Page 46 of Not Your Valentine
“That’s a long time for you.” I try to sound light and casual.
It’s not like Taylor always has tons of women hanging off him, but he’s a genuinely kind person, and he’s quite social, so he meets a lot of people. He’s also good-looking, even if I didn’t appreciate that until recently.
“I had a bad experience,” he says.
“What happened?”
When he hesitates, I say, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just—”
“I went on a date with a friend of a friend. We met at a party and I was told she was interested in me, so we went out. But…” He lifts his hand from my side and scratches his head. “It was the first time I’d felt like a white woman’s weird fetish. I know tons of Asian women deal with this, but it was a first for me.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Tell me who I’ve gotta fight.” I’m only partially joking.
His brow is furrowed and there’s a shadow in his expression that I’ve never seen before. I don’t like it. Nobody should make him feel this way.
“She’s only one person, of course,” he says. “I get that. But it made me wonder why being in a relationship has always been important to me.”
“Well, it’s an urge that a lot of people have.”
“I’m terrified of being alone. That’s the problem. My mother rejected me, and I guess I’ve always been trying to make up for that. There was a point in university when I was only interested in white women, as if some part of me craved acceptance from someone who looked like the mom who didn’t want me.”
I smooth my hand over his face. “Taylor, she’s a…” I try to think of an appropriate word to describe his mom and somehow settle on, “fuckface.”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
“Did you go to therapy? Because it sounds like—”
“Yes. It’s helped.” His voice shakes a little, but his words are clear.
I’m glad he's had support as he worked through this.
I continue stroking his cheek. “I always thought you liked being in love. Enjoyed chocolate and hearts and breakfast in bed. Corny shit like that.”
“You love chocolate.”
I huff. “Not in the shape of a heart, although I’ve been known to make exceptions.” Then I consider what I’ve said. “When I called you corny, I meant it in a nice way.” Valentine’s Day can seem so performative—that’s why I hate it. But Taylor’s enjoyment of it doesn’t feel that way; I believe he truly likes it.
“I know, Helen,” he says.
Something about the way he speaks…it brings up more mushy feelings inside me, which was not the intent of this conversation.
But we’re talking about him, not me.
“I still like relationships,” he says, “but I was driven a little too much by not wanting to be alone. There were multiple relationships that should have ended earlier than they did.”
“Tell me who else I need to fight.” I jab the air with my fist.
He laughs. “I’m fine now. Don’t worry about it.”
Sometimes I can be a bit clueless, and I can’t help wondering if there were signs I should have noticed, as his friend. It’s not as if I hung out with his girlfriends a lot, but I met a few of them. He talked about them.
“So, you haven’t sworn off love,” I say.
“No, I’m just pickier.”
“I think that’s healthy. Be picky. You deserve someone great.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. “Thanks.”
