6.
Right as I gave up hope and started writing a song about her, Jennifer finally messaged me back. She said she was sorry, she’d gotten really busy and had meant to reply sooner.
I was beyond relieved. I’d been worried I might have messaged her too soon and come off as clingy, or that asking how her midterm went had been too presumptuous, like it might have been the sort of thing a boyfriend would ask, but not a potential date. The longer I’d waited, the more I’d searched for the critical mistake that had caused her to drop me. Now that she’d messaged me back, I didn’t feel so worthless.
We arranged to meet at a boba cafe near campus after she finished class the next day. I worried about what Kevin would say, that he might think I was wasting time not working on music, but he was all for it.
“Nice, man, a college girl! Your pop star look is paying off.”
“I guess so.”
“It is. You look dangerous.”
“I do?”
“Oh yeah. Bad boy. Skater. Yakuza.”
“Um, okay.”
He held his fingers out in two Ls, framing me. “There it is. Go get her!”
“Okay.”
I left and drove across town. I stopped at a CVS to get some makeup wipes since the pockets of my skinny jeans would have bulged too much if I’d tried to sneak my pack at home past Kevin, then wiped my face off in the parking lot. In the rearview mirror I looked myself in the eye.
“You’ve got this.”
I put on “Eye of the Tiger” to give myself courage and drove to the boba place. Parking was tough and I ended up listening to the song four times as I tried street after street until I found a spot. Despite all that, by the time I got there I was still fifteen minutes early. Twenty-five minutes passed and I started getting nervous. It was becoming awkward sitting at the counter for so long without ordering anything. I hoped they wouldn’t mistake me for a homeless person and kick me out, and I worried that a large group of students might come in and I’d have to give up my seat. But finally I saw Jennifer approaching down the sidewalk wearing big teal headphones. She came in and looked around.
“Hey, Jennifer,” I said.
She didn’t hear me.
“Jennifer!” I waved.
She spun around, startled and wide-eyed, then smiled and took her headphones off. “Winston?”
“Hey.” I got up and we awkwardly hugged.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s okay. Um, do you want to order?”
“Sure.”
We ordered and took our drinks outside. I’d worried the K-Pop blasting inside would drown out our conversation, but the rush of traffic was even worse. It was hard to get into small talk, let alone past it, and we kept asking each other to repeat ourselves, or gave short vague responses that terminated the topic, probably to avoid asking each other to repeat ourselves again. Eventually we made it to campus, but the quiet environment wasn’t enough to break the ice. We found ourselves sitting on a bench with nothing to say, our bobas nearly finished.
“Um, what’s your favorite color?” I finally asked.
“What?”
“I mean, you’re an artist, so like…”
“Hmm.” She thought about it. “I’m not sure anymore.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We watched the other students pass by, walking, biking, electric skateboarding, earbuds in, the birds chirping louder than any conversation.
“Like, they’re all beautiful and necessary in their own ways. It’d be like asking you if you had a favorite chord.”
“But I do,” I said. “C major seventh.”
“Why? That’s so random.”
“It’s because C major is the happiest chord, but when you move the octave down just a half step to the seventh, it becomes melancholy and mysterious, like the pursuit of happiness has led to… I want to say heartbreak, but it’s not quite that. It’s something unexpected, like life reveals itself to be more ambiguous and complicated than you thought it would be.”
“Wow. All that from just a few notes.”
“Well, um, it’s just my interpretation.”
“That’s pretty cool.” She sucked the last drops from her boba. “I guess, when I had a favorite color, it was teal.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. I just like it.”
We walked around campus some more, then she invited me up to her apartment. I was surprised since our conversation had ground to a halt again, and an electric anticipation buzzed through me. I tried my hardest to push away thoughts that we’d um, you know, make out or even, um, do it once we got there because I was sure I was getting ahead of myself, and love’s about more than just that stuff and I thought thinking about that stuff would mess up my chances. But the more I battled my anticipation, the harder it became to think of anything to say, and the longer we walked in silence, the worse the pressure got. I was afraid that if I didn’t come up with anything interesting to say before we got there, she’d change her mind and send me home with a broken heart.
“I like that we don’t always have to talk,” she said all of a sudden. “It’s nice that we can just walk in silence and not like force a conversation.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m glad you weren’t feeling awkward about it.”
“Not at all. Were you?”
“No, no, I just—”
She laughed. “You totally were.”
I scratched the back of my head. “Yeah, okay, I was.”
“It’s okay. I was, too.”
When we got to her apartment she called out to see if her roommate was home but she wasn’t.
“Looks like it’s just us.” She put her bag down and we took our shoes off. “Shall I give you the grand tour?” she asked, putting on a posh British accent.
“Sure.”
“Very well. Come along!”
I followed her two steps into the kitchen.
“Here we have the culinary, um, conservatory! As you can see, only the finest meals are prepared in this sanctuary of taste,” she said, gesturing to a Shin Ramen wrapper on the counter and a pot in the sink filled with oily water.
“Indeed,” I said. “Very, um, fancy.”
Jennifer laughed. “Yes, only gourmet dishes fit for the most refined palates are permitted to be produced within… produced kind of sounds more McDonalds than gourmet, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“L. Anyways, this is the living room,” she said as I followed her around the kitchen counter. There was a green Ikea couch, a Lost in Translation poster, a potted fern in the corner, a flatscreen TV and Nintendo Switch, a wooden tray of weed stuff on the coffee table, and a light blue rug on the hardwood floor. “As you can see, this place is expertly curated to encourage life to flourish.”
I sat down on the stiff couch. “Ah, yes, I feel my, um, chakras aligning.”
She laughed. “Of course, that sofa was handcrafted in the forests of Sweden and imbued with the spirit of the…”
“Forest?”
“Yeah, but I already said forest.”
“Um…” I racked my brain. “The midnight sun?”
“Sure, let’s go with that. Care to see my room of slumber?”
“Sure.” I got up and followed her in. Her room was very neat with sunshine pouring in and small plants on the windowsill. Her bed was made with a soft teal comforter and her textbooks, pens, tissues, computer monitor, keyboard, mouse, and drawing pad all appeared to have assigned locations on her desk.
“Well, this is where the magic happens,” she said, dropping her fake British accent. She almost sounded sad.
“It’s nice,” I said. “It’s almost like that room the lofi girl studies in.”
“Lofi girl?”
“You know, on YouTube, the lofi beats to study and—”
“Oh yeah. I guess.” She looked around. “Actually, no, it doesn’t look like that at all.”
I laughed. “I guess not. But I could see you studying like her.”
She smiled and looked into my eyes. I quickly looked away and when I looked back she was still looking at me.
“You’re sweet,” she said.
“Thanks.”
She sighed and flopped down on her bed with a bounce. I sat down in her rolling chair and bumped her desk, knocking over the pen holder.
“Sorry,” I said and put the pens back, but she didn’t notice.
“What did you study in college?”
“In college? Um, economics.”
“So do you, like, work for a bank or something?”
“Not anymore.”
“So what do you do?”
“I just make music.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, that’s why I moved out here.”
“Oh, I thought you just did that for fun. I guess you must have been able to save up to afford it.”
“Not really. I left that job a couple years ago. My heart just wasn’t in it.”
“I get that. I’m studying CS but I’d love to be able to draw full time. But AI’s about to take that over anyways, so…”
“Well, if you love to draw, you should still do it!”
“Yeah, I do. But it’s like, I couldn’t even rebel against my parents if I wanted to. I’d just end up broke.”
“Well, um, maybe. Times are tough for artists these days.”
“Yeah, it’s so fucked,” she said, thinking about something else.
“So is that why you draw?”
“Is what why I draw?”
“To rebel against your parents.”
“No, I just like it. But they would kill me if I ever did what you’re doing.”
I gulped, thinking of all the things I hadn’t told my parents yet.
She sat up. “Could you close the door?”
“Um, sure.” I rolled over and closed the door.
“Come here.”
I got up and sat down on the bed and she pulled me down and we started kissing.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Yes, um, it’s great.”
“Good.” We kept kissing. Her lips and tongue felt strange and rubbery. I couldn’t tell if I was doing it right. I opened my eyes but hers were closed so I closed mine. Her warm body shifted and our legs intertwined and I started to get aroused and hoped it wasn’t too forward of me. She slid her hand across my back and I did the same to her and we pulled closer and kissed harder and I got more aroused but decided it probably wasn’t bothering her. She reached under my shirt. It felt nice. I pushed my tongue in deep. She laughed and pulled her face away.
“Sorry,” I said.
She smiled and reached her other hand back and started pulling my shirt off. I sat up and pulled it the rest of the way and she took off her sweatshirt and the shirt underneath and we kissed more and she put my hand on her breast and moaned and we kissed and writhed with more passion. I tried to unclip her bra with one hand, then two, then she laughed and sat up.
“Guys never know how to take it off.”
“Well, I’ve never worn one.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not complicated.” She took it off and laid back against the pillows and I followed her there and we kissed some more before she buried her head in my shoulder and we just held each other, the faint rush of traffic seeping in through the closed window. Suddenly she pulled away and sighed, staring at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“I can’t do this.” She got up and put her bra back on.
“Did I do something?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. You’re a really nice guy, Winston. I just—” She sighed and shook her head again. She seemed mad at herself. She put her shirt back on, sat down in her rolling chair, and started crying.
I sat up. “What’s wrong?”
She buried her face in her arms, then sniffed and sat up and groaned. “Fuck.” She dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose with a tissue. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I put my shirt back on and got off the bed.
“Are you leaving?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No, it’s—” She blew her nose. “My ex just broke up with me two weeks ago.”
“I see.”
“And I thought meeting someone new would help me move on. But… it’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
I stood there looking at all the stuff on her desk, not sure what to say.
“Maybe you should actually—”
“Okay.” I opened the door.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I walked over to the door and slipped my shoes on. She followed me over.
“You really are a sweet guy.”
“Thanks.”
She held the door open, staring into my eyes.
“Do you… want my number? Just in case—”
“Sure.” She took her phone out and I gave her my number. “I’ll text you.”
“Um, okay. Only if you want to.”
She smiled, then gave me a hug. “Thanks.”
“Well, it was nice to finally meet you.”
“You too.”
“Okay. Bye, Jennifer.”
“Bye, Winston.”
I walked out into the hall and she closed the door behind me.
I didn’t feel much on the drive home. The way things had escalated had felt like a dream too good to be true, and when it all fell apart it felt unreal in its own way. I knew the heartache would come later, but for the time being I was numb. I drove through the night in silence, replaying our day together, searching for the moment when I should have known.
I parked down the street and walked over to the condo. Even from the sidewalk, I could hear Kevin and Nancy screaming at each other in Korean. I didn’t want to interrupt them, but it was cold outside so I worked up my courage and rang the doorbell. They paused, then Nancy started yelling again. Kevin opened the door.
“What?”
“I’m back.”
“We’re busy right now.”
“I’ll just go to my room.”
“My room. You are a guest.”
“Um, of course, I didn’t mean—”
“Go.” He opened the door wider and I went inside and took my shoes off. Nancy was not happy to see me. She said something stern to Kevin and he yelled back and slammed the door. I hurried upstairs and lay in bed with my earbuds in, but I could still hear them even with the volume up. I gave up and took them out. I didn’t want to listen to “Eye of the Tiger” anymore anyways. I put my pillow over my head. Maxwell started crying. More shouting but not as loud, then I heard Kevin stomp up the stairs. He opened my door.
“What are you doing?”
I took the pillow off my face. “Thinking.”
“If you’re here you should be working on music.”
“Um, I know, I was just—”
“I’m being very generous letting you stay here.”
“I know, um, thank you—”
“I need to start seeing results. I need a hit song I can take to the labels.”
“Um, me too—”
“Oh really? Then why you just waste time today drinking boba with some college girl?”
“Um—”
“It’s not going to work out, you know. She needs a man who can provide for her. Until you’re famous you could never get a girl like that.”
“Um—”
“Unless you want to quit, go work for a bank.”
“I don’t, but I don’t think she’s like that.”
“Oh yeah? Then why aren’t you at her place right now?”
“Because, um, well it was just a first date, and it’s a bit complicated—”
“No it’s not, Winston.” He grabbed my guitar and put it in my hands. “Play.”