Chapter Four
The impact is like crashing headfirst into a rock-climbing wall.
His chest is a solid barricade of uninterrupted muscle.
I nearly lose my balance, but a hand wraps around my wrist to steady me.
A big, tanned hand. My breath catches again, but not before I get a whiff of his cologne, and boy, does he smell good.
“Are you okay?” His voice is deep and clear over the restaurant’s music, and the familiarity unsettles me. I keep my head down, ignoring the heat on my wrist.
“Sorry,” I sputter as I break away to the front of the restaurant.
Under the low lights, it’s possible he hasn’t seen my face, and that would mean there’s still a chance he hasn’t recognized me.
As far as he knows, maybe I’m just a stranger under a bucket hat who exits bathrooms like a raging bull.
And while I’ll scream profanities at the high heavens once the night is over, it’ll be fine as long as he never clues in.
My heartbeat is still alive in my throat, and the adrenaline kick carries me all the way back to the table. I try not to shudder when Ernest sends a smirk in my direction. Returning it with a stiff smile, I take my spot next to Charlotte, who is still eyeing my hat with disdain.
“Have you ever been to Tokyo?” Ernest asks loftily, like he’s dropped the smoothest line.
“I have!” I reply. “Something interesting I learned when I was there is that the creamy white topping on sushi isn’t a mayonnaise blend. It’s actually fish semen.”
Charlotte chokes on an orange slice. I know what she’s thinking: That’s what you call flirting?
Against my better judgment, I chance a glimpse at the lounge.
The suits have converged at the bar, and I pinpoint the top of Parker’s head with ease.
Looks like the blond thing never made a comeback.
His hair is its natural color, bangs parted to reveal his matured face.
I can’t focus when he’s standing there, setting off all my primitive instincts with neon flashing arrows and a sign that reads CAUTION: HOT.
To my dismay, he’s demolished every suspicion of having peaked in high school by becoming absurdly hotter with age. Genetics are a bitch.
I also note that he’s engrossed in conversation, apparently unshaken by our encounter. That’s right, in my sudden panic, I’d mistakenly assumed that this would mean something to him. Even if Parker did recognize me, why would he care?
The weight of something I thought I’d buried seven years ago presses inward, but I seal it away once more.
My hands curl into fists on my lap as I return to more urgent matters.
I don’t want to be here, just like I don’t want to flirt with Ernest Miller for a second longer.
New game plan: I’m going to demand they interview me here and now.
I take a deep breath and go for broke. “I graduated with honors from Columbia. I’ve had my writing featured in the New Yorker, and even at the corporate soul-siphons before Adagio, I made sure to work my ass off, so I can assure you I have a good work ethic. ”
Ernest pauses mid-reach for his wine. “Okay. A lot less modest than I took you for.”
“You have an open position for an Asia correspondent, right? I’m telling you why I’m right for the job—”
“Oh, we filled that on Monday,” Jerry interjects.
I swallow the rest of my words.
Meekly, Charlotte turns to me and whispers, “Dani, I’m so sorry.”
I feel like my chair has just been kicked out from under me.
All my travel plans—the imagined nights in Beijing, Manila, and Osaka—have definitively disappeared in a puff of sad, gray smoke.
I’m gutted. The table has moved on and is talking about something else, but it all sounds like white noise to me.
I guess the universe was never on my side.
“I’m going to go,” I mutter, and I stand from the table so abruptly it makes me dizzy.
“Wait.” Ernest jumps from his seat too. I let him speak. “If you’re interested in traveling to Asia, I do have a proposition for you.”
“You do?”
He leans over, and his chest hair beckons me closer.
“Well, the thing is, I only date Asian women. You’re all so exotically beautiful, so sweet and demure.
I’m always looking for a travel companion.
And I’ve been all across the continent, so I’m a wealth of knowledge.
” He winks at me. “Think of it like having a hot date and a travel guide, all in one.”
If I’d eaten anything, I would’ve thrown it up now. Instead, I gag emphatically in Ernest’s face and spin on my heel. “Gross. I’m out of here.”
Anger, or mortification, floods my head as I bolt for the exit, not sparing a second look when Charlotte calls out to me.
I shove past bodies until I’m safely out in the street.
From behind me, I hear the door swing open and hefty footsteps draw near.
God, is he really going to try again? Wasn’t I clear enough?
“Get lost, creep!” I spin around, and for the third time tonight, the air is knocked out of me. I’m not shouting at the shrub of chest hair I expected. Worse: It’s Parker Tran, standing five feet away.
I give his confused look only a second’s consideration before I turn back around and take off again.
“Dani!”
Hearing him say my name hits me like a lightning bolt, stopping me dead in my tracks. Don’t do it. Don’t turn around. I sigh at the sky before turning to face him. He manages to find my eyes under the brim of my bucket hat.
He holds my gaze. I stare back. Now that we’re not in the restaurant’s dim lighting, I get a better look.
In his finely cut suit, Parker Tran is the consummate portrait of a successful young professional.
His brown eyes wander over me, and they’re just as shining and soul-crushing as ever.
His boyhood tan hasn’t faded either. In fact, his skin glows under the street lamps.
“When did you realize it was me?” I ask.
“When you attacked me outside the bathroom. Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I reply, cringing at how forced the word sounds. For lack of a coherent thought, I say the first thing that springs to mind: “You’re wearing a suit.” It’s weird seeing him in anything other than a football jersey.
“Yeah, there’s this thing about going outside where you’re sort of required to wear clothing. A formality that’s been around for centuries and all.”
I let out another exasperated sigh, and Parker acquiesces with a small laugh.
“I met a client here.”
I act as if this is news to me. “Since when do you work in New York?”
“I started a week ago. It’s only for a few months, though.” He holds up both hands as if to assure me he’s not encroaching on my turf, as if I’m about to say, Yeah, I better not catch you on these streets again.
Parker turns to face the restaurant and rubs the back of his neck. “I left my client at the bar. The other guys from my team too.”
That’s it? That’s what he followed me out here for? It’s so tragically underwhelming for something seven years in the making, I almost want to laugh. But if he’s giving me an escape, I’d be a fool not to take it. “Well, enjoy your stay, Parker.”
I set off at a brisk pace, and so does he—but not toward Picotea. His strides are so long, it’s like he teleported next to me.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To get food. I had to sit with the dudebros for an hour and didn’t even get a proper meal out of it. I’m starving, and we’re close to Chinatown.”
I walk on autopilot, letting my feet and nose guide the way. I try not to pay any special attention to the fact that Parker is quite literally following me. “Aren’t you going back to your client?”
He doesn’t answer me. “Have you gone on a lot of dates with the dudebros?”
“It wasn’t a date.” Not technically a lie; for most of the night, it was a highly offensive job interview.
“Okay, if I remember correctly, that one food truck should be right around here—aha!” I’ve just turned onto Canal Street when I spot it, a small, steamed bao–shaped piece of hope.
Charging ahead, I race down the street, noting that I’ve managed to shake off Parker.
Once I fill my stomach, now grumbling ferociously at me, I’ll go straight home and let this unfortunate meeting dissolve in time with the rest of our history.
Maybe I’ll even will myself into another universe where none of this ever happened.
The lady at the order window doesn’t acknowledge me.
I’ve been here too often to count, but her apathy is a welcome trademark of every good Chinese takeout spot.
This auntie would rather jump into a vat of hot oil than ask me how my day was, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t make the best soup dumplings in the city.
Handing my credit card over, I order the set of four bao.
“Cash only.”
I gape at her. “I only have card.”
“Machine’s down.”
“Um, I can pay with my phone—”
She lets out a tiny scolding click like I'm wasting her time. “The machine is down.”
And just like that, my little bao of hope bursts before my eyes.
I’m not sure how much worse my luck can get.
Is it even safe for me to be outside? Do I go home now and risk slipping into a manhole on the way?
Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
I could embrace a new life with the underground mole society, where I don’t have to think about fake dream jobs or Ernest’s stupid chest hair or Parker Tran.
Sadly, I’m above ground, where I realize Parker is still following me like a homing missile. He stands next to me with his hands in his pockets, and I look up at him—way up, because some of us stopped growing at sixteen.
I must be a sorry sight, because he says almost apologetically, “I don’t have any cash either.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” I mutter, suddenly self-conscious. I realize that Parker is watching me, wordlessly, although his jaw flexes like there’s something he wants to say.
“What?”
“I’ve just never seen someone cry over soup dumplings before.”
I duck under the safety of my hat again. “I wasn’t crying. And they’re not just any bao. These are the best in Chinatown.” Why am I explaining this? More important, why is he hanging around to hear it?
Parker is grinning for reasons unknown. His smile is as dashing as ever, and I wish I hadn’t noticed. As he cranes his neck to look around, I stare at the pronounced vein that runs down to his collarbone because of course I can’t be normal right now.
“Why don’t I buy you dinner somewhere else?” he offers.
Have I gone delirious from hunger? I don’t know what to make of any of this. I’ve taken measures to avoid ever seeing Parker Tran again—and I was convinced he was doing the same—so the only explanation is that I have, in fact, slipped into another universe.
I watch despondently as the auntie packages four perfectly steamed bao in a container for someone else. My eyes follow the steam drifting past, and I catch a whiff of dumpling heaven while my stomach tries to eat itself.
I hope this is another universe, because that would mean the choice I’m about to make will be inconsequential once I return to my own.
“Fine,” I say to Parker, regretting it immediately.