by Jackie Lau
It takes me a minute to recover, and then, to my frustration, he stops moving.
“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks, grinning down at me.
“You bastard.” I try to roll us back over so I’m on top, but he’s too strong.
“I haven’t heard of that one. Is it recent?”
I’m not sure I’ve rolled my eyes when having sex before, but there’s a first time for everything.
“Come on, Vince.”
“Is that a movie about me? I suppose the title is appropriate.”
I shoot him a withering look.
“Okay, okay.”
He licks my nipple just the way I like it—he’s a quick study—before he begins thrusting again. God, he fills me just perfectly.
“I like you better when you’re doing, not talking,” I say, and he laughs.
We move in tandem until we tumble over the edge at the same time. Even though we haven’t known each other for long, it’s as though we’re already in sync.
When we collapse on our backs afterward, he says, “You have anything to do today?”
I shake my head.
“How about we make this a two-night stand instead?” He speaks with the confidence of a man who knows he won’t be turned down.
I want to wipe that smug smile off his face.
But even more than that, I want to spend more time with him.
I open my mouth to answer, but then his phone rings.
“Sorry, I have to get that.” He takes the call. “Hi, Po Po.”
His grandma. It’s rather charming that he’s interrupted our conversation for her.
“Yes,” he says. “I’ll be there.” He gets up and starts casually walking around the room—in the nude—as he speaks to his grandmother. It seems wrong, but I won’t deny I’m enjoying the view. “That happened one time... One time! I promise, I won’t forget.”
A part of me finds it disorienting that he’s talking to his grandma in English. In fact, part of me is disoriented by the fact that Vince Fong has a family, period, even though I know a little about them. He’s just not the kind of guy you imagine talking to his mom or grandma.
“No, you didn’t wake me up,” he continues, “but I can’t talk for long... Yes... I know. I know... Okay. Bye.”
When he ends the call, I see the background picture on his screen before he turns it off. Perhaps there’s a lot I don’t know about Vince.
Not surprising. After all, I have only one night, plus his reputation, to go on.
“Do you have a baby?” I ask.
“Nah, that’s my niece. Evie.” He smiles as he turns the screen back on and shows me a picture of him and Evie together. “That was yesterday afternoon.”
“She’s a cutie,” I say. Evie has pudgy cheeks and an adorable tooth-free smile. “How’s her mother doing?”
Babies are cute, but whenever I see one, I’m concerned about the mother. Pregnancy and caring for a baby can be difficult. My friend Pearl had it pretty rough.
But I don’t even know who Evie’s mother is. I shouldn’t have asked.
“She’s well,” Vince says, then flips to a picture of Evie and Pusheen.
And, okay, maybe the sight of the baby with Pusheen causes a slight stab in my chest. I always thought I’d be a mother, even though I know motherhood can be tough. I imagined I’d get married and have a baby and a house, and my child would grow up with a dad.
Unlike me.
My dad was, by all accounts, a fun and loving man, a devoted father.
But he died when I was three.
And now my biological clock is ticking, and I still can’t find the right guy.
“You okay?” Vince touches my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
He sits behind me and wraps his arms around my chest. I think he wants to ask why I look a bit sad, but he can tell I’d prefer not to talk about it.
Vince Fong is kinder and more thoughtful than I expected.
“So, how do you feel about a two-night stand?” he asks. “I have nothing planned until tomorrow evening, when I’m having dinner with my family. What do you say we spend all that time together?”
I’m having dinner with Mom and Larry tomorrow, but that’s it.
And there are a few things I’d like to forget about now. More sex is just what I need.
More sex with Vince, specifically.
“Yes,” I say.
“Perfect.” He turns me around to face him. “I’d like you to spend most of this weekend without any clothes on. Sound like a plan?”
“It sure does.”
Chapter 5
Vince
Marissa is standing at my door, in the black dress and black boots she was wearing when I met her almost forty-eight hours ago.
And what a great forty-eight hours it’s been.
True to my word, she spent most of those hours naked. When she was wearing clothes, it was simply one of my T-shirts, and I’m not gonna lie, it was hot seeing her in my clothes.
“So...” She seems a little shy now. “Thanks for the great weekend.”
“It was my pleasure,” I say.
“You certainly seemed to experience a lot of pleasure.” She’s smirking.
I feel like she’s stolen my line.
I rack my brain for something else to say. I’m usually pretty good at opening my mouth and having words spew out, but right now, I’m struggling.
This was the best weekend I’ve had in a long, long time. I’d been a little bored with my life of lazy luxury. The parties, the women...I don’t do it as much as I used to, and it seemed a bit routine, like I did it because I didn’t know what else to do with myself.
But the weekend with Marissa?
This was different.
I felt alive.
Yesterday evening, we ordered Vietnamese food—we didn’t go outside all weekend, ordering in whenever we got hungry—and as I looked at her over my steaming bowl of pho, I had the fleeting thought that life couldn’t get any better than this.
Curious, that.
Afterward, we had some of my special cherry gummies, and getting high with Marissa was pretty great, too.
A part of me wants to ask to see her again, but I told her that I only wanted two nights, nothing more. In fact, I don’t even know what more would look like. I haven’t had a girlfriend since university, over a decade ago.
“Hope you enjoy your dinner with your family,” I say.
“You, too.”
And then she’s gone, all five foot two of her.
I’m always clear about what I can offer, but sometimes women get ideas and think they’ll be the one to change me, and they hang around. Marissa didn’t do that. Stupidly, I kind of wished she had.
But this is for the best.
* * *
“What were you doing when I called yesterday?” Po Po asks.
I’m sitting at the dining room table in my childhood home. My parents, my grandmother, my brothers, and my sister-in-law are here. Baby Evie is sleeping.
I shrug. If it was just me and my brothers, I’d tell the truth. I was naked in bed with a woman. Julian would roll his eyes in exasperation, and I always enjoy making him do that. Or maybe I’d play it up a little and say I was in the middle of an orgy.
But I wouldn’t say in front of my grandma, who is ninety-one years old and already thinks I’m enough of a shit disturber.
“Just reading in bed,” I say.
Julian snorts.
“Lying is a sin,” Cedric says.
“Who, me? Lie?” I say, as though I’ve never heard a more insulting thing in my life. “Yeah, you’re right. I would never do something as mundane as reading a book.”
Cedric is a writer. Or was a writer, as he keeps saying now, since he hasn’t written in a few years. His first book was pretty successful, but he has yet to produce a follow-up. He teaches at one of the colleges in the city now.
The truth is, I do read a little, but I keep pretending I do
n’t so that I can say I never read Cedric’s book.
I did, in fact, read it.
I did not, alas, like it.
It was boring and had too much navel-gazing for my liking.
“What were you actually doing?” Po Po asks, putting down her chopsticks. “Aiyah, I never know when you are telling the truth and when you are lying.”
“In all honesty”—a lie, of course—“I hadn’t been up for long and was just making some coffee before playing videogames. Solid Saturday morning.”
“Maybe we should start surprising you with visits,” Mom says, “and see what you’re really doing.”
She sure knows how to strike fear into the heart of a man.
“Not a good idea,” Cedric says. “You never know what you could find.”
“Exactly,” Mom says. “That’s why I want to do it.”
“You might wish you hadn’t,” Julian murmurs.
The truth is, most of the time when I’m home, I’m not doing anything too exciting. Videogames are a frequent pastime, yes. Binge-watching shows on Netflix. Keeping tabs on my investments.
The more exciting stuff usually happens away from home, though I do host parties on occasion, and sometimes I have guests like Marissa.
The thought of my family interrupting such encounters is downright terrifying. My dad did that once, and I’m still recovering.
Fortunately, I think this is an empty threat.
My mother doesn’t make any more threats during the rest of dinner and dessert. Courtney feeds Evie, and then I hold my niece for a while.
When I get home, I play videogames before going to bed at midnight.
I can’t sleep, though. I stare at my ceiling and sigh.
How did I get here? What is the point of my life?
Nothing good ever comes from thinking about these questions.
I built a company and sold it for tons of money. I was good at it. I was great at it. But the thought of going back to that world scares the crap out of me. There have been offers from friends to join in their new ventures, and I always listen, then say it’s not quite right for me.
I remember the exhaustion and insomnia. The irritability, the cynicism—which isn’t like me at all. I remember the way I couldn’t focus and was barely functional by the end. Years later, I’m still picking up the pieces.
It destroyed my mental health, something that Courtney has helped me acknowledge.
When my family showed up at Julian’s office and demanded he take two weeks off work, my mother said she was worried about his health and feared he’d burn out, but I didn’t admit that I was worried, too. I mean, it’s Julian, and he’s always been good with hard work and pressure, but still. I couldn’t help thinking of my own experience.
Though I feel rather aimless now, it’s better to be a useless playboy than do something like that again.
I push these thoughts aside and roll over. Marissa isn’t there next to me, like she was the last two nights. She didn’t snore or hog the blankets, but she sprawled out while she was sleeping and nearly hit me in the face at one point.
I miss her.
Well, that’s just because of all the great sex, because she gave me the best weekend I’d had in a long time. Next weekend should be good, too. Brian and I are visiting a friend in NYC, and we always have fun there.
I fall asleep thinking of Marissa.
Chapter 6
Marissa
“How was your weekend?” Mom asks, lifting her chopsticks to her lips.
“It was good,” I say brightly. “Saw some friends and went shopping. Did some chores.”
I give her a big smile, not as an attempt to sell my lie, but because I’m thrilled she’s okay. I’d worried so much about the tumor, even though she kept telling me not to worry.
But I can’t lose my mother.
I had no other family in Canada when I was growing up. Every four years, we’d go to Hong Kong, and those trips were always awkward. My maternal grandmother would spend much of the time begging my mother to move back. I had a few cousins, but they were a lot older than me. My father’s family was furious with my mother, even a decade after his death, which they thought was her fault. To them, Canada killed him; if he and my mom had never moved, he would still be alive. They also blamed her for not giving my father a son.
Without my mother, I would feel like I had no family.
Though there’s Larry, of course. My mother’s husband. She never dated when I was a child, but she met him once I got a job and moved out. He’s white. He was widowed in his forties, and his kids are a few years younger than me.
So, I’ve got Larry and my “step siblings,” but that’s different. I didn’t meet them until I’d been an adult for almost a decade.
After they got married five years ago, Larry sold his house, and he and Mom bought a little townhome in Scarborough. He’s not rich, but he and my mom are able to afford a decent retirement with trips a couple times a year, so I’m happy with how it worked out.
Mom deserves it, after everything.
Tonight, it’s just me; Larry’s kids, who live out of town, aren’t here. Larry has made beef stroganoff, something I’d never eaten before I met him, but for some reason, Larry loves beef stroganoff, and he makes it all the time. I’m just glad Mom doesn’t have to do all the cooking.
“What projects do you have at work?” Mom asks.
“Do you really want to hear about this?” I don’t mind my job, but it’s not super exciting to talk about with people outside the field.
“Yes, you sound so smart!” She smiles at me.
My mother didn’t push me hard and have ridiculous expectations like many of my friends’ parents did. She was too busy struggling to make ends meet, and I think she understood that I already felt a lot of pressure without her saying anything. She’s never bugged me about getting married and having children, either. Occasionally she asks if I’m seeing anyone, but that’s about it.
Though I don’t keep a lot of secrets from my mom, of course I don’t tell her about the guy I had sex with a dozen times in forty-eight hours. (Okay, maybe it was only nine times, but still.) And I don’t tell her about those cherry gummies.
When I get back to my condo near Eglinton and Mount Pleasant, I receive a text from Carrie.
How was your night? she asks. Is Vince as good in bed as the rumors say?
I grin as I type. Oh, yeah. Vince was great.
Details.
Nope. Those are just for me.
But you slept with Vince Fong! And you’re such a badass that you walked right up to him and started making out with him.
Yeah, and he gave me an orgasm in public.
I’m not really an exhibitionist, but for some reason, it was just what I needed on Friday.
Wow. That was only two days ago. It feels like so much longer.
I am pretty badass, aren’t I? I text. How was your night?
I went home with Alexis, actually.
Well, I’m glad the woman I saw kissing Vince still got to have a good time.
That night, when I cuddle up under my covers, I’m at peace with the world, though I experience a moment of longing to feel Vince’s hand drifting down my body again. Then I remind myself that he’s not the kind of guy I want long-term.
It was just one glorious weekend, and that’s okay.
* * *
The next few weeks proceed as usual. I go to work. I come home and make myself dinner and eat alone. I read, I watch TV. I sign up for a new dating app and immediately get a message from a creepy dude. I talk to my mother on the phone.
I listen to an Everclear album and remember when Vince asked about my favorite song.
While he had his fingers inside me.
Yeah, that was me.
I rarely have such experiences, but now I’ve got some very hot memories to pull up when I use my vibrator.
Life proceeds more or less as usual...until it doesn’t.
My cycles have always b
een fairly regular. I can predict when I’ll get my period, plus or minus a day.
When I’m two days late, I start to worry.
When I’m three days late, I buy a pregnancy test.
I pee on the stick first thing the next morning and wait two minutes, like it says.
I’ve taken pregnancy tests before. The first time, I wasn’t pregnant. I got my period the next day; I was probably late because I was worried about my exams.
The second time, I was pregnant.
The third time, I wasn’t pregnant.
And this time...
Oh dear God, I’m pregnant.
Chapter 7
Marissa
I’m pregnant and Vince Fong is the father.
I let out a burst of unhinged laughter.
No, this can’t be happening. We used condoms every time. We had no problems with them breaking or slipping off. Yes, there was a bit of booze and pot that weekend, but I had my wits about me the whole time.
Does he have some kind of super sperm?
Last time, it wasn’t like this at all. I had a serious boyfriend, and we’d stopped using condoms because I was on the pill. But then I got sick and had to take antibiotics, which apparently can affect the efficacy of the pill.
Nobody told me, and I got pregnant.
I never considered keeping it. I’d just started my last year of undergrad and was not in a place to have a baby. Sanjay was supportive of my decision.
I don’t regret that abortion, not one bit. If I hadn’t terminated the pregnancy, I’d have a teenager now.
Denial won’t get me anywhere; I have to accept it. The chance of a false positive is very low.
I am pregnant.
And I’m not with the father.
As a woman who grew up with a single parent, the one thing I desperately want for my kid is two loving parents, as well as some level of financial security.
I can’t keep this pregnancy. I’ll have an abortion like last time. No big deal.
Except it doesn’t sit right with me.
I drop to the edge of the bathtub, head in my hands.
What if this is my last chance? I’m not getting any younger.