“Why is that?”
“S-strong silent type. I can give you a copy of my b-background check if that’s an issue.”
“No, fill out the application and we’ll go from there.”
He must not believe me, because he looks like someone just told him his dog had to be put down. “Thanks for your t-time.”
Ryan says his goodbyes to Diego on the way out, taking a minute to examine the finished Lego tree. I can tell Diego likes Ryan by the way he lets him crouch down right next to him. He doesn’t trust a whole lot of people. Of course, neither does his mother.
I bury that thought and see Ryan to the door.
Chapter 3: Ryan
I hear giggling when I walk in, followed by the distinctive sound of kissing. I turn my head, but not soon enough to avoid witnessing Jude make out with Lizzie on the couch. A perfect finish to a shitty day. When they hear the door slam, they launch apart from one another.
“Hey. Dinner is almost ready,” Jude says.
“Cool.” I disappear into my room to avoid the tension.
It sucks getting a taste of your own medicine. Without knowing it, Jude and I fell for Lizzie at the same time—a twisted coincidence. It wasn’t an accident, though, that I convinced her to choose me, or that I kept dating her even though I knew Jude cared about her. I didn’t know how much or how deeply. But I knew he felt something.
That didn’t stop me from parading her around as my girlfriend in front of him, or sleeping with her in the room next to his. Jude put up with that for a long while. I think he would have tolerated it forever if Lizzie hadn’t pushed the issue. Meanwhile, I buried it—convinced myself he didn’t care that much about her. That I deserved her more than he did, maybe.
Until I realized that I didn’t.
So now I have to swallow this pill. Luckily, it’s bitter but not toxic. Some of the bad memories of losing Lizzie have faded; the rest are a fair trade for Jude’s happiness. I worked hard to put my feelings for Lizzie behind me, and I’m relieved that I don’t love her anymore.
Jude calls out that dinner is ready, so I follow the scent of chicken marsala to the kitchen. He made my favorite.
“I missed this,” I say, stabbing a plump mushroom.
“What do you miss about Japan?” Lizzie asks.
I tell them about some of my third-grade students, the Rokuon-ji temple in Kyoto, and hiking Mount Fuji. I leave out the six weeks I spent licking my wounds over Lizzie, the rebound girls I hooked up with for a while, and the sense of freedom I gained once I stopped feeling sorry for myself.
Someday—hopefully soon—I will tell Jude that stuff. But not until this distance between us is gone.
“Sounds like you had a great time.” Jude leans back, looking for all the world to be at perfect ease. But his fingers beat out a hectic rhythm on the table.
What I’m about to say isn’t going to make him any happier. “I l-looked at apartments today.”
Jude’s fingers go still. “Already?”
I stare at my plate. “Yeah. Some p-places close to work.”
Only two of which I can afford, and none that I have a chance in hell of getting.
“Are they in safe neighborhoods?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, they’re next to crack houses. What the f-fuck?” Now I sound whiny and childish.
Lizzie gets up to clear plates, which creates a welcome diversion. “When will you hear?”
“Hopefully s-soon.”
I help her clean up, cutting a wide swath around Jude, who’s still sitting there stewing.
“Did you check out Jeff’s old place?” she asks, standing next to me at the sink.
Jude’s head turns so rapidly toward Lizzie that I’m surprised his neck doesn’t snap.
A lot happened while I was gone, including Lizzie’s brother, Jeff, moving here and then running off to LA to be with her best friend. Lizzie asked Jeff to put a word in with his ex-landlord. Guess she didn’t mention that to Jude.
“Yeah. Thanks. It was the best place I saw today.” Complete with a landlady that was snarly and rude. And smoking hot.
Eva told me she had a kid during our phone conversation, so I pictured her as motherly: worn T-shirt, mom jeans, tired eyes. Guess I need to update my definition of a mom.
Even her defensiveness was strangely attractive. It made her brown eyes shine with liquid fire. She was like a cat standing with its back arched, waiting to scratch. But if I had a kid as cute as Diego counting on me, I guess I’d be guarding him against the world, too. My mom raised us alone, so I know being a single mother is hell on wheels.
Gaining Eva’s respect and trust is probably difficult. She can’t afford to take crap from anybody, so she’s likely not the type to be won over by easy words or promises. But I didn’t try all that hard. I stood there like an idiot instead of convincing her she should choose me.
“The landlady didn’t l-like me,” I finally say.
Lizzie takes a clean dish out of my hands to dry it. “Impossible. Everyone likes you.”
She’s taking a stab at a friendship, I guess, but I’m not quite ready for it. I force myself to smile anyway.
Which is when I feel eyes drilling into my back. When I turn, the look on Jude’s face is indescribable, because I’ve never seen it before. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
He’s jealous.
Lizzie’s a smart girl; that’s one of the things that attracted me to her. So she reads the room immediately.
“I have to get to Angel’s,” she says, drying her hands. “We’re hanging out with her new girlfriend tonight.”
Yet another thing that’s changed. Last time I saw Angel, she had a boyfriend.
Lizzie leans in so only I can hear. “I thought you two would like some brother time together.”
She gives Jude a peck on the cheek, shoots me a strained smile, and leaves.
Jude says nothing.
Of all the situations I imagined on the plane ride home, my brother feeling threatened by me was not one of them. What in God’s name does a guy like him have to feel insecure about? I spent my whole life wishing I had a tenth of Jude’s abilities and looks.
Yet here we are.
“You w-wanna sit here glaring all night, or are we going to do something?” I ask.
He points to the backyard, “Hoops. Let’s go.” His chair legs screech against the floor as he pushes away from the table.
“Sounds g-good.”
We meet outside on our basketball court five minutes later. The painted lines around the court are a dull gray, worn and faded from all the years we’ve played here together. This is where Jude first explained what sex was—in way too much detail for my eleven-year-old ears. Where we got into numerous fights that ended in split lips and bruises. And where he held me while I sobbed because our mother was really, truly, never coming home.
“I’ll take it easy on you since you’re rusty,” he says, cocky smirk back on his face.
“Bullshit.”
I dribble the ball and charge straight toward him, faking left at the last second. I get around him, but his giraffe arms block my layup. My next effort is more aggressive, and I manage to score.
As the day slips into evening, he starts to come at me harder, fouling me as he turns to make a shot. I elbow him and he misses.
“Who’s rusty now?” I catch the rebound and throw the ball at him extra hard.
He stands there, sweat forming on his forehead, the sun fizzling and the sky darkening to pink. I missed these long, warm San Jose summer nights while I was away, but this one feels hotter than usual.
The game becomes a push and pull—a tug of war between us. At least there’s a rhythm—a primal form of communication—rather than the brutal silence that’s been living between us.
Jude scores again, but this time both of us are too winded to go on. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the bottom of my T-shirt.
Jude squints one eye at me. “Your hair doesn�
��t fall in your face anymore.”
“More p-professional. Got used to shaving every day, too.”
“Makes you look older.” He doesn’t say that like it’s a compliment.
While he drinks from his water bottle, I lean onto my knees and breathe. I take great satisfaction that I’m panting less than he is and that I’m two points up. “Looks l-like I’m not the one who’s out of practice.”
“Wasn’t playing as much while you were in Japan.” He squirts water on his face, avoiding my eyes.
“You were busy with other th-things.”
“Sure.” He throws the ball clear across the court, where it rattles the backboard. “Looks like you win.”
His footsteps are audible all the way back to the house.
Must be heavy, carrying a grudge the size of Jude’s. I wish I understood why he’s angry. He’s the one who ended up with the girl—the last man standing in our skirmish. Except, despite his jealousy earlier, it feels like this fight isn’t about Lizzie at all.
The only thing I do know is that something’s eating Jude, and he won’t tell me what it is until he’s ready.
* * *
Roy’s Station is the same as when I left it—a gas station that reinvented itself as a café and serves the best coffee in Japantown. Most of the people I worked with before are gone, but my boss, Greg, is still around.
“How’s it feel wearing the black apron again?” he asks. “Bet you missed it.”
Greg’s one of those guys that’s quick with a joke, which he laughs at even if no one else does. Somehow, on him, it’s endearing.
“Oh, you b-bet. I thought about it constantly. Thanks for the p-promotion, by the way.”
When I left I was an assistant manager, but Greg’s shift manager quit a couple weeks ago.
He closes the register. “You’re doing me a favor. You’re not as much fun to look at as Trent was, though.”
“You c-can’t say that about your employees, dude.” I put the steam wand into a cup of soy milk for a hot chocolate.
“Good point, which is why I need you here. Make sure to keep the new kids from stealing food.”
“Alright. I’ll k-keep an eye on the moon pies and muffins.”
Jamie tosses me the keys on his way out, as a new girl, Crystal, comes in and takes over on the espresso machine. When the customers die down, I head to the back room to order inventory, but my mind wanders.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial Eva’s number.
“Hi Eva, it’s Ryan,” I say, working hard not to stutter. I can do that when I really want to, but it takes more energy than I can maintain in everyday conversation.
“Oh, hi.” She sounds surprised, and not in a pleasant way.
I can hear the TV in the background. Probably Diego watching cartoons.
“Diego m-mentioned yesterday that he needs a tutor.”
“True. Why? Are you offering your services?”
Straight to the point, that Eva. I imagine her round, dark eyes squinting with skepticism. A person stares into those eyes long enough and he might fall right in.
“It depends. What’s his issue?” Everything sounds more confident without a stutter.
Eva sighs. “They think he might have a learning disability. Something about retaining symbols. They’re going to test him this year.”
“He’s going into f-first grade, right?”
Diego was talkative on our short walk through the garden, which was great. But Eva might want to speak to him about telling strangers too many details.
“Yes.”
“If you rent me the room, I can work with him.”
“Why would I let you do that?”
“I spent last year teaching English in Japan. I’ve also taught r-reading at elementary schools. I’ll do a half hour twice a week for free. And another d-day if you take it off the rent.”
“Only a half hour?”
“Maybe forty-five minutes. Tops. Any more than that and he’ll get tired and b-burnt out.”
It’s harder than I thought to project sincerity over the phone. I decide to quit while I’m ahead and stay silent while Eva considers my offer. My hunch is she likes to take her time making decisions.
“Pretty dirty trick—using my kid as leverage. But smart, too.”
“Is that a y-yes?” The victory feels so sweet.
“Send me the application and your references. And your background check.”
“I’ll email them t-to you within the hour.”
For some reason, I want to talk to her longer and get her to let her guard down—to put her at ease. But today I got the studio. I’ll have to save the rest for later.
Chapter 4: Eva
Your references checked out, I text Ryan.
Of course they did. The guy’s so squeaky clean you can practically see your reflection. What must he think when he looks at me—a woman only a few years older than him, but already divorced and a mom?
Oh, bitch, bitch, moan, moan.
Great. So the 15th is ok to move in? Ryan texts back.
Why do I care what this guy thinks about me? Same reason I let Michael Santos cheat off me in the eighth grade, I’m guessing. Because chocolate brown eyes go a longer way with me than they should.
And possibly because I still have a chip on a shoulder. While my friends were busy finishing their degrees and getting good jobs, I was changing diapers. I don’t blame them for losing touch—for going on with their lives without me.
Yes. I’ll email you the lease, I type. Can you send me the deposit?
Why don’t you stop by Roy’s? I can sign everything and give you the check.
Ryan seems like one of those friendly types—even after I was decidedly unfriendly toward him the other day. I can tell he’s going to want to get to know me. If he’s going to be tutoring my kid, I guess that’s to be expected. Still.
Kind of busy
I’ll give Diego a moon pie
The three dots pulsate on my screen as I consider.
Be there in 10
* * *
Ryan doesn’t look surprised when we walk in. He probably heard Diego coming a mile away.
Diego is drawn straight to the treats display, his hands and eyes springing into motion so he can take them in with every one of his senses.
I stop him from reaching for a biscotti.
“What’s up?” Ryan asks, peering way over the counter since Diego can’t see.
Diego shrugs, waiting to be won over. Ryan doesn’t disappoint, pulling a huge moon pie out from the case. Diego’s eyes become almost as large as the cookie.
I intercept before he can grab it and break it in half with the napkin.
“Let’s start with this,” I say, which makes his smile go south.
It’s no fun being the perpetual killjoy.
Ryan escorts us to a nearby table like we’re his guests. We’re next to a vintage red gas pump, a memento of the café’s gas station origins. It distracts Diego long enough for me to slide the lease to Ryan.
“It’s pretty straightforward.”
“Thanks for c-coming by.”
Ryan twirls a pen through his fingers, weaving it under and over them in that way I never could master. He’s got good hands—long, steady, precise.
I shake it off. “Take your time reading it.”
The pen keeps twirling. “H-have you lived in the house a long time?”
As I thought. He wants to get chatty.
“Seven years.”
“My bedroom used to be blue,” Diego says. “Daddy painted a dragon on the wall.”
And a knight in shining armor. Marco was always good with fairy tales.
Diego side-eyes me. “But mommy painted over it.”
“You wanted the walls green,” I remind him. But I can’t pretend it wasn’t cathartic covering the mural. Rolling the past away.
“G-Green is nice. More mature,” Ryan says. “Can I get you a latte?” he asks, turning to me.
“No.” I glance down at the lease.
“Mocha? Cappuccino?” His mouth turns up at one corner, but he tries to suppress it.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“Tea?” His smile has broken free now.
Unbelievable. He likes messing with me.
“Oh, fine. Black with sugar.”
As Ryan heads to the counter, I try to clean chocolate off Diego’s cheek with his already-soiled napkin.
“Looked like you c-could use some extras,” Ryan says, handing me a stack of napkins when he returns to the table. “Your tea will b-be right out.”
He’s a pleaser, this one.
“Thanks. We should let you get back to work soon, though.”
Ryan sits back in his chair. “I’m going to be living r-right behind you. Anything you want to know about m-me?”
The guy working behind the counter brings my tea, so I take a long, slow sip. There’s a lot I want to know about Ryan. How he got such good manners. Whether he was picked on because of that stutter. If he kisses fast and eager, or sweet and slow. And all of those questions are going to stay right here in my mind.
“The only thing I need to know is that you’re going to pay the rent on time.”
Ryan looks down where his hand is playing with the pen again, but I can see the disappointment on his face. He masks it quickly and then scrawls his signature at the bottom of the lease.
“Okay then.” He pulls a folded-up check from his back pocket. It’s already made out to me.
When he hands me the check, our fingers touch. I’m not surprised to feel a tingle shoot up my hand, but he seems to be. His eyes dart to mine.
Diego swallows the last bite of moon pie. “Can I have the other half now?”
Ryan shakes his head. “I think your m-mom wants to get home.”
“Say goodbye to Ryan,” I tell Diego.
They say their farewells, Ryan telling Diego he’ll see him soon when he moves into the “small house,” as he calls it. Diego is delighted, Ryan’s dessert bribe clearly having paid off.
As we leave, I see Ryan in the window’s reflection. He’s staring at us—hands in pockets, face in a thoughtful frown.
* * *
Tell Me That You're Mine Page 2