Chapter 14
14
T hat night, I dream of Grant.
It starts the same as every dream I have of Grant. Pleasant. Nonsensical. He’s dead. He’s alive, he’s back . And he’s still sorry he left me. He wants to get back together.
But this dream is different.
Jae is there and he’s saying: “Choose. Me or him.”
And dream me can’t stand the thought of losing Jae now. I’ve already lost Grant. But Jae, too? Unbearable.
I choose Jae. I just got him; how could I lose him already? I won’t lose him. Dream Jae is thrilled. He wraps his arms around me, and Grant begins fading away like the memory he is.
I wake up in a cold sweat. It’s the first time that dream has ever turned into anything more than me being upset with Grant for leaving. Like the sun over the river, it truly dawns on me that we never find our way back to loving the same way twice.
This is it. So much of grief is arguing with yourself.
This is my choice and my chance. My love for Grant is remade, reborn and re-stained into something fiery and new for someone else. I have to choose Jae; I think to myself.
Lily and I bask in the sunshine streaming in between the curtains. I’ve spent the better part of three years being sad, and I’m scared that I’m permanently impaired at this point, but I pet Lily’s pouty face, and announce to her, “This is it. I can do it. I’m brave enough.”
That afternoon, I work on my painting of Jae. I paint the twinkles of stars in the sky you’d never see in New York City, the steam of a bubbling pot, the wrinkles in a white cotton shirt. I step back and look at the painting.
It is a love letter to everything I know about him. I might not be good with words from my brain to my tongue, but at least I can paint a pretty picture of everything that goes on inside my head. I add highlights in his hair, shadows on the brick wall and sign it with a looping, swooping R and C.
I carefully take the wet painting off the easel, and when it’s dry in two to three weeks, I’ll give it to him. His oil painting, made with my own oil paints and feelings buried deep inside the colors.
Getting ready to meet Jae is agonizing. I’m looking forward to seeing him—but I feel frumpy in the yellow sundress I planned on wearing, and I’m desperate to find something that makes my outsides feel as good as my inside. I’ve worn sweats and ratty T-shirts for so long, any clothes that require actual matching and putting together make me feel out-of-place and homely. I switch to a marled periwinkle pull over sweater with jeans and chunky sneakers and hope for the best.
Evening rolls around and there’s a sharp knock on my door, I am barely ready. Cheeks red from blush or embarrassment, who knows, I undo the chain lock and peek through the crack before opening it fully.
Jae and I stand in the doorway like two courting teenagers on their first date to the Cracker Barrel, our parents eyeing us from two tables away. We both open and close our mouths like we have something to say, but no words come out.
“You’re something else, Riley.” Jae looks like he wants to whistle and is struggling to keep it in. He looks me up and down, and I let him.
Meanwhile, Jae is something else, himself.
His black hair is swept off his face by a pair of square Ray-Bans atop his head, and a red corduroy button up makes his brown eyes look especially golden brown, like cookie butter. There is simply no way to describe them other than delicious. His form-fitting jeans make me swoon in a way that’s totally inappropriate for the type of date we are about to go on.
I want to unzip his skin and climb inside like some kind of freak. I beg my brain not to say that aloud.
“You’re one to talk.”
“Ready?” he asks.
“One sec,” I step out and lock the door behind me. “I didn’t know you did pick-up and drop-off service.” Is it normal for your date to meet you at your door?
“Only for those who deserve it.”
We walk out of the building arm in arm, and I feel like I’m being walked to the prom. The only thing I’m missing is the corsage on my wrist. Getting on the train feels like something out of a romantic comedy and I can hardly contain myself.
I sit in the only empty seat, and Jae hangs onto the bar above my head, his chiseled torso approximately at my eye level. I just want to be at the restaurant, sitting on Jae’s lap. What has gotten into me? Every time I think of something suggestive, I act so surprised at myself, unable to believe I’m capable of such thoughts. But is it really that far-fetched for a grown woman to think about a crush?
The train flies by the two stops and we walk so fast, it feels like Jae has essentially teleported me from my apartment to the restaurant. The restaurant is dark, and Jae carefully seats me at the single set table. He lights candlesticks on a brass candelabra on either end of the bar I never noticed before. He lights two more attached to the wall, and then disappears into the kitchen.
I am exalted. Is all of this just for me?
It is.
Jae emerges with two orange cocktails that he describes as Italian Blood Orange Soda but without the cream.
“And with no alcohol,” he confirms after I ask.
I gingerly take a sip and confirm for myself.
I smile up at him, and he clasps his hands as if he were my waiter, and then backtracks into the kitchen, and I giggle at the sight of him doing a light skip through the door. I can’t wait to see what he’s cooked up for us. Surely, it’s going to be fantastic. So I’m surprised when he emerges with a large tray, a bowl of meat and several dozen dumpling wrappers.
When I question what’s going on, all he says is, “We’re making dumplings. Don’t over flour, don’t overfill and you’ll be good.” Jae mocks up a simple wrap up for me, a simple method where you pinch the ends of the dough together in the center, and then on either side. Then, you bring the ends of your semi-circle together to form a little round ball with a divot in the center. Seems easy enough.
I give it a go, and while it’s a little haphazardly done, Jae gives it a smile of approval. He works on other complicated techniques involving complicated pinching and twisting of dough. I have never felt so clumsy with my hands.
“Is this how you felt when I tried to show you how to paint?” I ask, holding up a disaster of a dumpling. He made it look so easy, but I’m struggling still.
“Yes, almost exactly.” Jae smiles bashfully. He stands up and walks around to where I’m sitting opposite him. “Let me show you.”
He spoons a clump of meat into a fresh wrapper and lifts it onto my cutting board. “Put your hands here.” He shows me where to put my hands, just barely holding onto the pliable dough. Placing his hands over mine, covered in flour, he goes through the motions.
“Don’t pinch too hard,” he instructs. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Bring the ends to meet in the middle.”
“Meet in the middle?”
“Meet in the middle.”
He places a perfectly, well done dumpling on the tray. I spoon myself a lump of meat into a new wrapper, trying to follow what he told me. Pinch. Pinch. Pinch. Meet in the middle.
I hold up a marginally better dumpling.
“Not bad, he laughs. “Now, I’ll do the rest.”
“I think that’s for the best.”
I sip on my drink, intently watching Jae fold dumplings in intricate patterns I could only ever paint.
“Who taught you how to do these ones?” I ask, pointing to something that looks like a flower.
“YouTube,” Jae barks out a laugh.
“Really? Not an old, family secret?”
“Maybe starting now it will be.” Jae winks. “What kind of shoes are you wearing? Are they non-slip?”
I bring a foot up to show him my sandals. “I don’t think so?”
“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.’
We carefully walk into the kitchen, where Jae has a bubbling fryer already popping with oil. He carefully drops about half the dumplings into the vat and then walks me over to the stove.
“I’m going to pan fry these. They’ll be crispy on the bottom but soft on the top, yeah?” He looks at me for approval.
“Sounds good to me.” I smile. “Fried anything sounds good to me, if I’m being honest.”
Jae goes back and forth between the fryer and the pan, like the true line cook he is, while I stand behind the large commercial kitchen style island counter in front of the stoves. He banished me there after he turned the stoves on, for fear I might set myself on fire.
He gives me two large pearlescent white plates and directs me over to a refrigerator where there’s an already dressed cranberry arugula salad waiting. I use a massive pair of tongs to place heaps of salad onto each plate.
This date just feels like hanging out. And I’m glad for it. I don’t think I could handle the pressure of a real date. Getting dressed up. Going to a fancy restaurant. Having to talk about myself. Deciding who pays. Having something to do with my hands has taken my mind off my anxiety about the fact I’m on a date.
Maybe it’s on purpose. And if it is, Jae sure has good intuition. I try not to psych myself out as he places perfectly fried dumplings on each plate. We each take one and make our way back to the dining room. Jae takes a pitcher from behind the bar and refreshes our drinks without me even asking.
When he sits down opposite me, I ask, “Food is kinda how you show love, isn’t it?”
I thought he would falter at my use of love but he doesn’t hesitate, not even for a minute.
“Yeah. It kinda is.” We do a cheers with our dumplings instead of our drinks.
“What’s your favorite dish to make?” I ask, violating Jae’s rule on not talking with your mouth full.
“Dumplings.” Jae grins through a stuffed mouth. “Even though they’re not on my usual menu.”
We eat and chat and I feel at peace. This is the kind of date I was meant for. I’m not worried about what happened with Ethan or Rishi. I feel like Jae knows me so well already. There’s no crowded, bustling restaurant. There’s no pressure to get to know him in ninety minutes or less.
It’s just two friends, and some fried dumplings. What more could a girl want?
“Are we friends?” I ask when we’ve finished eating.
“Of course,” Jae answers. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Because of what happened.” My totally sudden kiss and then running away like some kind of freak. And the phone sex.
“I’m always your friend, Riley,” Jae tells me, shifting in his chair from across the table. “I’m your friend first. That hasn’t changed.”
“I don’t want that to change. You’ve been a good friend to me.”
“Then it won’t change.” Jae looks disappointed for a brief moment, but his face changes quickly when he realizes I’ve noticed. I want to be more than just friends. But I don’t want to lose him entirely in the process. “Unless you want it to,” Jae adds at the last second.
“No, I always want you to be my friend,” I reassure him. “Do you want to come back to my apartment? To see Lily?” I stall.
“I’d be remiss not to,” Jae smiles. “Help me clean up first.” I blow out the candles while Jae closes the kitchen. I wait for him by the door, and when he reaches me, he takes my hand in his. Jae’s palm is undeniably soft and the way his fingers curl around mine makes my heart pound.
At our building, I unlock my door and Jae follows me in. Lily greets us like a silly little clown, paw over paw in the doorway, and there’s a smile on Jae’s face as he coos at her like the little baby she is.
I put the tea kettle on and get two mugs out of the cabinet while Jae walks over to the window where I have my painting station set up.
“It’s not quite as big as the studio in the old apartment, but it works,” I tell him, as he flips through some of the sketches I left out.
I’m turning to pour hot water when I hear him ask, “What’s this?”
Ah, fuck. It’s the painting of him.
“It’s a gift,” I swallow my pride. “It’s for you.”
He studies it for a moment, his face unsure what to make of what he’s taking in.
“Who is that?” he asks.
“It’s you.”
“This is gorgeous, Riley.”
“You’re just saying that.”
He asks me a string of questions and I don’t get a chance to answer any of them before he asks another. “How long did this take you? Why me? Did you do this all by yourself?”
“Two weeks. Yes, I did this by myself.”
I don’t answer why I chose to paint him. It’s because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He sets the painting down back where he found it and puts me on the spot again.
“Why’d you paint me, though? We barely knew each other when you started this.”
I take a heaping gulp of air. How do I answer this without making it seem like I’m a creep?
The grin on his face tells me everything I need to know. He’s putting two and two together from my silence. “Why’d you paint me, Riley?” Jae’s voice is sing-songy as if he’s caught me in some bad act.
“Why do you think, Jae?” I return his vivacious smile. I can put him on the spot too.
He swiftly, unexpectedly pulls me into his arms, and I am the one in the hot seat again.
“Be honest with me, Riley.” I shudder as he presses a hand into the small of my back, the other hand traveling up my neck to the back of my head, tousling my hair in a way that suggests less like, you young scamp, you! and more like, so fucking sexy. “Why’d you paint me?”
When his eyes meet mine, I have no choice but to answer honestly. I try to make it clear that all I’ve been doing since yesterday is yearning for the sweetness of his lips and the cradle of his arms.
“Don’t be cruel, Riley. Tell me.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
I can’t tell if he’s satisfied with my answer, because his face doesn’t change. The only thing that changes is that his grip on my neck tightens, and I could easily be brainwashed into killing for this man. There is no way I could break free from his grip, even if I wanted to, but I don’t.
“I need you to kiss me,” I tell him.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either, Riley.” Jae’s face is wickedly close to mine, and if he weren’t holding my neck, I’d crane closer and kiss him like I was on fire. But he has a hold on me. “But I want you to be sure before we go any further.”
I’m sure, I think to myself. “I’m sure.” I say aloud to him, willing him with my mind to touch me anywhere besides my neck and back.
“Are you, love?” Jae’s eyes are conniving thieves, draining my energy with them. This is almost as good as any kiss. I am completely and utterly tempted. If I weren’t any smarter, I’d think Aphrodite was this man. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I could never regret you.”
But he’s hit a heartstring and my confidence is dwindling. I have been known to regret—even if the only thing making me regret is grief.
“I know this is complicated with me,” I say. My voice is hoarse. “But I need you to kiss me, Jae.”
He presses a delicate kiss to the top of my head, his hands on the nape of my neck pulling me forward.
I release a coarse laugh. “That is not the kind of kiss I meant.”
“What kind of kiss did you mean?” Jae asks, his eyes killer and vicious.
“You know the kind I mean.”
He presses another kiss to my forehead. “Like this?”
I am growing antsy and impatient. “No, try again.”
“Why don’t you just show me?” He laughs a little, a smile growing on his tender lips.
If I could just reach out and touch them…
I do.
I run my thumb over his full, pink lips, stained orange by our drinks. I really, really want to climb inside this man and make my home here. Why don’t I show him?
I put a gentle kiss on his lips, much gentler than my body yearns for. A kiss that says, you are worth the wait. He takes a shuddering breath, and I can tell he too is growing impatient by the way both of his hands have slid down to my ass, bracing me tightly, closely against him.
“Is that what you mean, love?” Jae asks me, his hands cupping my butt, his arms straining, desperate to pick me up.
His voice echoes in my head. He doesn’t want me to regret it. Let’s go slow.
“It’s what I meant.”
He finally lifts me in the air, and I wrap my legs around him. I get a whiff of his cologne, and I am immediately an addict. He smells like citrus neroli and fresh ginger. He places me onto my sofa, and stares at me for what seems like an eternity before leaning down over me and slowly pressing his lips into mine.
His kiss lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like another miniature eternity before he slides his tongue over mine, giving me a taste of blood orange and his breath. The butterflies in my tummy take over and before I can reach up and grab his face to pull him into me, he’s broken away and taken a step back.
“I think I should go home,” he says, hurriedly turning around.
“What? Why?” I’m startled back into real life, out of the daydream I was in.
“It’s getting late,” Jae says, still not turning around, searching for his long-forgotten sunglasses.
“So what?” I ask, craving another hit from his touch. I am an addict. The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them yet again. “Just stay here.”
That gets him to turn around. And my eyes are immediately drawn to what he clearly didn’t want me to see. The front of his pants bulges spectacularly out of shape and I am enthralled. The monster inside of me, totally pleased, saying, this is exactly what I wanted. But it’s clear that this isn’t what Jae wants.
I want him to stay and shed his clothes. Give me all he’s got.
“You don’t have to stay,” I gulp.
“I’ll call you before you go to bed.”
Who is the one who wants to go slow? Me or him?
It’s decidedly him when he’s trailing out the door, and I am left on my couch alone.