asks, his eyes not meeting mine.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You don’t have to say anything. I understand,” I say with rancor.
“Emma…” he says in a beseeching tone. “I don’t think you understand,” he continues.
“Believe me, I do. I totally get it,” I say with finality.
“Em, it’s just that you’re not …”
“I don’t want to talk anymore, Jake,” I cut him off ruthlessly. I can only take so much and I know what he’s about to say. That I’m not Christina. I’m not the woman he loves. I’m not his type. I’m just somebody to warm the bed with. He couldn’t even go through with it. He loves her so much, he can’t be unfaithful.
I know I’m about to start crying again, so I hastily tell him, “Look, let’s not waste the Chinese take-out. Let’s put on some fresh clothes. We can eat in the garden for a change.” I don’t feel like eating and I don’t even want to look at him, but I have to pretend that I’m alright.
He looks at me doubtfully and doesn’t reply.
“Seriously, Jake, I’m okay. I can have everything ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Em.” He whispers my name again, but he clearly doesn’t know what to say. He sighs and replies, “Okay, let me go get dressed.” He leaves the room and I cover my face with my hands, sobbing for some time.
***
I’m in the kitchen preparing the tray with the cartons of food, plates, and cutlery when I hear Jake asking, “Can I do anything to help?” His hair is slicked back from a quick shower and his toned body shows in the t-shirt and khakis he’s wearing. He looks so good that I have to look away so he won’t see how drawn I am to him.
“No, everything’s set. You can carry the tray, if you like,” I say casually to him.
He picks up the tray and I open the sliding door on the side of the dining room for him to pass through. The exterior lights are on and the courtyard seems perfect for al fresco dining. We awkwardly eat in silence, passing the boxes to one another. I feel distinctly uncomfortable, so I begin the conversation to ease the tension.
“ I didn’t know you were a big fan of Mr. Chang’s.” Boring, but good enough.
“Don’t you remember when Charlie and I would come home after a game with boxes of chow mein?” he asks.
I do remember now. “Oh God, that’s right. Then you would get into an argument about which players sucked the most and noodles would fly in the air every now and then.” I can’t help but chuckle and he joins in. My brother is always a part of the conversation.
“Do you remember what we used to bring for you?”
“How can I forget? You charmed the server to give you a dozen fortune cookies.”
“Are you over them?”
“Not quite. To this day, I still crack open my fortune cookie, hoping for good fortune.” It’s true. I’m addicted to the little slips of paper. I get very upset when I get a bad saying, and then hedge my bets by getting a second one.
“I’m almost afraid to hand you your fortune cookie,” he says teasingly.
“Fork it up,” I say with a hand gesture. He grins and hands me one.
I eagerly break the cookie and reach for the slip of paper inside.
“What does it say?” he inquires.
“I don’t wanna say.”
“Em, it’s just for fun, you know. Is it really that bad?” He frowns.
“No, it’s actually really good.”
He raises his eyebrows. “A tall, good-looking man will invite you for dinner this week,” I say triumphantly. A frown mars his expression briefly.
Huh! Bet you didn’t see that coming. “Your turn,” I say.
He breaks his cookie and reads the slip silently. His demeanor is impassive.
“Well?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Em,” he says with humor.
“Oh, c’mon. I showed you mine. You show me yours,” I say without thinking.
“Here,” he says, as he passes me the paper.
On the paper is written: ‘Someone has googled you recently.’ I drop the slip as I start to choke on my orange chicken.
Jake hands me
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You don’t have to say anything. I understand,” I say with rancor.
“Emma…” he says in a beseeching tone. “I don’t think you understand,” he continues.
“Believe me, I do. I totally get it,” I say with finality.
“Em, it’s just that you’re not …”
“I don’t want to talk anymore, Jake,” I cut him off ruthlessly. I can only take so much and I know what he’s about to say. That I’m not Christina. I’m not the woman he loves. I’m not his type. I’m just somebody to warm the bed with. He couldn’t even go through with it. He loves her so much, he can’t be unfaithful.
I know I’m about to start crying again, so I hastily tell him, “Look, let’s not waste the Chinese take-out. Let’s put on some fresh clothes. We can eat in the garden for a change.” I don’t feel like eating and I don’t even want to look at him, but I have to pretend that I’m alright.
He looks at me doubtfully and doesn’t reply.
“Seriously, Jake, I’m okay. I can have everything ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Em.” He whispers my name again, but he clearly doesn’t know what to say. He sighs and replies, “Okay, let me go get dressed.” He leaves the room and I cover my face with my hands, sobbing for some time.
***
I’m in the kitchen preparing the tray with the cartons of food, plates, and cutlery when I hear Jake asking, “Can I do anything to help?” His hair is slicked back from a quick shower and his toned body shows in the t-shirt and khakis he’s wearing. He looks so good that I have to look away so he won’t see how drawn I am to him.
“No, everything’s set. You can carry the tray, if you like,” I say casually to him.
He picks up the tray and I open the sliding door on the side of the dining room for him to pass through. The exterior lights are on and the courtyard seems perfect for al fresco dining. We awkwardly eat in silence, passing the boxes to one another. I feel distinctly uncomfortable, so I begin the conversation to ease the tension.
“ I didn’t know you were a big fan of Mr. Chang’s.” Boring, but good enough.
“Don’t you remember when Charlie and I would come home after a game with boxes of chow mein?” he asks.
I do remember now. “Oh God, that’s right. Then you would get into an argument about which players sucked the most and noodles would fly in the air every now and then.” I can’t help but chuckle and he joins in. My brother is always a part of the conversation.
“Do you remember what we used to bring for you?”
“How can I forget? You charmed the server to give you a dozen fortune cookies.”
“Are you over them?”
“Not quite. To this day, I still crack open my fortune cookie, hoping for good fortune.” It’s true. I’m addicted to the little slips of paper. I get very upset when I get a bad saying, and then hedge my bets by getting a second one.
“I’m almost afraid to hand you your fortune cookie,” he says teasingly.
“Fork it up,” I say with a hand gesture. He grins and hands me one.
I eagerly break the cookie and reach for the slip of paper inside.
“What does it say?” he inquires.
“I don’t wanna say.”
“Em, it’s just for fun, you know. Is it really that bad?” He frowns.
“No, it’s actually really good.”
He raises his eyebrows. “A tall, good-looking man will invite you for dinner this week,” I say triumphantly. A frown mars his expression briefly.
Huh! Bet you didn’t see that coming. “Your turn,” I say.
He breaks his cookie and reads the slip silently. His demeanor is impassive.
“Well?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Em,” he says with humor.
“Oh, c’mon. I showed you mine. You show me yours,” I say without thinking.
“Here,” he says, as he passes me the paper.
On the paper is written: ‘Someone has googled you recently.’ I drop the slip as I start to choke on my orange chicken.
Jake hands me
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