m their caretaker, but they don’t respect me,” I continued. “I’m the one they come to when they need money, but they don’t invite me to family outings unless I’m the one paying for everything.”
I stared off into the hazy windshield in front of us.
“That’s why I never considered the idea of dating.
Or . . . even allowed myself to make friends with anyone other than Mary and her husband, Eric.
Why should anyone else know about the mess and constant instability that my family is? The answer is no one.”
“I’m sorry you were expected to grow up so fast, Lina. No child should have to do that,” breathed Jonathan, voice gentle. “And now they expect you to be their parent and their wallet, it seems. That’s not right.”
I looked at him. He was a mix of emotions: from the frustration knotting his brows together, to the resentment pursing his lips into a thin line, to the care and softness of his gaze.
My heart swelled at the sight of him and the raw emotions on his face as I continued spewing out parts of my life to him.
“You don’t have to apologize either. We all carry our own baggage from life, and we all make the best of what it hands us.
Sometimes it makes us great. Other times, it makes us riddled with envy for others,” I said slowly.
“I’ll be honest. I used to be jealous of you back in high school.
You moved through the world with such ease and luck.
From the outside, you were popular and well loved. ”
My voice cracked into one that was not my own. It became squeaky and annoyingly weak, and I hated it. Yet, I couldn’t stop. I had to keep talking. I’d opened this ironclad door, and all the secrets I held close to my chest were all erupting out.
“You were close to your older sister, who clearly loved you. You had great friends. On top of that, you’re smart, charming, easygoing, and kind.
Everything seemed to come to you so effortlessly and .
. . I was envious. The only thing I knew I had over you was getting class valedictorian, which was why I purposely challenged you for the title,” I admitted.
I breathed harshly through my mouth as I continued.
“I only did that to feel like I had something over you. But deep down, I wished I had your sister as my older sister, your amazing friends, and your seemingly smoother life. You looked like you had it better than me, and that was the root of my jealousy toward you.”
Time stood still for a long time, and all I could feel was the ache of my throbbing heart.
Panic and regret began to surge through me.
I emptied every bit of animosity, jealousy, and whatever emotion I could fathom when it came to my relationship with Jonathan Lo.
But who was I to be this bitch and unload everything on him?
I parted my lips again to apologize when he spoke up.
“I was jealous of you, too,” confessed Jonathan. The rigid lines drawn on his face ebbed out of him as his expression and every muscle of his body relaxed. “Little Miss Perfect.”