by Jackie Lau
I’m dreadfully out of practice with this dating business.
When the phone rings and she asks me to buzz her up, my heart starts doing some kind of freaky rhythm in my chest—again, I assume this is because I’m out of practice.
When she enters my apartment, I greet her with a searing kiss. I longed to do that all afternoon, but of course I wouldn’t have kissed her in front of my family.
“Hey, you” she says. “What are you making for dinner?”
“Lasagna.”
“I love lasagna. Did you make it from scratch?”
“I did.”
“Impressive.”
“Maybe you should wait until you try it to say that.”
She rests her hands on my shoulders and grins at me, and I feel so damn lucky. She’s wearing a purple shirt and jeans. Nothing fancy, but she’s gorgeous all the same. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail, but a few strands have escaped. I brush them behind her ear.
We sit down to eat a few minutes later. I serve her a generous piece of lasagna and some green salad, and when she tries the lasagna, she almost looks like she’s having an orgasm.
I can say that because I know exactly how she looks when she orgasms.
I’m a very lucky man.
After dinner, I invite her to raid my chocolate stash.
“You have a chocolate stash?”
“I’m very serious about my chocolate.”
We kneel down to look at my dedicated chocolate cupboard. Mostly dark chocolate—that’s the good stuff. I have bars of seventy and eight-five percent cocoa, and boxes of fine imported chocolates.
“Oh my God,” she says. “You’re every girl’s dream. You make an amazing cheesy lasagna, and you have a chocolate cupboard.”
All of a sudden, my smile feels a bit forced. “I was left at the altar and there’s an entire chapter in a bestselling book about how I’m a grumpy bastard.”
“I finished the book.”
I stiffen. “And yet you’re still here.”
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
Maybe she just wants a bit of fun in the bedroom, and I’m providing that, and she doesn’t care about my bad qualities because she doesn’t want anything long-term with me.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
“I shouldn’t have chocolate,” she says. “I already had strawberry-rhubarb pie and ginger ice cream today.”
“Just a square.” I take out a half-finished bar of dark chocolate, break off a piece, and hold it up to her lips. She has a bite and groans appreciatively, sounding, once again, like she’s having an orgasm.
I finish the chocolate then haul her into my arms. “That’s it. We’re going to bed.”
“But I wanted to carefully examine the rest of your chocolate stash.”
“I want to carefully examine every inch of your body.”
“Well, in that case... Just grab my purse on the way to the bedroom, okay?”
I do as requested before carrying her into my bedroom and setting her down on my bed. I like the look of her there.
“What’s in your purse?”
“Toys.”
Oh.
She pulls out a small vibrator and a dildo and places them on my sheets. Both toys are bright pink.
“These are what you used when you were thinking about me?” I ask.
“Yes. Are you intimidated?”
“Why the fuck would I be intimidated?”
“I don’t know. Some men are weird about sex toys.”
“I promise I’m not one of them.”
No, this is going to be a hell of a lot of fun. My cock is hard, pressing against the zipper of my jeans.
I reach for the bottom of her shirt at exactly the same time as she reaches for mine. We pull off our shirts, and then I slip off her bra and unveil her breasts. I circle my tongue over one nipple as I brush the other with my thumb, and she arches against me.
A toy can’t suck her nipples. A toy can’t be skin-against-skin with her.
But, yeah, this is going to be fun.
I shove down her pants along with her panties and slip two fingers inside her.
“You’re already wet, baby.”
She nods helplessly.
I take the dildo and slide it inside her slick channel. She shudders.
“Too much?” I ask.
“No...no.”
I hand her the vibrator. “Now make yourself come. Can you do that for me?”
She puts the vibrator to her clit and turns it on, and...oh, fuck. Her other hand goes to her breast and squeezes, and her eyes flutter shut.
“No, Chloe. Watch me.”
I push up from the bed and slide off my jeans and boxers. I stroke my cock and enjoy the way her gaze follows my hand, enjoy the way she licks her lips.
The other toy is sticking out of her. I can see her pussy lips wrapped around it.
God, it’s hot that she’s doing this in front of me.
Her breaths get louder as she continues to use the vibrator, and her gaze stays on me as I stroke myself. Slowly. Any faster, and I would lose my goddamn mind.
Another minute and she squeezes her eyes shut and grips the sheets with her other hand.
“Drew.”
I’m not touching her, but she’s coming for me, and I love it.
She turns off the vibrator and sets it aside. “I need you.”
Lazily, I move the dildo in and out of her a few times. “I could leave you here with the toy inside of you and order you to stay put as I did the dishes, surfed the internet, read a book... Would you like that?”
“Sounds like torture.”
“Would you do it for me?”
“Yes, but don’t you dare do it right now.”
I wouldn’t.
I roll on a condom and remove the toy. It glistens with her moisture. I put it aside, then push myself inside her.
Oh, God.
She clutches my shoulders and breathes heavily beneath me. We begin to move together, my slick skin against hers. I slip one hand underneath to grab her ass, and with the other, I cup her cheek. She feels so amazing, and she looks so amazing, her dark hair spread out on my pillow.
Like she belongs here.
I thrust in and out of her, again and again, and she holds me close. This time, when her orgasm overtakes her, she clenches around me and shakes beneath me as she cries out my name.
It’s so perfect, I can barely stand it.
She rolls us over so she’s riding me, and I love looking up at her and touching her breasts. I love seeing our bodies joined.
When she lowers her chest to mine and increases her pace, I finish inside her.
* * *
We hold each other afterward, as daylight fades and the room darkens. We’re still naked, limbs intertwined.
Chloe slides her hand through my hair. “When your family was at Ginger Scoops—”
“Again, I’m so sorry about that.”
“I mean, yeah, it was a bit much, but I liked seeing them. Except I desperately wanted to feel like I belonged, and I didn’t. Which makes sense, of course. I’ve only met them once, and you and I, well...it hasn’t been very long.” She shakes her head. “Forget about it.”
No, I’m not going to forget about anything she says.
I’m suddenly overcome with the desire to give her the family she doesn’t have anymore. To make her feel like part of my own.
That desire shakes me to the core.
I swore off serious relationships, yet that seems to be what I want with Chloe.
How did this happen?
Even if I want a relationship, how on earth could I possibly make it work? How could I give her everything she needs?
I think of Lisa’s book, with its stupid ice cream sandwich on the cover. I’ve tried not to let it get to me too much. I’ve tried to focus on the ridiculous descriptions of ice cream sandwiches with oatmeal-raisin cookies and mocha ice cream, the “mysterious and a little exotic” line about black sesame ic
e cream. I’ve tried to think of the book as utterly ridiculous and stupid.
But underneath all that, I fear Lisa was right about me being a terrible partner.
There’s one line in particular that haunts me. It haunted me when I first read the Marvin Wong chapter a year ago, and it haunts me even more now, especially after I started things up with Chloe.
I’m not sure I can do this again, and I’m not sure it would be fair to Chloe to try.
She takes a deep breath and turns around so we’re spooning.
“This feels so good,” she says.
It does.
I don’t need to make any decisions yet. It’s only been two days. For now, I’ll just focus on how wonderful it feels to be with her.
* * *
On Monday, Chloe’s day off, she comes to see me after dinner, and we have sex and watch a romantic comedy on Netflix. The movie is stupid and contrived, but it still makes me laugh.
If I’m being honest with myself, it also stirs some goddamn feelings in my chest.
I am mildly annoyed by this.
Tuesday, we don’t have plans to see each other. I think this is smart. After spending three nights in a row together, it’s time to have some space.
When I get home from work, I pick up the gruesome thriller that I started a while back, but it doesn’t hold my interest. Instead, all I can think about is Chloe, and then, for some strange reason, Havarti Sparkles pops into my mind.
My brain is so weird.
You know what? I can visit Chloe at Ginger Scoops. Just to have coffee and talk with her for a few minutes. Nothing big. It’s only a ten-minute walk.
My heart beats with anticipation as I near Baldwin Street. When I open the door, the chimes tinkle, and Chloe smiles at me from behind the counter.
“Drew!” she says as I approach. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Just thought I’d pop in for a coffee.”
“Are you absolutely sure I can’t interest you in some ice cream?”
You know what?
“Sure, why not?” I say, as though it’s no big deal.
She grins. “Really?”
“I definitely want a coffee, but I’ll try a sample of ice cream, too.”
She scoops a tiny amount of Vietnamese coffee ice cream onto a green plastic spoon. “Here you go.”
There’s a spark when our fingers touch.
I lift the spoon to my face and peer at it suspiciously. Once, I associated ice cream with happy childhood memories, and then I associated it with the failure of my engagement and a bestselling book that portrayed me as an asshole.
Now, I’m starting to associate it with Chloe.
I slide the spoon into my mouth and brace myself.
The moment is anti-climactic.
The ice cream isn’t bad. I don’t gag or spit it out. It’s sweet and rather refreshing, though I can’t fully appreciate it.
“What’s the verdict?” Chloe asks. “You can tell me you hate it. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t hate it,” I say, and that kind of feels like a big deal. “But I didn’t love it, either. I don’t need a whole cup.”
“Not even kiddie size?”
“Not even kiddie size.” I hate to disappoint her, but I’m not going to lie.
“Would you like to try another flavor? Maybe chocolate-raspberry? Or perhaps you’d prefer a sorbet.” She leans across the counter and squeezes my hand.
I’m considering my options when Chloe’s face suddenly lights up. She’s not looking at me, though. She’s looking at something over my shoulder.
“Aunt Anita!” she exclaims, then rushes around the counter.
I turn and see an Asian woman, maybe Chinese, in her late forties or early fifties, accompanied by a slightly younger black woman. Chloe reaches her aunt and throws her arms around her. She’s mentioned an aunt before, her mother’s sister who lives in New York.
I smile because it makes me happy to see Chloe happy, but I feel like she doesn’t need me and my family anymore, now that her aunt is here.
I shake my head and tell myself to stop being so fucking insecure.
When Chloe steps back, she places her hand on my lower back. “This is Drew. We’re...seeing each other.”
I feel a mixture of relief and disappointment that she doesn’t call me her boyfriend.
“Drew, this is my aunt, Anita, and...?” She looks at Anita questioningly, tilting her head toward the other woman.
“My wife, Deidre.”
By the look on her face, the existence of Anita’s wife is a shock to Chloe.
I think this family stuff will be easier for Chloe to handle by herself, rather than with a guy she’s only been seeing for a few days.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking hands with the two women before I turn to Chloe. “But I should be going. I just stopped in to say hello. Text me later, okay?”
She kisses me on the cheek.
I return home, where I read about dead bodies and disturbing serial killers. Usually this would be my kind of thing, but I can’t help wishing I were at Ginger Scoops instead.
Chapter 17
Chloe
I can’t believe Aunt Anita got married without telling me.
Married!
I didn’t know she was engaged. I didn’t even know she was seeing someone seriously.
It’s not a shock that she’s with a woman, though. When I was five, my aunt brought a woman to Toronto to meet her family. Before they came, my mom explained to me that although a couple was often a man and a woman, it didn’t have to be. Two men or two women could be together, and that was totally fine.
I was a bit confused, but mainly just annoyed that my mother had interrupted me. I was very busy drawing a picture of Santa’s workshop. I hoped Aunt Anita would bring me good presents. She traveled all over the world for work, and usually she brought me nice things.
I have only a vague memory of the woman she brought home with her that Christmas, and then again that summer. We never saw her after that. I do remember that my aunt brought me an awesome Lego set.
When I was twelve, Mom told me that Aunt Anita was coming to Toronto for Chinese New Year and bringing a man with her.
I furrowed my brow in confusion. “I thought she was a lesbian.”
“Occasionally she dates men, too,” Mom said.
“You can do that?”
Mom nodded. “She’s bi. She likes both.”
That totally blew my mind. I hadn’t realized there was a word for it. I thought you had to choose.
I’d known I wasn’t gay. I liked boys, so that must mean I was straight, right?
But sometimes, I liked girls, too. I had a bit of a crush on my friend Kara, and I was obsessed with Catherine Zeta-Jones. I thought she was so hot in Chicago, which I watched over and over. Sometimes, I even imagined kissing her.
I’d been confused, but suddenly, it all made sense.
“Mom,” I said, “I think that’s what I am, too.”
She hesitated, just for a moment. “Okay. Why do you think that?”
So I told her, a little embarrassed because this didn’t seem like the sort of thing you usually told your mom. But she was pretty awesome about it. She didn’t say it was just a phase and I’d change my mind when I was older, or anything like that.
I didn’t so much come out to my mother as realize I was bi while talking to her.
And I suspect she wouldn’t have been quite so good about it if it hadn’t been for Aunt Anita.
My dad, on the other hand, wasn’t entirely comfortable with my proclamation, but I only knew that because I heard him talking to my mother later that night.
Now, thirteen years later, my aunt has brought someone else to meet her family.
A wife.
“When did you get married?” I ask.
“Last week,” Anita says. “We’re on our honeymoon. Toronto, then Montreal and Quebec City. Deidre’s never been before.”
Sh
e takes her wife’s hand and squeezes it.
My aunt is all smiles, and I’m glad she’s happy.
But I’m also furious.
Aunt Anita is the only family I have on my mother’s side, and although she hasn’t lived in Toronto since I was a baby, she used to visit several times a year and we were always close. When I was a teenager, sometimes it was easier to talk to her than my parents. She got me in ways that my parents didn’t, better understood certain things I was dealing with.
Since my mother’s funeral, though, she’s only been to Toronto once, and that was when my grandmother died.
We don’t talk much, either. Many of the emails I send her go unanswered. She did loan me some money for Ginger Scoops and helped me a little with my business plan, but when I sent her pictures of it the day it opened, she didn’t respond.
After I lost my mom, I desperately wished for Anita to be part of my life, and she wasn’t.
I don’t say this now, though.
“Does my dad know you’re here?” I ask.
She nods. “We’re all having dinner on Thursday.”
“I have to work.”
“Valerie said it would be okay if you couldn’t be here tonight and Thursday night.”
“You talked to my employee?”
Valerie pops out from behind the counter. “She emailed me a few days ago.” She smiles. “Now, what would everyone like to eat? You can’t come here and not try the ice cream. I mean, unless you’re Drew.”
“I got him to try the Vietnamese coffee this afternoon,” I say.
“How did he enjoy it?”
“Um. Well. He tolerated it, I guess.”
And then he left soon after my aunt arrived, as though understanding it would be easier this way for me. Drew and I are still getting to know one another, and navigating this situation with him here would be more than my poor brain could handle.
Maybe, once we’ve been together a while, I would find strength from his presence at a time like this, but...
I can’t believe I’m thinking about being with him long-term. Where did that come from?
“Vietnamese coffee ice cream sounds good,” Anita says, startling me out of my thoughts. “What else should I try?”
“Matcha cheesecake,” I suggest.