Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Romeo
After Mom spoils us with one of her signature breakfasts (Dad's old favorite, an over-stuffed scramble with corn tortillas, extra queso fresco, and plenty of Trader Joe's salsa), she tortures us with a Galante-only round of twenty questions on our five-year plans.
Daniel aces every question, of course. In five years, he and Cynthia will own a home near the beach. The start-up she works for will be sold for a truly mind-boggling sum, and the two of them will be richer than god. So rich they won't need any of the family money.
And, oh yeah, maybe, at some point, we'll open that coffee shop.
At least he mentioned it.
I take his lack of interest in stride. After all, that's Daniel. He has a plan. He sticks to it. It will take him a while to change his mind about the best course of action. To even come to a decision.
Even though I tell Mama I don't want to jinx anything, since Ivy and I are new, she asks me to imagine anyway.
And, well, I do. I can. It's funny. I've always had her poetic temperament.
When I was young, I could imagine a future with a woman, even if we were only together for a night.
But all the futures ended the same way. We couldn't come together.
Or, worse, we did, and then I lost her.
And I fell apart and never put myself back together.
Better to stop those thoughts before they start. Better to keep things casual.
A long time ago, I stopped imagining possibilities. I decided they all ended the same way.
It feels strange to allow myself the freedom. It feels strange, to see a future so clearly and swiftly.
The two of us, in my apartment, on a lazy Sunday. I fix her tea. She shakes her head as the smell of coffee fills the space. Why does it always overpower everything? Why does it feel the need to announce itself this way?
She reads one of those memoirs she loves. Or maybe a study for work. I check numbers for the business. We go to the pool and hang out in the water, talking about nothing and everything.
Then a movie on the couch. Something smart. Intimate. She had a few DVDs on her bookshelf. Mostly quiet films about relationships. Not what I normally watch, but, somehow, there's an appeal to sitting next to her, to seeing wonder spread over her face.
Maybe we'd take turns, and she'd tease me over my taste in bad action movies.
After a while, we'd get married and buy a bigger place. I'd finish school. Get my MBA maybe. Make new friends, people who read books and pursue traditional goals. But the books help them think differently enough. Other business owners, maybe. Other people who value their independence.
A different life.
One where people respect me for my mind.
One where I allow people to see another side of me.
Where I risk getting hurt.
Mom leaves the conversation, happy and proud. She retires to her bedroom with her head held high.
Even Daniel smiles at my vision of the future. "I should ask Cynthia to replay that," he says. "Show Ivy your romantic side."
"What makes you think she hasn't seen it?" I'm not sure how to play this. Does he believe me or is he pushing me? It's hard to tell with him.
I glance at my phone to buy myself time.
Nothing from Ivy. Disappointment spreads through my stomach. It's mild. After all, it's only a lack of a text. It's not as if I expect to be the center of her universe.
She's busy with Cynthia.
I just—
I want to hear from her. Not as a client or conspirator. As something else.
I send her a message.
Romeo: How's the search going?
Daniel laughs as he takes in the sorry sight of me staring at my cell phone with longing. "You miss her already?"
"No," I insist.
"You really like her, huh?"
"Why would I bring over a girl I don't like?"
He shoots me a please look. "Mama thinks she can keep a secret. You know better."
So, he knows she's retiring, selling the house, doling out his half. I see it all in his eyes. Of course he knows. Hell, she probably talked to him about it. "Why isn't she giving you the house?"
"She offered," he says.
"You declined?" I ask.
He nods. "I told her to keep the money. Buy herself a nice villa. I don't need it. You don't need it."
"Nice of you to volunteer that for me," I say.
"I've seen your apartment, Rome," he says. "You're doing well." He doesn't add mysteriously well. Does it fill the air?
I can't tell anymore.
He leaves me room to brag. When I don't, he asks, "Are you not doing well?"
"No, I am." By any objective measure, I'm in a good place, financially. But it's like Sasha said: I'll have to keep working until my dick falls off. This isn't forever. It didn't bother me a month ago. Why does it suddenly bother me now?
"From your consulting work?" he asks.
"Is it that hard to believe?" I ask.
Mercifully, the buzz of my phone delays his reply.
Ivy: The search for a third for tonight? You're good with two guys, right?
Romeo: If that's a bluff, I'm calling it.
Ivy: And if I bring a guy to your mom's house?
Romeo: We can say it's part of your guest lecture on spicing up your marriage.
Ivy: Can you imagine?
Romeo: I can. It would happen. She'd say yes. "Don't be so upright, mi vito, pleasure is an important part of life. How can you have a happy marriage if you have a stale bedroom?"
Ivy: She would say that to you?
Romeo: I was thinking Daniel. Why? Do I need to hear it?
Ivy: Not yet. Time will tell.
My lips curl into a smile. When is the last time a woman challenged my sexual skill? It feels good, to have someone push me. To not coast.
When is the last time anyone looked close enough to wonder?
And it implies a future together. A future of sex together, yes, but that’s still a future. Even Daniel would agree sex is an important part of a relationship.
I like the vision of a future with her. There’s a beauty to it.
I like her.
Daniel chuckles in that knowing older brother way. Like we’re still close. Like he approves of me.
I try to ignore the pride that fills my chest, but I can't. So, I let it fill me anyway.
Romeo: Are you good to stay out with Cynthia all day? Or do you need help there?
Ivy: I'm good. But thanks for checking.
Romeo: You two talking about me?
Ivy: Constantly.
Romeo: What are you saying?
Ivy: Oh, you know how it goes, "Romeo's dick this, Romeo's dick that."
Romeo: Comparing me and Daniel?
Ivy: We did stop at the supermarket to look at some zucchinis, but that was totally unrelated…
Romeo: Really. Is she okay?
Ivy: I think so. Just nervous about the wedding. She's sweet. She loves him a lot.
Romeo: She does.
I look to my brother, who's, thankfully, now staring at his own phone rather than torturing me.
Romeo: I'm not sure he always sees it.
Ivy: He probably worries. You and Cynthia do have chemistry. Was there ever anything there?
Romeo: Between me and Cynthia?
Ivy: Yes. Did you ever like her that way?
Romeo: Mom thinks Daniel is worried about that.
Ivy: She's beautiful and you're old friends.
Romeo: She is, and we are, but no, never. We did hook up once, when we were young. Not sex. A sloppy make out session.
I don't question offering her the truth. I just do it.
Romeo: We had been drinking at a party. We were playing seven minutes in heaven, and she wanted to go for it. Get it over with. That's how it felt. Like she wanted to try something, with an available guy, a guy she trusted.
Ivy: Did you feel rejected?
Romeo: A little, maybe, but not because I liked Cyn. Because I wasn't used to being the one who was less interested. I was used to girls eating out of the palm of my hand. Even then.
Ivy: And you didn't like her? Didn't feel anything?
Romeo: No. It was nice, to kiss someone, the way it's always nice to kiss someone. But I didn't feel a spark. I never have. I've never been drawn to her, liked the way she smelled, any of that.
Ivy: Does Daniel know you kissed?
Romeo: I don't know.
Has she told him? It's not worth telling. It might ease his mind.
Or it might give him ideas.
Ivy: What is it like when you kiss me?
She's not jealous. I think. She believes me. And we are alone, so to speak, so this is a real question. I owe her a real answer.
Romeo: At first, I wasn't sure. Too much in my routine. Now, sparks. Every time.
Ivy: Me too.
"Rome." Daniel interrupts my contemplation. "I have a request from Cyn."
"Oh, do you need help taking a good picture?" I tease him. "Women don't usually want a straight dick-shot."
I expect him to flip me off. Instead, he laughs. "What makes you think her gallery isn't stocked?"
This is not the Daniel I know.
What the hell happened to my brother?
Maybe he did get into his fiancée’s stash.
"The sample cake is ready early," he says. "She wants us to test it."
"Us?" He hates dessert.
"You," he says.
I slip my cell phone into my pocket. "Ready when you are."
Of course, Cynthia picked a Vietnamese bakery all the way in Garden Grove. It's a nice place. Authentic. The sort of place where we used to go for raisin buns, perfect triangles, and coffee with way too much sweetened condensed milk.
This is a place we used to go as kids. All three of us.
Back then, it was a cute, no-frills sort of place, with white walls and rows of sweets in plastic. Now, it's different. Designed to attract another sort of client.
The walls are pink. The desserts are in French. And, sure, there's typically some French influence in Vietnamese cuisine, but I don't remember any of these from when we were kids.
This is—
Well, this is hipster shit.
We order black coffee with our test cake. It's a simple anniversary cake. Orange with almond icing. Like the cake they had on their actual first anniversary, way back when Daniel asked Mama to help him bake for the occasion.
Only made by experts this time.
Not that I'd ever suggest such a thing to Mom.
We take the cake and coffee to the silver chairs—those same ones in every hipster coffee shop.
"Is this what you see for the cafe?" Daniel looks around the space, noting the flow of customers. Mostly hipsters. Or at least the Orange County version. People with a lot of money and a desire to have something nice and new.
Not the cheap, authentic shop we loved.
Not a reflection of two cultures merging.
"No," I say. "I don't mind the prices. Or the decor, even. Though it is a little pink." Like a bottle of Pepto Bismol threw up on the walls. "I imagine something more subtle for us."
"The Mexican and Italian flags on the ceiling." He takes a sip of his coffee and shakes his head. "They're charging twice as much for coffee half as good."
"Your tastes changed."
"They did. And this is worse."
I test my coffee. Come to the same conclusion. "You tease, yes, but the flags have the same colors. It's not a bad idea."
"It's not the worst idea," he says.
"You always say Orange County is a perfect image of America as a melting pot," I say.
"Really? Do I work for the Orange County board of tourism?" he asks.
"It is," I say.
"People will like it," he says. "I don't argue with that. But this will be a lot of work, Rome. Whatever you're doing for money now is working. You're going to have to work twice as hard for half as much. And we need Mama’s cash to fund this. I don’t have the capitol. And I’m guessing you don’t either. "
I don’t. He’s right. "I know."
"We each need to put up half. I can’t do the whole thing.”
So I need to convince Mama to hand my share of the inheritance over now. I need Ivy around now. But I can do that. Whatever it takes. I nod, of course.
“And you're ready to give up your… job?" he asks.
"To go part time," I say. My business plan is reasonable. It assumes we won’t be in the black for a few years. But I’m ready to cut back on luxuries to make it work. Take on half the client load so I have more time for building something new.
If Mom does offer my inheritance now—
That’s start up cash and a few years to pay the bills. But I can’t count on that. She very well may stick with her edict to wait to deliver it as a wedding present.
He digs into the cake and takes a bite. He studies it slowly, noting the flavors, not at all pleased.
I try it too. There's nothing terrible about the cake, but it's not what I remember from our childhood.
It's not fantastic.
It's not even great.
"It's not good enough for her." He looks at the box with uncertainty.
"It's inspired by the cake Mom made, right?" I ask.
He nods.
"So why don't we replicate it?" I say. "You and me and one of her recipes."
"I don't have any."
"I do."
He raises a brow. Mom is secretive about her recipes. She doesn't give them to anyone. If she gave them to me, she might actually, you know, like me more.
But that isn't it. "I copied them after Dad died. Just in case she was too stubborn to leave them to either of us."
He chuckles. "She'll kill you if she finds out."
"I trust you not to rat."
"Have I ever?" he asks.
And I have to give him that. As difficult as he's been my entire life, he's never once told our parents one of our secrets.
We dump the cake and the coffee, climb into the car, head to the store, then to my apartment.
I start to set up in the kitchen.
He uses the bathroom.
And then he's straight to the point. Of course.
"Why don't I see any of Ivy's stuff here?" he asks.