Page 11 of Not Your Valentine
We finish our delicious noodles and beef, and then Taylor suggests a brioche donut shop that’s open even at eight thirty on a Thursday. They don’t have their full selection of donuts available at this hour, but I’m quite happy with my mango coconut donut, filled with tangy mango curd.
My fake boyfriend always knows the best places to go.
I post a picture of my donut on Instagram—I set up a new, private account three months after the viral video nonsense—and mention seeing Taylor. Easing into declaring our relationship online, if you will.
Then we hug goodbye, and I head home on the TTC, my journey uninterrupted by any raccoon incidents. My bus is behind schedule, but for some reason, it doesn’t bother me.
Nope, I feel hopeful. Rather than feeling like a loser for suggesting a fake relationship, I’m excited about it.
I’m weird, I know.
But it’s not like I’m super excited. I’m about a 7/10 on the Helen Tsang Scale of Excitement, and my 10/10 is probably most people’s 3/10.
Finally, the bus arrives, and I get a seat at the back, next to a lady with a lamp on her lap. The lamp hits me in the face when the bus pulls out of the station and turns a corner.
Lovely.
I suppose I should be thankful it didn’t hit me harder.
Ten minutes later, Lamp Lady is exiting the bus when I get a text message.
TAYLOR: How about we have our first date on Saturday?
ME: Sure
TAYLOR: I’m going to send you the flowers tomorrow, since you’ll be home.
ME: It doesn’t have to be fancy.
He doesn’t reply.
By the time I get off the bus, the sky is teeming with large, slowly-falling snowflakes, and I find myself thinking the weather is…romantic. Not the sort of thought I usually have, but I suppose the fact that I’m now in a relationship—ha!—is getting to me. Also, since I don’t have to drive to work tomorrow, I’m not concerned about how much it’ll snow and how that’ll impact traffic. No, instead I’m imagining Taylor and I wearing matching sweaters, snuggled up under a blanket with mugs of hot chocolate and marshmallows, then putting down our mugs to kiss…
Ugh, why?
Apparently, suggesting a pretend relationship with a guy leads to all sorts of lovey-dovey thoughts, even though I’m not interested in him like that.
I’m not interested in anyone like that.
As my ill-fated relationship with Charlie proved, relationships are too risky. They can put you in shitty and unexpected situations—and I suck at handling such things.
Yep, I don’t need that in my life. Besides…
It’s not me, it’s you.
I’ve never admitted it out loud, yet sometimes, I suspect that Charlie—despite being an asshole—had a point. There’s something wrong with me, even if my mom assures me otherwise.
But it’s no big deal. It’s not like I want love anyway.
Chapter 5
On Friday, I’m enjoying my post-lunch coffee when someone calls from the lobby, saying they have a delivery for me. I buzz them in and feel a touch nervous as I wait for the delivery person to arrive at my unit.
My apartment is nothing special. It’s a small one-bedroom in a rather old building. It isn’t unbearably expensive—though I wouldn’t call it cheap—and repairs aren’t made super fast, but they get done. The laundry room is in the basement, and currently, only two machines are out of order.
One day, I will have in-unit laundry. One day.
When there’s a knock on my door, I immediately open it, and I can’t even see the delivery person because their head is obscured by the large bouquet in a glass vase. It’s mostly purple, with a few white flowers. I’m not skilled enough at flower identification to be able to say what most of them are, but it’s stunning.
