Page 6 of The First Kind of Love
Fulton nods. “Yeah, of course. We leave in a few days. Friday.”
His arm falls away—leaving a distance that’s colder than the frosted air on an early-morning shift—and as I watch him walk dejectedly away from me, I can’t help but think I just gave him my unofficial answer.
I don’t knowwhat the fuck I’m doing, which is probably very apparent by now. Both in regard to my job and my love life.
Seeing Fulton didn’t make my decision any easier, and Revlon’s pro-Fulton agendadefinitelydidn’t resolve any of my stress. The opportunity of a lifetime has just fallen into my lap—knocked there by a man who possesses one thing a red-blooded woman like me can never resist: genuine interest in me—and I’m not jumping for joy. Cabo is the commitment of all commitments.
The business is in hardship. Taking a self-indulgent trip during a time when my help is needed the most is selfish on so many levels. This isn’t just my parents’ business—it’s mine too. It’s a group effort. I have a responsibility to do my part just as much as they’re responsible for doing theirs.
There’ll be other Cabo trips, right? I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities for me to hang out with Fulton during my free hours, preferably close by where I can still monitor things.
I set the salad down at the table—its strips of green papaya looked far more appetizing ten minutes ago than they do now—and I shuttle around robotically, placing the rest of the plates at everyone’s designated spots.
When I got home from work, the first thing I did was relay Fulton’s invitation to my parents, trying to keep my bias at bay so I could gauge their genuine reaction. And while a part of me was relieved when they said it would be good for me to expand my social circle, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. They practically gave Fulton their blessing! (Yes, I’m aware that’s a term reserved for something more life-changing than this, but still!)
They didn’t even seem worried about the potential state of the business after my three-week leave of absence. They should be freaking out, right? They should be running around likechickens with their heads cut off. But no, they’d rather prioritize their own daughter’s happiness than the business that puts a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and money in our pockets.
After spending far too long tossing the salad and garnishing it with roasted peanuts, I stubbornly take a seat and stare down at the perfectly grilled slab of beef sitting on my plate. Crispy on the outside, a little pink in the middle, glazed with a garlic herb sauce that I normally would’ve devoured by now.
But my belly binds, and I don’t even bother with picking up my fork. “Do you really think this trip is a good idea?” I ask my parents.
My mother—Mai—hums an affirmative, raking the prongs of her fork through her mix of carrots and bean sprouts. “Of course it is, sweetheart. You haven’t had a day away from work in years. Not even when you got pneumonia; you still insisted on overseeing the new hires. Plus, this could be your chance to make some new friends.”
“Your mother’s right. You worry too much about things that may never even happen,con gái. We’re gonna be fine without you here for a few weeks,” my father—Cadeo—says around a mouthful of meat, not bothering to close his mouth as he chews.
I redirect my attention to the unripe papaya soaking in an excessive amount of sweet fish sauce. “I don’t have time to go on a trip. I was just doing payroll. Unless things turn around soon, we only have enough money for the next three months.”
“Your father and I have been talking about it, and we want to take out a small business loan,” my mom tells me.
Prickling with disapproval, I pick up my fork, pressing the handle firmly against my palm. “I’m not letting you take out another loan. You already did that for me in college.”
“You do everything for everybody else. It’s time you didsomething for yourself. Three weeks away isn’t going to make a difference. Maybe you need to come back with a clear head.”
My dad nods encouragingly, shifting his focus to his pile of white rice and digging in like he hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks. “We’re already speaking with the bank. I know you feel like this is solely your problem to fix, but it’s not. Just because we’re handing the business over to you doesn’t mean we won’t stop helping where we can.”
I forlornly push the beef around on my plate, and I know I have a penchant for pessimism, but the weight of my decision froths in my stomach. My pathetic attempt at a parry sticks sideways in my throat before I eventually speak.
“I don’t know if I can just uproot my life to spend three weeks with a bunch of people I’ve never even met before.”
Going to Cabo could be the greatest mistake of my life. One, there’s no guarantee my parents will be able togeta business loan, and the odds of that happening goes down drastically without my assistance. And two, what if nothing even happens between me and Fulton? I don’t know his friends, I don’t know the itinerary, I get easily overstimulated, and I have so much on my mind. This is a disaster just waiting to happen.
A frown splits my mom’s lips, and she reaches her hand out to rub my father’s arm. “Can you give us a second,cung?”
With a resigned nod, my dad evacuates the premises, and the prospect of not only having to face my mother, but also the raw truth, pistols through every fiber of my being.
“I think you and I both know this is about more than just nerves,” she says sympathetically.
I hate that she’s right. I hate that she’s not-so-forcefully forcing me to confront my stupid past and the baggage I’ve accumulated from it. No matter how hard I try to smoke the memories out, they’re always lingering in the liminal spaces of my mind.
“Love and business don’t mix,” I state, brooking no room for argument.
“Not everyone is like Ace.”
Ah, yes. Ace Jameson. The first boy who ever broke my heart, and the last one who will ever get the chance. He can shit in his hands and clap for all I care. He preyed on my naivety and forgiveness in the first serious relationship I was ever in, and if you ask me, life dealt me some seriously fucked-up cards. I was stupid to believe that he truly loved me, though the flowers and the tide of expensive gifts were convincing.
When the business started to falter, requiring me to work more hours, he gave me an ultimatum—either I could choose to be his girlfriend, or I could choose to be my family’s “pack mule.”
It was never a competition. My family was always going to come first.
