Page 57 of Not Your Valentine
Perhaps my friends are right.
And they don’t think it’s ridiculous that Taylor could fall for me.
“I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to do something like fake a relationship,” Whitney says. “I think we could tell that everything affected you more than you admitted, but I didn’t know how to act with you.”
I wave this off. “It’s fine.”
“Tell him,” she says gently. “You won’t know for sure unless you say something, and if he says no, it doesn’t mean anything bad about you. We’ll all come right over, and Esther will make another charcuterie chalet.”
“Hey!” Esther says. “Don’t volunteer me for things.”
“I’d do it myself, except it would be significantly uglier. But I can help.”
I release a strange hiccup/chuckle as silent tears stream down my face. I may not be a super social person, but I do have good friends in my corner.
Including Taylor. I’ve been afraid of screwing up our friendship, but with the way my feelings have changed, I can never go back to exactly how things were before—at least not for a while—even if I don’t tell him. That’s terrifying, but it’s the truth.
And if Esther, Jasmeet, and Whitney are right and there’s a decent chance he feels the same way…well, it’s worth the risk. I don’t like risks, but God, I want to be with him.
Just then, someone pounds on my door.
I sit up straight. Could that be Taylor? I run my hand over my face to wipe away the tears, then head to the door.
It’s not Taylor. It’s my mother.
“I made wontons and thought I’d surprise you since I was in the neighborhood, but you didn’t answer your phone, so I had to wait until someone let me in downstairs and…What’s wrong? Are you crying?” She takes off her shoes, puts the wontons on the kitchen counter, then wraps her arms around me. “Did Taylor make a viral video? Where is he? I will punch him.” She punches the air, and I can’t help another watery chuckle.
I recall punching the air in a similar way when I was with Taylor, and I wonder if my mother and I are more similar than I thought.
My friends join us in the kitchen.
“Ah, Helen,” Mom says, “I’m really worried now. What happened?” She strokes my back, which is an unusual amount of physical affection for her.
I tell her an abbreviated version of the truth.
“You really didn’t say anything?” she asks incredulously. “He’s probably just as broken-hearted as you! I could see how much he liked you. That’s why I thought it was real, even though I had that funny feeling the first time I heard about him.”
“I will tell him, don’t worry,” I say.
“How? I have many ideas for romantic gestures.”
“Um…”
“We’ve got this taken care of, Mrs. Tsang.” Whitney ushers my mother to the door.
“Can I tell your dad and Shirley that it was fake?” Mom asks me.
“Fine,” I say, “but no one else, especially not Auntie Lisa.”
“Of course I won’t tell her! Who do you think I am? She has a big mouth. But are you sure you don’t need any ideas? I—”
“Mom!”
“Ah, fine. I will go.”
Once my mother is out the door, Jasmeet says, “Okay, let’s brainstorm.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I tell her. “I already know what I’m going to do.”
