I look at the ominous text that I got two hours ago.
Mom: Call me at lunch. It’s important.
From my mother, this could mean anything. It could mean someone died…or it could mean something completely innocuous. Last time she sent a message like this, my dad had pneumonia. The previous time, there was a product recall for something I’d never heard of. And the time before that? She saw a groundhog.
Yet despite the text, there’s a spring in my step as I head to a park near the office. It’s the last Friday in September, and the weather is beautiful. Once I talk to my mother, I’ll be able to enjoy my lunch break. Hopefully.
My favorite bench—under a maple tree that’s just beginning to turn red—is empty. Perfect! I take a seat, then set my food beside me and give her a call.
“Zoe,” she says. “Finally.”
“You said lunchtime, and it’s twelve fifteen.” And if I’d called right after she’d texted, she would have gotten annoyed with me for not doing as she asked.
She clicks her tongue, and my heart rate kicks up as I wait for her to explain why she needs to speak to me.
“Can I donate your black dress?” she asks at last.
I shut my eyes and sigh. Hopefully, she doesn’t hear that. Why couldn’t she have just asked in a text? Or told me that she had a minor question, rather than making me worry? I’ve tried to explain this to her before, but she doesn’t seem to get it. “Which one?”
“You got it from Le Château, I think, and wore it to a semi-formal in grade eleven. You know, the time you had a secret boyfriend.”
Her voice still holds a hint of annoyance for something I did over a decade ago. My brother and I were forbidden from dating in high school, so when I started seeing someone, I didn’t tell her. When she found out, she was furious, and more than ten years later, she hasn’t fully gotten over it. There are even a few incidents from when I was a small child that she holds against me.
I don’t understand. It sounds exhausting.
From a young age, I swore I’d never be like my mom. I wouldn’t resent people for minor things they did years ago. I would forgive and move on; I would look forward and not back.
I don’t address her comment about the secret boyfriend. “Sure, you can donate it. I didn’t know you still had it.”
We talk for a few more minutes before I end the call. Then I send a text to my brother and open up my lunch.
Although it’s the first week of autumn, it still feels like summer, but soon the weather will begin to cool. It’s a wonderful time of year to have a boyfriend. Being part of a couple makes the fall season even better, and unlike last September, I do have a boyfriend to cuddle up with me as the weather gets chillier.
Clifton Chung and I have been together for five months. Tomorrow, we’re going to a cidery north of the city, and I have lots of plans for things we can do in the next several weeks to enjoy the fall. Apple picking. A pumpkin patch. And then there’s the couples Halloween costume competition. It might take a little coaxing, but I’m sure Clifton will agree to participate. I love dressing up.
When I finish my food, I close my eyes and tip my head toward the sun, enjoying the warm—but not oppressively hot—air on my skin. Just a few more minutes before I return to the office, and after work, I’m having happy hour drinks with a friend.
It’s going to be a great weekend. I can just feel it.
My phone vibrates.
Karina: Sorry, I’m really not feeling well. I won’t be able to make it tonight.
Oh no! I ask if she wants me to grab her anything, but she assures me she just needs sleep. I hope she feels better soon. Maybe we can meet up next Friday instead.
Still, I’m looking forward to the weekend, and I’m determined to make the most of it.
* * *
At six o’clock, I walk out of the elevator and head toward the apartment that I share with my best friend. I’ve known her since grade two. I had to switch schools because my family moved, and it was a little terrifying to be the new girl, but Macy befriended me immediately. We’ve been close ever since.
I turn the key in the lock and step inside. I can’t wait to change out of my work clothes and put on a nice pair of fuzzy pants. I slip off my shoes and—
Wait. What’s that sound?
There shouldn’t be anyone here. Macy took the day off to visit her sister in Belleville, and she’s not supposed to be back until Sunday.
I suck in a breath. Is there an intruder?
No, it’s more likely that Macy didn’t go to Belleville after all—maybe her sister, like Karina, is sick—though it’s weird she didn’t text me about the change in plans. Still, I grip the keys in my hand, just in case I need to stab someone in a ski mask.
“Macy?” I say as I step down the hall toward the kitchen.
No response.
But there’s a repetitive slapping sound, like…skin against skin?
I turn the corner and shriek.
There, on a kitchen chair, is Macy. Naked. She’s bouncing up and down on very familiar man, and her response to my shriek is delayed, like she’s stuck in a sex bubble. But then she freezes, and her eyes widen in horror. As do mine.
Because yeah, I just walked in on my roommate and my boyfriend.
“What the fuck?” I say. “What the fuck?”
I’m incapable of speaking any other words. I press a hand to my chest and step backward.
Macy jumps up. “I thought you were having happy hour drinks?” she says accusingly, as though I’m the one in the wrong here.
I cover my eyes and turn away. “How long has this been happening?”
“It started today,” she says, at the same time as Clifton says, “One month.”
For fuck’s sake.
I glance at my former boyfriend. I’ve seen him fully naked many, many times before, but now, the sight hurts my eyes.
“In case it’s not clear,” I say, “we’re over. Put on some damn clothes.” To my satisfaction, my voice is crisp and commanding, even though I feel light-headed.
I stalk into my bedroom, shut the door, and lean back against it. I’m trembling; I need a moment to compose myself.
Clifton and Macy?
I won’t be able to get that image out of my head for a long, long time, and the idea of staying in this apartment makes me want to shriek again.
What. The. Hell.
I pull my large suitcase out of the closet and begin throwing things into it. I can’t think straight; I just know that I have to leave and should pack anything I might need. Socks. Underwear. T-shirts. Blouses. Work pants. Jeans. Pajamas. Laptop and tablet and skincare products.
“I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”
I jump at Macy’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway, wearing shorts and a T-shirt—at least she’s clothed. I glare at her.
“How did you mean for me to find out?” I ask sarcastically.
She twists her hands together and doesn’t answer my question. “I didn’t intend for this to happen, Zoe, I swear. It’s just…he came by to surprise you last month. You weren’t home, and he opened up to me about some of the problems in your relationship. One thing led to another and…well.”
She looks a little embarrassed, but she hasn’t apologized. She’s acting like it’s just something that transpired, something outside her control.
It pisses me off.
“The problems in our relationship?” I clench my jaw. “The biggest problem is that he’s fucking my best friend!” I pause before amending that statement. “Former best friend.”
I can’t fully wrap my head around this. I’ve known Macy for twenty-three years. How could she do this to me? I’d never dream of sleeping with one of her exes, even after they’d broken up, but clearly, she viewed our friendship a little differently.
I toss a few more things in my suitcase and start zipping it up. The zipper sticks.
“Fuck!” I cry.
Fortunately, I get it moving again a moment later. I’m glad something is going my way.
“Where will you stay?” Macy asks as I roll the suitcase out of my bedroom.
“Why do you care?” I shoot back.
“You don’t sound like yourself right now. I’m worried about you.” She touches my shoulder, and I flinch.
“I’ll be fine.” I grit my teeth.
I shove my feet into my running shoes, grab the heels I was wearing earlier, and glance toward the other end of the apartment. Clifton is casually sitting on the couch in his boxers. What did I ever see in that asshole?
I’m about to leave when my gaze snags on his phone, sitting on the floor. I guess it ended up there when they tore off each other’s clothes. I should have noticed it—and his shoes—when I arrived ten minutes ago.
Impulsively, I lunge for the phone and hurry out the door.
Well, so much for having a great weekend…and a cozy autumn with a boyfriend.
I can’t believe I was so wrong about everything.
I stand in front of the building where I (used to) live and debate where to go. My parents’ house isn’t an option. I don’t want them to know what happened. If I tell my mom and dad about a problem, it just creates another problem I need to deal with. Karina is out, too—I’m not going to show up at her door while she’s sick. Actually, none of my friends have much in the way of extra space. Nor does my brother, but he’s the closest.
Yes, Eddie and Chantal’s place is my best bet. I can sleep on their couch while I figure out what to do about my living situation. I text Eddie to tell him that I’m coming over.
My brother is less than two years older than me, so he doesn’t remember life before I came along. Sure, he might be responsible for the scar on my ankle, as well as some terrible nicknames, but we’ve always had each other’s backs. I know he’ll be understanding.
Adrenaline is still coursing through my body as I reach the subway station and maneuver my suitcase down to the southbound platform.
I can’t believe I’m in this situation. It’s certainly worse than the other time I caught someone cheating on me. That boyfriend I kept a secret from my mother? Three days after she found out about him, I saw him kissing another girl at school. (Not a friend of mine; I didn’t even know her name.) Macy was outraged on my behalf, which I find grimly amusing now.
My head continues to buzz as I ride the subway. All I can focus on is getting to Eddie and Chantal’s apartment—and that does take some determination. As I approach their building on foot, my pace slows. I’m starting to tire. But there’s a familiar Black woman by the door, taking out her keys.
“Chantal!” I shout.
She turns. “Zoe? I didn’t know you were coming.”
I jog toward her, the sight of someone I know giving me a surge of energy. “Uh, yeah. Something happened, and I’ll need to crash with you two for a few nights.”
Her brows knit together. “What’s wrong?” she asks in a soft voice.
Eddie and Chantal have been together for seven years, and they got married in the spring. I’d only just started dating Clifton, and I didn’t bring him to the wedding. Now, I’m very, very glad for that decision. How awkward would it be to see him in the pictures?
“I’d rather tell you and Eddie together,” I say.
We ride the elevator up to the twelfth floor. As soon as we step inside the apartment, Eddie greets us. He glances at my suitcase, then looks back at my face.
“What happened?” he asks. “Do you need wine?”
He knows me well.
“Please,” I say.
A few minutes later, the three of us are seated in the living room with glasses of white wine. Mine is much fuller than everyone else’s.
“I was supposed to have drinks with a friend after work,” I say, “but she’s sick. So, I got home earlier than expected and found Macy and Clifton having sex.”
“No,” Chantal whispers, her hand going to her mouth.
“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters.
You see? We’re definitely siblings. We look alike, too—and not in the way that some white people, like Macy’s mother, think all Asian people look alike.
“Obviously,” I say, “I couldn’t stay there.”
Macy’s parents own the place, so if one person is going to leave, it’s me. I didn’t worry too much about that when I moved in—we’d been friends for ages, after all—but now…
“You can stay here as long as you need.” Eddie doesn’t suggest I go to our parents’ house, even though they have more space. He understands precisely why that’s not an option.
I take a sip of my wine, then burst into tears. I can’t hold them back any longer, and it’s a relief to let them out. Slumping against the back of the couch, I let myself wallow in self-pity for a minute.
Eddie shifts closer and puts his arm around me, while Chantal reaches for a box of tissues.
“That piece of shit,” he says. “What do you want me to do to him?”
My brother’s joking—I can’t imagine him doing more that squashing a mosquito.
At least, I think he’s joking.
I shake my head and pour more wine down my throat. Then I grab a tissue.
Look forward, I remind myself. I should focus on fixing my living situation and moving onward, not on the betrayal by both Macy and Clifton. What good will come from dwelling on that? I don’t need to get back at them.
Although it is tempting…
“I took his phone,” I say suddenly. “Just grabbed it on the way out. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll keep it for a few days, I guess.”
Chantal nods. “He deserves it.”
She and Eddie look at each other with those meaningful glances that couples sometimes exchange. I can’t help feeling a little envious, but I paper it over with a smile and more wine.
“What do you want to do tonight?” Eddie asks.
Well, spray painting flowers on Clifton’s car sounds appealing, as does shrinking Macy’s favorite sweaters in the dryer.
“Get drunk,” I reply instead.
Surely, by tomorrow, my desire for revenge will be a thing of the past.
* * *
I was wrong.
On Saturday evening, I continue to think about revenge as I toss and turn on Eddie and Chantal’s couch. Whenever I close my eyes, I see Macy riding Clifton on one of our kitchen chairs, and it isn’t conducive to falling asleep.
With a sigh, I pick up my phone. I’ve gotten another text.
Macy: You really need to return Clifton’s phone. This isn’t like you. Why are you being so immature?
I’m the one who’s immature? Really?
Then I focus on the rest of the message.
This isn’t like you.
True, I rarely get angry, but what did she think would happen when I found out about her and Clifton? Was she really convinced they’d get away with it? Did Clifton plan to break up with me and switch to dating Macy?
I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, though it seems like she counted on me being forgiving. But she can’t truly expect me to remain her best friend and roommate, can she?
It’s not like I’m a doormat—I state my thoughts and feelings—though I make a point of not dwelling on the negative. On looking forward, not back.
Where has that gotten me?
I’m thirty years old. My boyfriend just cheated on me with my best friend, and I’m sleeping on my newlywed brother’s couch.
It’s not exactly what I want out of life.
I wasn’t set on being married by my thirtieth birthday, but I did assume I’d be in a long-term relationship. I wouldn’t have a history of relationships that never worked out.
And I wouldn’t have also lost my longest friendship.
I think back to my birthday in March. I had plans with my family on the weekend after, but Macy insisted we do something on the actual day. I picked out a restaurant that I’d been dying to try, but she pouted and suggested another place. One of her favorites. They were about the same price, so it wasn’t because of the cost. I’d argued for the first restaurant, but she continued to resist, so I tamped down my irritation and agreed to her suggestion.
Though I didn’t let it bother me then, it bothers me now. It was my thirtieth birthday!
Next, I recall our trip to New York last year. It’s not as if every single thing we did was her idea and my suggestions were always shot down—but it’s pretty close. Most of the time, I was the one making compromises, telling myself it was no big deal. We never left Manhattan, even though there were multiple things I wanted to see elsewhere.
As I think of it now, I feel slightly nauseous. Why was I so accommodating?
Yeah, I’m not going to be that person anymore. I’m also not going to be like my mom, who holds things against me that I did when I was five, but surely, it’s fair to hold a grudge against Macy and Clifton. It’s fair to want a little revenge.
Me: I’ll return it tomorrow evening when I come by to grab more of my stuff.
I’m not sure where I’m going to put it all, but I can figure that out tomorrow. I just need to get it out of there as soon as possible because I don’t trust Macy. Maybe I’ll ask Karina if I can keep some things at her place.
Macy: You’re moving out?
Me: Obviously
Macy: Where are you going to live???
Me: Why do you care? If you really cared, you wouldn’t have slept with my boyfriend.
She stabbed me in the back, and I can’t pretend otherwise.
Me: And if you say I owe you rent for October, I’ll tell your parents what happened.
Macy: You wouldn’t! That’s not fair.
Ha! I kick my feet, gleeful at her outrage. It’s pretty rich for her to be talking about fairness right now.
Me: I absolutely would.
She’ll have to suffer some consequences, and that will be my revenge. Finding another roommate who will put up with her might not be easy, and I know she can’t afford the place by herself.
However, that only hurts Macy, not Clifton. Unless they stay together. Then maybe she’d ask him for money—or if he wants to move in with her.
Still, it’s not enough. I need him to suffer.
As soon as the words enter my mind, I feel guilty. These thoughts—and my reaction to Macy’s last text—are against my nature.
Except I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m going to do a better job of sticking up for myself and making people pay if they deserve it.
I wonder if Clifton ever cheated on a girlfriend before. I think of him sitting on the couch in his boxers, unbothered by the situation, and it pisses me off.
We were supposed to be sipping cider on a patio today, and now…ugh.
He ruined all my plans for autumn!
Of course, given what a piece of shit he turned out to be, I’m glad our relationship is over, but I’m still pissed.
Clifton usually has a laidback charm, but I recall a situation that made him sweat: the time we encountered one of his exes while on a date. Though he tried to play it cool, it was clearly an effort. Later, he told me that she was a little unstable and that’s why he broke it off.
Now, I’m annoyed at myself for believing his words. Maybe he cheated on her and was afraid she’d warn me about him?
I don’t want to see his face again, but if I could encounter him in a situation where I had the upper hand, where I could make him sweat…that would be worth it.
I think of how I threatened to tell Macy’s parents if she asked for rent money. I could, of course, contact Clifton’s parents—I can get their info from his phone—and tell them the truth. They already favor his older brother and…
That’s it! His brother!
Bennett Chung is the CEO of T&R Mart, the largest Asian grocery chain in Canada. Clifton always spoke of his brother as a cold, calculating asshole of a businessman, though I’m now questioning the veracity of his claims.
I look up Bennett on my phone. There are a few pictures of him, and he’s not smiling in any of them. Well, he’s attempting to smile in one photo, but it’s a little wonky. The smile of someone whose lips aren’t used to moving in that direction, perhaps. He doesn’t look much like his younger brother.
I grab Clifton’s phone, and after a moment’s hesitation, I enter his PIN. I watched him enter it once and memorized it, just in case I ever needed it. (I know, I know, it was terrible of me, but I couldn’t help it. Now, it feels like part of me knew he’d betray me.)
Though I feel a little guilty for snooping, I’m just after one particular piece of information, and besides, Clifton was balls deep in my roommate yesterday.
I scroll through his contacts and quickly find Bennett’s number.
Nothing will make Clifton squirm more than learning that I’m dating his brother…and having to encounter me at a family dim sum. Or possibly their joint birthday celebration in late November? Clifton and Bennett have the same birthday, a fact that my ex utterly loathed.
I cackle. Yes, I actually cackle like a movie villain. I think this revenge business will be fun.
I add Bennett Chung’s number to my phone and decide I’ll text him tomorrow.
Except he’ll probably ignore a text or call from an unfamiliar number.
Better to go to his house. Clifton once mentioned that Bennett lives not far from my (former) apartment, so it shouldn’t be hard to get there. If I can find his address, that is.
I pick up Clifton’s phone again and scroll through their text history. They exchange a tiny fraction of the texts that Eddie and I do, and most are regarding their parents. Eventually, I manage to find an address from two years ago. It’s in the neighborhood that I expected, so I think he still lives there.
I pump my fist in victory. My plan for revenge is coming together. Yay!
Tomorrow, I’ll pay a visit to Clifton’s brother.
* * *
Sunday morning, I wake up to laughter coming from the bedroom, followed by a soft…
Shit. I think my brother and his wife are getting it on.
Which they are perfectly entitled to do, of course. They’re in the bedroom with the door closed, and it’s their apartment. I bet they’re looking forward to being rid of me, even though they won’t say as much.
I’ll get out of their way as soon as I can. After my trip to Bennett’s house, I’ll prioritize finding a place to live. Since that might take a little while, I’ll leave some of my stuff here and crash on a friend’s couch. Give them time alone.
I’ve already showered and made coffee by the time Eddie and Chantal emerge.
“Good morning,” I say, ignoring the fact that my brother’s hair is sticking up in about ten different directions. “I’m going to have breakfast, then go shopping. You know, buy some clothes for my new single life.”
Eddie and Chantal exchange one of those looks again.
“Do you want company?” Chantal asks.
“I’m meeting Fiona and Claire,” I lie.
I’ll tell my brother and sister-in-law about my plan soon, but a part of me fears that if they knew, they’d try to talk me out of it, and I don’t want any negativity right now. Best to wait until Bennett agrees.
If he agrees. I don’t know for sure that he will. He might raise a single eyebrow when he hears the details, then refuse to participate. Not that I’ve ever met him before, but he sounds like the sort who’d be able to raise a single imperious eyebrow.
After downing two cups of coffee—to make up for my poor night’s sleep—and some eggs, I take the subway north and get off at my usual station. Except this time when I exit the station, I head east instead of west, and less than ten minutes later, I reach Bennett’s home.
It’s a two-story house with a brick-and-stone exterior. Built in the last ten or fifteen years, I assume. More than enough space for a single man, but Bennett has done quite well for himself. In fact, he could probably buy something more impressive with his money, even though houses in Toronto aren’t cheap. The old bungalow next door, for example, is probably still worth a small fortune.
My heart pounding, I ring the doorbell. And wait.
No answer.
I knock, just in case.
Still no answer.
Maybe he doesn’t answer the door to strangers—I should have thought of that—but this seemed like a better bet than calling.
Or maybe he isn’t home.
I look at my phone. It’s noon.
Crap. It’s Sunday, and Clifton’s parents always have dim sum on Sunday. Clifton usually doesn’t go, but Bennett rarely misses it. When my ex told me that, he rolled his eyes as if to say, isn’t my brother a suck-up?
Yeah, Bennett is probably at dim sum. Since I have nowhere else to be, I sit down on the porch and wait. I pull up the group chat that I have with a few other Asian women, including Karina. We met several years ago, and we get together once or twice a month for a themed movie night. Thankfully, none of them are friends with Macy.
But as I type out what happened and my plan, I begin doubting myself. I delete the words and put down my phone.
Sitting on Bennett’s porch in the light of day, my revenge plot seems more ridiculous than it did last night. This is a terrible idea, isn’t it?
Except I’m still overcome with the need to take action. I feel like I have nothing to lose, and revenge could be entertaining. I’m not going to share the plan until it’s in place, though—I won’t give my friends the chance to talk me out of it.
About fifteen minutes later, a sensible beige sedan pulls into the driveway, and a man steps out. He’s wearing a crisp, pale blue dress shirt and dark pants, his shoes polished.
I swallow hard as I rise to my feet.
Bennett Chung is even taller and more intimidating than I expected him to be. He’s scowling, despite the fact that it’s a beautiful day outside, but I suppose that’s to be expected, given there’s a strange woman on his porch.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he demands.
The Asian woman is wearing a bright yellow shirt that, frankly, makes my eyes hurt. I suppose some people might consider her cute, but I don’t care.
What the hell is she doing on my porch?
She lifts her chin, as if trying to summon courage, and pastes on a smile that’s almost obnoxious in its size.
“So nice to meet you, Bennett. I’m Zoe Shen.” She sticks out her hand.
I don’t shake it—and that has nothing to do with the bag of food I’m holding. I merely gesture for her to explain herself. She better get to it.
“I’m Clifton’s girlfriend,” she says. “Well, ex-girlfriend.”
I don’t let my face betray any emotion, but inwardly, I sigh. What has my good-for-nothing brother done now?
“If you don’t believe me, I have his phone. I can show you some pictures of us.” She pulls out a phone with a familiar case, enters the PIN, and loads the photo app. “He took a few last weekend…Oh shit!” She presses the phone to her chest.
I lean forward. What’s she hiding?
“Show me.” I don’t want any secrets.
“No.”
I make my hand into a fist so I don’t reach out to grab the device that’s currently nestled between her breasts. “Zoe…”
She holds out the phone, careful to keep the screen facing down. “Look, if you want to see a picture of your brother’s balls, be my guest, but I wanted to spare you the experience.”
I wince. “Yes, I could do without that…experience.”
She shoves the phone into her purse and takes out a different one. Hers, I assume. The case is covered in sparkly rainbows. She quickly pulls up a photo and shows it to me. “See? I promise it’s not edited. We really were together.”
“Until…”
“Until Friday.”
She’s still not telling me what I want to know.
“What do you want?” I repeat. “Money?”
She shakes her head, a smile on her face. “No, I want revenge!”
I can hear the exclamation mark at the end of her sentence. I’ve never heard anyone utter that word so cheerfully before.
“You see,” she says, “on Friday after work, I was supposed to have drinks with a friend. But Karina was sick, so I got home earlier than planned, only to find my roommate—my best friend Macy—having sex with Clifton on a kitchen chair.”
“How lovely,” I murmur.
Her story all hangs together. I rarely speak to my brother, but back in the summer, my parents mentioned that he had a girlfriend named Zoe. They’d never met her, and they didn’t know much other than her name.
The infidelity? It fits with my brother’s character. It’s not the first time he’s cheated on a girlfriend.
I just don’t understand why she’s on my doorstep.
“I was pissed off,” she says, “which is why I stole Clifton’s phone before making my escape. Normally, I wouldn’t care about revenge, but I just lost my apartment and boyfriend and best friend all at once. And to make matters worse, it’s autumn.”
I don’t know what that has to do with anything. “Did you sign a lease? Even without one, you have rights.” Though I can appreciate that it would be awkward to stay there.
“I think I was technically a lodger, not a tenant, which gives me fewer rights.”
“Macy owns the place?”
“No, but her parents do. Anyway, I still have to figure out the whole apartment fiasco, but that’s not why I’m here.”
I really wish she’d get to the point. I assume she’s the sort of person who talks a lot when she gets nervous. Or maybe she just talks a lot all the time.
I repress a sigh. “Revenge, you said.”
She nods eagerly. “I want to get back at Clifton.”
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“By dating you!”
I couldn’t have heard that right. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“We should date. Pretend to date, I mean. Then you can bring me to a family dim sum or maybe your birthday dinner in November. We don’t necessarily have to tell your parents about the whole cheating thing. We can just watch him sweat. Worry that I’ll expose what he did.”
Apparently, I heard correctly.
Zoe’s not wrong: my brother would absolutely hate the potential of being embarrassed in front of our parents, especially during a long family meal.
However, it’s still a ridiculous plan.
“You thought I’d agree to this?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “I figured it was worth a shot. I know you’re single—well, I suppose you could be dating someone and Clifton didn’t know, but—”
“I’m single,” I say abruptly.
That other part of my life? It’s in the past.
“And I know you two aren’t close,” she says. “I don’t know the whole story, but he thinks it’s unfair that you’re the favorite.”
I don’t love hearing it put that way, but yeah, I suppose I am.
It’s not like my parents treat him poorly, though. In fact, they extend him quite a bit of grace, and it bothers them that their sons aren’t close.
“When he told me that,” she continues, “I was sympathetic, but after everything that just happened, I suspect they have their reasons. Anyway, I thought you might be interested.”
I maintain that it’s a ridiculous plan, though to my annoyance, the idea of pissing Clifton off is tempting. It feels childish, but it holds some appeal.
The mention of my parents also reminds me that they’ve been bugging me about my love life—or lack thereof. I’m thirty-eight and haven’t dated anyone in well over a decade, which concerns them. If I could briefly have a girlfriend—one they could meet—it would solve my problem, albeit temporarily. I don’t need them to sign me up for another co-ed softball league.
“I know you’re a busy man,” she says, “but this won’t take up too much of your time. Will you do it? Please?” She clasps her hands together.
Zoe isn’t the kind of woman I’d date—if I were interested in dating, that is. She’s annoyingly upbeat. Yet she’s the one who’s here, offering a solution to my troubles, and it would be most efficient to agree.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fine. It will be useful if my parents believe I’m in a relationship. I want them to stop bothering me about dating, so yes, I’ll be your fake boyfriend.” I wince as I say those last words, but Zoe doesn’t seem to notice.
“Yay!” She grins, then spreads her arms and leans in.
Does this woman want to hug me?
Fortunately, before I need to take an awkward step back, she puts her arms down. “Sorry. I should have asked. I can see you’re not a hugger.”
“Correct.”
“We’ll have to get comfortable with a small amount of physical affection—you know, for our act—but we have time. I copied your number from Clifton’s phone, so I can text you and we can discuss this further. I just came to your house today because I worried you might not answer a text or call from a number that wasn’t in your contacts list.” She puts a finger to her lips. “I suppose I could have texted you from his phone instead, then deleted the messages…”
I can feel a headache coming on, but to my distress, there’s one more thing I feel the need to discuss with her. “Where are you staying right now?”
“My brother’s place, but I want to get out of there soon because he’s a newlywed—well, they’ve been married since April. Does that still count as newlywed? Anyway, there are three of us in the one-bedroom apartment, so I don’t plan to stay there much longer. Maybe Karina’s…”
Oh god. I’m going to have to do it, aren’t I?
She doesn’t have a place to live, thanks to my asshole brother’s actions, and I can’t help feeling a tiny bit responsible. Of course, this isn’t my fault, but he’s my little brother. We’re seven years apart, and I remember when he came home from the hospital. There’s a picture of me holding him that day. I’m not smiling; no, I’m taking my task of supporting his head very, very seriously.
From the beginning, I looked out for him, and I can’t say I do it much anymore, but I still feel some responsibility for cleaning up his messes. Zoe is staying in a small apartment with two other people, and I have a whole house to myself, including a guest room that hasn’t been used since my aunt and uncle visited last fall.
I have a feeling I’m going to regret this, but I do it anyway.
“Why don’t you stay with me?”
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Jackie Lau 