Chapter 11
11
L ater that night, when my eyes are heavier than a marble slab, and the city is finally beginning to settle down, I hear my phone buzzing on my nightstand. It’s Jae.
“Hey,” Comes the crackling radio-ready voice from the other end.
“Hey.” I whisper, the weight my eyes feel not registering in my voice.
“What are you up to?”
“It’s almost midnight. What do you think?” I let him hear the eye roll. “What are you up to?”
“Calling you.” He sounds lonely. It must be lonely to live by yourself. I guess I would know.
“Why don’t you go to sleep?” I try to suppress my yawn, but it escapes despite my efforts.
“I’m not tired,” Jae lets out a heavy sigh. “Tell me a story or something.”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
I think for a moment. What can I possibly tell him a story about? I haven’t done anything worth telling a story about in three years. I had an uneventful childhood; a normal high school experience and college was nothing exceptional. Until I met Grant. And he already knows Grant is dead.
“You already know my best stories.” I say, breaking the silence.
“No, I don’t.” Jae shuffles on the other end of the line. It sounds like he’s rolling over in his own bed.
Lily snores at my feet, and I pet her back with my left foot.
“Two months after Grant got sick,” I finally begin, “He asked me if I wanted to get a dog. He said having a dog would help solidify our future together. As if living together and being together wasn’t enough.”
I hear Jae let out a breath on the other end of the line.
“And he desperately wanted a French bulldog. So, for his birthday that year, I searched all over the city for a Frenchie. But Frenchies are so expensive. And so I cut corners, and found a questionable breeder. She was two thousand dollars. And not a Frenchie.”
Jae laughs quietly.
“But she looks like she could be one, doesn’t she?” I laugh in agreement.
“She doesn’t look anything like a Frenchie, Riley,” Jae tells me.
I know. But Grant didn’t. He was so delirious and tired from his treatments.
“If Grant ever noticed, he never told me.”
“He was probably just happy you found him a dog.”
“He probably was.”
We’ve stayed quiet on the line for a few minutes, when Jae finally speaks up.
“Do you miss him?”
“I do,” Do I miss Grant? Of course I do.
“You do?”
“Yeah. But it’s been a long time. I mostly miss having someone at all.” I’m finally admitting it aloud. It wasn’t that foreign a thought to me, but to say it aloud was something else entirely. While I knew I would certainly outlive Grant, and I grieved him a little while he was still alive, I did the majority of my grieving after he died.
I had convinced myself he was the only person I could ever have, but finally my heart is opening up to the possibility that that isn’t true. I miss having someone to love. Someone to hold, someone to kiss, someone to adore.
“I miss having someone to be with.” I say into the phone, unsure if Jae is still there.
“I’m with you,” Jae whispers, his voice light as a feather.
“Do you really mean that?” I ask, unsure whether or not to believe him.
“You know it.”
As Jae says that, I feel like I can really trust him. He’s been there for me since I met him. The fall in the kitchen. The tea. The panic attack.
“I miss having a person.”
“I’ll be your person if you want.”
“I’m not sure you wanna be my person.”
“Thanks for the story. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
This week of painting the mural has flown by, and as the day comes to a close, I’m getting antsier and antsier about my date. Jae and I have spent the last few days bickering by day in the restaurant, but calling each other before we fall asleep at night, talking about our lives—and every day I learn new things about him.
He almost flunked out of ninth grade, but went to The Culinary Institute of America on full scholarship for culinary science. He hates avocados. Nothing at The Red Kettle ever has avocado as an ingredient. The renovations at the apartment will begin next month. He’s keeping the french doors.
I tell him about group therapy. About the guys I match with on Tinder—but not about how they’re there to distract me from him. About how I’m working on some other paintings in my free time to sell. And when Friday rolls around, I’m wishing my date was with Jae, not Rishi.
I’ve put my hair in a half up, half down style and wear a royal blue sweater with light wash jeans. I meet Rishi outside the restaurant, and when we go in, I instantly spot Jae. He’s at the bar again, but this time he’s chatting with a tall, blonde woman dressed in a sparkly, pink miniskirt.
The hostess seats us at the same table as last time and delivers us towering glasses of iced water. Rishi and I do a proper cheers, and yet, all I can do is keep my eyes open for Jae. He doesn’t send any food to our table this time.
Rishi is sweet and charming, but all I can think about is Jae. Where is he? Who is he with? I try to shift my focus back to Rishi.
“So, where in the city do you live?” I ask Rishi, my feeble attempt to make conversation.
“Murray Hill.”
“Oh, so do you work in finance?”
“Why does everyone think that?” Rishi’s laughter is genuine, and my smile isn’t forced. “I’m an art therapist actually. I work at the Children’s Hospital.”
“No wonder Jae set us up—I’m a painter.”
“I knew that already!” Rishi takes a huge, heaping bite of his dinner.
I flash back to my practice date with Jae. Rishi doesn’t talk with his mouth full.
We chat throughout dinner. Rishi is twenty-seven, born in India, but moved here to attend NYU and medical school.
“How were you and Jae college roommates if Jae is a chef and you’re a therapist?” The question comes to me suddenly.
“I wanted to be a pastry chef,” Rishi smiles coyly. “I went to culinary school for a year. But my parents would never forgive me if I didn’t become some kind of doctor. So I settled for a doctorate in art therapy.”
“I totally understand. My parents wanted me to do literally anything but paint.” My smiles are genuine now too. “Maybe you should bake something for me sometime.”
“I’d love to! I keep trying to convince Jae to open his restaurant for breakfast so I can sell him my homemade pastries.”
“I’ll see if I can help convince him.”
“Speak of the devil,” Rishi looks up as Jae approaches our table, carrying a tall glass of something alcoholic and the tall blonde woman trailing behind him. “Again.”
“Hey there, you guys.” Jae stumbles over his words, clearly a little tipsy. “Sorry to crash your date, again, but my date, Trixie, here didn’t believe that I knew a real doctor. And it just so happened you were sitting across the way.”
“Yes, I am a real doctor.” Rishi smiles politely with a soft laugh, amused.
“Is it really that far-fetched?” I whisper in a laugh.
“Can you look at this mole on my back?” Trixie giggles sipping on her own fruity cocktail, also tipsy.
“I’m not that kind of doctor,” Rishi clarifies. “Anyway, we’ll let you get back to your drinks.”
“No, no,” Jae starts. “We have more questions.” He wraps his arm around Trixie and my heart pounds. This is not something I want to be seeing.
“Seriously, man, I think you should—” Rishi starts, but in one fell swoop, Jae releases Trixie, pushes me to the side of the booth, and sits down next to me, his drink clattering on the table. “—take Trixie back to the bar.”
“Look,” Trixie slurs. “We just want to know if…what did we want to know again?”
“If doctors really do have a lot of sex in the on-call room like on Grey’s Anatomy. ” Jae reminds her. He looks at me, leaning in, his face bright red. “Have you ever seen Grey’s Anatomy , Riley?”
“I—I—” I stutter, getting flustered at his eye contact.
“They sure bone a lot on that show,” Jae remarks.
“Again, not that kind of doctor,” Rishi states calmly, but I’m seething inside.
“Don’t you guys have, like, another bar to hit up?” I ask, trying to get rid of them.
“But you went to medical school, right?” Trixie asks, turning towards Rishi.
“Yes, I went to medical school, but I don’t see how that relates—” He answers.
“That’s super hot,” Trixie says. Is she…hitting on my date?
“You know what’s super hot? Artists.” Jae giggles, and he puts his arm around me, his hand resting on my shoulder. The contact sends tingles straight down my spine. His arm is so heavy, and I hate to admit that I like it. “Artists like Riley.”
“Jae,” Rishi says, still steely calm. “I think you and Trixie should…stop crashing our date.”
“Why? Do you want to take Riley home?” Jae asks bluntly.
“That’s what I’m trying to do, yes.” Rishi answers with honesty. “Do you have a problem with that?” He laughs, not taking Jae seriously. Trixie loudly slurps her cocktail.
Jae however, is dead serious. His grip on my shoulder tightens.
“What the fuck?” Jae’s stunned, and Rishi has nerves of steel.
“Um—” I say. “We don’t have to hash this out right now. Besides, I think Trixie could use another drink, yeah?”
“Riley, let’s get out of here.” Rishi says, shifting in the booth, encouraging Trixie to get up. I don’t like him telling me what to do, but I’m tempted to leave with him just to get away from Trixie and Jae.
“You’re not going anywhere with her.” Jae groans.
“What’s it matter to you, man?” Rishi finally cracks a little, annoyance rising in his voice. Are they going to fight over me?
“I’m her best friend,” Jae stands up, grabbing his drink.
“You set us up!” Rishi exclaims.
“Not so you could fuck her!” Jae snaps.
“Hey!” I shout, and before I can react any further, Jae’s drink is splattered all over the front of Rishi’s shirt. Trixie grabs her purse, and makes a beeline for the door.
“What the fuck, Jae?” Rishi asks with a suppressed laugh. “Who said anything about that?”
“I kissed her first!” Jae blurts.
I can’t take this anymore. I push Jae’s arm off, and shove him out of the booth.
“Oh, fuck…Riley, I’m sorry—” Jae says.
I push my way through the crowd towards the exit. I step out into the night, and take a giant breath. I don’t know what to think about any of this. Jae just wanted to protect me, right? I pull my hands over my face, trying to process what just happened.
Bandito’s door swings open, and Jae sees me immediately. “Look, Riley, I’m sorry,”
“No, no, go away,” I wave him off.
“Rishi and I talked, we’re okay—” Jae says. “He’s not upset about me ruining everything.”
“Did you ever think that you ruined it for me ?” This is not the considerate, attentive man I’ve come to know. “Clearly my expectations were too high.” I break eye contact. I’m angry but I don’t want to burn this bridge down to the ground.
Jae doesn’t have anything to say to me, other than, “I’m sorry, Riley,” but I don’t want to hear it. I’m feeling more upset than angry, and I’m perpetually worried I might cry. I take a huge, clown sized breath and hold it in. Upset that Jae is jealous over me.
“Go away, I repeat.
“I’ll call you tonight?” Jae asks, and I shake my head.
“Not tonight—not right now,” I say, and Jae takes off down the street. I gather myself, and meet Rishi back at our table, and he’s flushed in the face, mostly dry and well recovered.
“Hey,” Rishi croaks out.
“So, I hear you’re a doctor,”
Rishi chokes out a beleaguered laugh. “No shit, Riley.”
I crack a smile back at him, my face spiraling into something unrecognizable from a few moments ago. His frank response makes me think it’ll be okay.
“Wanna get out of here?” He asks.
“Where did you have in mind?” I’m determined to not let Jae ruin this date.
“A drink?” Rishi smiles. “At a different bar?”
After taking me to his favorite dive-bar in the East Village, Rishi walks me to the front door of my apartment building. I feel content and happy. There is no element of force or feign.
Standing on the stoop, Rishi takes my hand and pulls me softly, suavely, into a goodbye kiss. Flattering. By any standard, his kiss is perfect. Not forceful, not urgent.
But the butterflies aren’t there. It isn’t until I picture Jae being the one to kiss me, even after tonight, that I’m moved.
I break the kiss with a step backward and a bashful, “Thank you for everything,” and go inside without so much as a goodbye, I’ll text you! I hurriedly burst into the stairwell, feeling rotten, not being able to tell if I’m upset that I let another man kiss me that wasn’t Grant—or Jae.
I climb the three flights of stairs up to my apartment, eager to wash away whatever feelings of loathing and despair and grief that might taint an otherwise good evening. Turning the corner of the hallway, I’m greeted by something unexpected at my doorstep.
A bouquet of white lilies?
Wrapped in delicate white paper tied with navy ribbon so silky, velvety, it’s fabric too fancy for me to recognize, are ten angelic, blooming white lilies with dainty stems of white baby’s breath. Who are these from? And why?
My first thought is my mother, but when I see the note card attached, I’m all too eager to tear it off, and have to force myself to gently untangle it from the ribbon tying it to the bouquet.
The note is in a matching navy envelope, about the size of a business card. Handwritten in pleasingly elegant cursive it reads: “I’ll make it up to you. J.”
That rat bastard. I can’t be mad at him for too long even if I want to. Flowers?
I gingerly pick up the bouquet and unlock my front door. He must have really gone through a lot to get these. New York City might be the city that never sleeps, but flower shops still close, and to get them delivered within only a few hours? He must have spent a fortune.
The flowers really are gorgeous, and my heart is warmed. I’m not usually the type to forgive and forget when something is important to me, but the gesture is spoken for. Rishi and I ended up having a great time anyway.
But something sticks with me still. Why would Jae do that?
He was roommates with Rishi all those years ago and maintained the friendship this long.
He saw my struggle on my first date with Ethan and my first date with Rishi.
He was normally kind, compassionate and sympathetic. What in the world made him do that?
The question irks me as I feed and walk Lily. It bothers me while I shower and get ready for bed. It’s completely out of character from everything I know about Jae.
What would drive a man to act like that?
I can only think of a few things. Jae’s act of sabotage is reminiscent of how a middle schooler acts when his friends are hanging out with other friends or how a dog growls when another dog gets too close to his own snack. Is he truly jealous I was on a date with his friend?
But he set us up!
And it finally clicks in my mind. He swiped right on me. He comforted me during my panic attack. He cooked for me. He took me on a practice date. The arms around me. The apology flowers.
Of course he’s jealous. He likes me, too.
I feel incredibly pleased with myself for figuring this out. Like a scientist discovering a new element, I’m proud of my detective work. I’m too pleased to let my grief ruin this for me. For the first time in a long time, I have two men vying for my attention and I feel like a princess at the debutante ball.
I take my phone out and begin to wage the internal battle of who I should text first.
Rishi or Jae.
And the decision is made for me when Jae texts.
Hey. I’m sorry for earlier. I don’t know what came over me.
I snap a photo of the flowers on my countertop and send it to him before I press the button to call. He picks up on the first ring.
“Hey—” Jae is ready to launch straight into an apology.
“Don’t,” I cut him off.
“I really didn’t know what I was thinking. I just really didn’t want you to be on a date with him.” His voice is solemn and more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard him speak. “But if you want to date him, you can.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him, nervous about the answer.
“I mean…” Jae’s voice trails off, almost silent.
And next thing I know, there’s a beep in my ear.
That motherfucker hung up on me!
I call back. The phone rings for several seconds and goes straight to voicemail.
And turned his phone off.
I debate going up to his apartment and knocking on his door, but I decide not to.
I look at Lily.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?”
Her response is a snort.