The setback, p.18
The Setback, page 18
I’m not about to tell her that mostly I just came back to change my undies. He may have shot me down the last time I asked him to a hotel, but I’m not about to go on a date, fake or otherwise, in the grandma panties I’m wearing. You never know what might happen in my life right now, clearly. It would be just like David Park to change his tune when I wasn’t prepared.
“I need to take a few more photos,” I explain. “So get out, and let me put the dumb blouse on.”
“Get out?” She rolls her eyes. “As if I’ve never seen your boobs.”
“Abby, I’ve got to pee, too. Or did you want to watch that for some reason?”
She huffs, but she finally leaves.
Once I’ve finally changed, I start to think about where I’m going. David Park’s waiting outside in his car, and we’re going on a date. Not really, of course. It’s just to stick it to his family and also to stupid Kyle.
But even so.
It’s a date.
I’ve been to events with people before. I’ve taken business partners and rivals both, depending on my goals. But I’ve never really been romantically entangled with anyone, and it feels. . .well, it’s making my heart race like I’m a high school senior or something equally stupid. Not that I was this idiotic then.
What is wrong with me?
I force my heart to stop racing, so that I can go out there and pose for a few stupid photos. Then I can answer any questions he has about his business plan, and we’ll be down to just two more meetings. Easy peasy.
When I walk outside, I’m prepared to exchange a few more quips with Abby and head for David’s car. Only, he’s waiting inside, chatting with her himself, his feet kicked out and crossed at the ankle, his eyes lit up. He’s acting like he really is my boyfriend and he’s worried about securing my sister’s approval.
“Let’s go.” I kick the bottom of his shoe. “And I’m sure I told you to wait outside.”
David tilts his head and pulls a face at Abby. “See? What did I tell you?”
She laughs. “You’re not wrong. I’ll be curious to see whether you can snap her out of it.”
“Out of what?” I scowl.
“He said you treat him like a dog,” Abby mock-whispers. “He said you’re always ordering him around and chastising him for any missteps.”
“I didn’t say it exactly like that.” He’s smiling, though, so he said essentially that.
“Let’s go, Fido,” I say.
“Oh, come on,” he says. “At least give me a cool name, like Killer.”
“More like Sunshine,” Abby says. “You’re way too friendly and egalitarian to be called Killer.”
David grabs his chest. “You two are both horrifying. Have you ever heard that?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Everyone’s probably too afraid to tell you.”
Abby’s still laughing as we walk out the door.
“Killer?” I roll my eyes. “Really?”
“You know, other people find me very intimidating.” David marches a little too quickly to his car, and I realize that he’s annoyed.
As I’m climbing into my side of his car, I think about it. He’s from a powerful family in Korea. He likely grew up with a lot of people who were jealous of him. Then he came to America and went to some of the best schools here. He graduated from Harvard Business School somewhere near the top. Close enough to be annoying, anyway.
And yet, he’s never overly aggressive. He maintained his integrity in business, never doing things he deemed to be predatory. I might think that’s weak, but to some people that would be considered the opposite.
Strong.
He stuck with what he believes.
He never cuts out the little guys.
I’m not planning on learning a whole new moral code for him or whatever, but maybe in his own way, he is a Killer. “Fine.”
“Fine what?” He turns his BMW sedan on, and backs down the driveway. “Fine, you’ll stop treating me like a dog?”
I snort. “Hardly. But I can try calling you Killer.”
He sighs. “I should’ve known.”
My assistant Roger calls me then, with some urgent questions about the due diligence we’re still moving through. I almost make David pull over, but I decide that if I can’t trust my honorable fake-boyfriend, even though he knows the principal manager of the company we’re acquiring, who can I trust?
Plus, it’s fairly routine stuff. I doubt his buddy would be shocked we’re looking into it. By the time I get off the phone, I realize that we’re downtown.
Downtown Manila, that is.
Being in the heart of Manila’s like. . . Well. It shouldn’t be called downtown. It’s not even a town. He’s stopped in front of the R-Hideout, the tiny hotel-lodge thing that Donna’s boyfriend Will’s mother runs. “What on earth are we doing here? You can’t really mean for us to go to Brownings again. How many bad burgers can you really eat?”
“You’re so snobby.” David points. “Look around for a minute.”
“At what, exactly?”
In that moment, as if he timed it, lights click on up and down the street. Christmas lights basically blanket the entire tiny road, from the ram statue in front of R-Hideout, to twinkle lights around all the pillars and posts and along the rustic rooftop. Every single tree, every single bush, and every roofline is lit up.
The carwash has little critters and snowman figurines dancing across the front. The True Value hardware store that also doubles as the worst market ever has the porch line, the handrails, and the roofline outlined, and on top of that, Santa and his elves are in a sleigh on the top of the building. The church building by the Green River street sign is lit up like a torch. Even the snowcone/fireworks stand has reindeer in front of it and lights strung along the rooftop.
With the layer of snow blanketing most of the ground, which you can’t tell is dingy now that the sun has gone down, it looks almost. . .magical.
“Alright,” I admit. “It’s kind of pretty.”
“You’re so used to being awed only by earth-shattering things that I thought it might be nice to just take in the cute decorations right in front of us.” David hops out and jogs around the car. Before I can stop him, he’s opened my door. “Milady.”
I slap his hand. “Knock it off.”
“I knew you’d be a pain.”
I sigh, but I climb out and let him close the door behind me. “I’m not a monster. I can see that it’s cute.” As we walk the length of the road, our breath puffing out in front of us, the lights blinking and twinkling, and music blasting from half of the stores, I realize that he was right.
I frequently miss the beauty that’s right in front of me.
I’m always too busy focusing on the work that lies ahead to bother looking for anything lovely at all. Is that why people like it here? “I’ll admit that this isn’t that bad.”
“I’m glad you’ll admit that,” he says. “Because look.”
We’ve stopped in front of the abandoned building next door to my sister’s legal office. “Um.”
“I hear this used to be a post office,” he says. “My crew said it was a real mess inside.”
“I think Mandy owns this,” I say. “Why would your crew—”
“Just wait.” He pushes the front door open.
Inside, I expect to see a somewhat dilapidated old post office setup. Instead, I walk into a Christmas wonderland. “Whoa, Killer. What’s going on?”
Once we walk past the arbor of Christmas flowers that look like every one of Amanda’s floral arrangements are having a block party, we enter the main room. There’s a table with candles in the center. The tablecloth’s immaculate. The centerpiece is even tasteful. . .a few poinsettias, a few pinecones, and a little gnome.
As we get closer, I realize it’s actually two gnomes, and they’re kissing. Underneath mistletoe. Gag me.
“What do you think?”
“All this for a burger?” I shake my head. “It’s a cute idea for a fake date, but you went to way too much work.” It is pretty impressive that he set all of this up here, in the middle of nowhere. I realize that he must have set it up when he ordered the cherries. There’s no way he could have planned this after I announced that we were dating.
Which means this wasn’t fake. . .to him.
“Ah, ah.” He picks up his phone and taps away. Less than thirty seconds later, three people walk inside from the front door. Where were they hiding when we came in? The only people I saw looked like regular townspeople.
“Sorry we didn’t see you, sir.” The first man is tall, and he’s fairly young. There’s no way he’s a local. “The first course is deep-fried langoustine with creamed uni and nasturtium.” He hands us a card.
“No way,” I say. “This can’t be. . .”
“Have you been to Atomix?” David smiles.
“Killer.” I shake my head. “You couldn’t have convinced the chef from there to bring food out here. I don’t believe you.”
David leans closer. “The chef’s my cousin.” He presses a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone, but I gave him the startup capital that got that place started.”
I remember then that it’s a Korean place. What are the odds? “That’s nuts.”
“Chef Park sends his apologies for not coming himself,” the tall man says. “But the Mayor was eating there tonight. He thinks his sous chef should be able to prepare the menu he chose adequately.”
Adequately is an understatement. Maybe it’s because we’re eating it in the center of an old, abandoned building. Maybe it’s the quaint but also over-the-top Christmas decorations. Or maybe it’s the company that I’m growing to not hate, but we share one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten.
Briny caviar served over a bed of delicate baby artichokes and some of the freshest cheese curds I’ve ever tasted. A whole turbot, braised and then grilled in a rich seafood stock. And it’s all finished off with a light, perfectly balanced strawberry bingsu, with freshly grated orange zest on the whipped cream.
Just like in the restaurant, at the end of the night, we each have a stack of cards that give context to the menu items, and also each one has historical information about their country and culture.
Of course, that’s when I realize that I didn’t take a single photo.
“Wait,” I say, as the tall man’s ducking out.
He turns back, eyes scanning our table. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all.” I hold out my phone. “Could you snap a photo of us, though?”
When I try to tip him as he passes my phone back, he shakes his head. “I can’t accept any gratuities. Believe me, Mr. Park pays me well.”
“Nice try,” David says.
“Well.” I lean back in my chair and pat my belly. “That did not help my metabolism, but I think it was worth it. I’ve missed New York’s more robust dining options.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Pretty decent for a second date,” I say.
“Wait, is that an admission that our first meal was also a date?”
I roll my eyes. “Before you take me home, did you have a business plan you wanted me to look over?”
“Before we go home?” He glances at his watch. “It’s barely past eight p.m.”
“Right, but what else is there to do?” I wave my hands. “I mean, really.”
“I thought you might say that, but I chose tonight for a reason.”
“Because we just officially told everyone we were dating?” I laugh. “Good call.” And then I remember that he planned all this before he knew that I’d announce we were dating. He planned this, and sent my employees cherries, and sent me rum with that card about our date.
He leans closer. “Tonight is Manila’s famous Christmas Ball.”
“Christmas ball?” My brain churns furiously, trying to think of what kind of ball this area might have that would have something to do with Christmas. A cheeseball? Knowing this town, it would be the size of a punch bowl or something even bigger. Then I envision some kind of weird ball dropping like on New Year’s, but it’s a huge beach ball instead. Only after my brain pitches out all those weird ideas do I finally realize what he must be saying.
“A ball, as in a dance?”
He nods.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Not at all,” he says. “They love to dance here.”
“We’re not in high school, Killer.” Of all the ridiculous. . . “Just take me home.”
“Absolutely not,” he says. “You liked seeing the lights and you loved the dinner. Now, give me the benefit of the doubt, and let’s go try their dance.”
“I am not dressed for that.” I gesture at my puffy coat, pencil pants, and snow boots.
“Correction,” he says. “You’re not dressed for a New York City ball. You’re probably overdressed for a Manila, Utah ball.”
“And that’s my point,” I say. “I’d be overdressed in my pajamas.”
“Helen, if you can’t get over yourself, you’ll never be happy anywhere. Not in Manila, and not anywhere else either.” David walks away as if he doesn’t care whether I follow.
With as big of a jerk as I’ve been, he may not.
Is what he said right? Am I the problem? I look up and down the street I admired two hours before. The cheap, yellow and rainbow lights are just as tacky as they were before. The storefronts are just as sad. The huge gaps between the buildings on Manila’s Main Street are just as painfully wide as they always have been.
But maybe none of that matters.
David’s walking past the brightly lit crèche, his broad shoulders wrapped in the finest charcoal wool, his hair perfectly combed and styled. He’ll be the best-looking and richest person in that dumb old church cultural hall.
And unlike me, he might not even notice.
Would I be happier if I took each day as they came? If I could figure out how to appreciate what each place and time had to offer, and I didn’t spend so much time judging everything? I sigh long and slow.
He might be right.
He’s already inside, the warmth of the light spilling outward from the door he just disappeared through. And now, thanks to my own willful fit, I’m stuck walking into a place where I know almost no one alone. Maybe I should just go home.
I belatedly recall that he’s my ride, and it’s not like there’s an Uber here. So now my options include calling Abby or Ethan, going into that dance alone, or sitting here in the cold until David finally emerges. I wonder how many local girls will beg him to dance with them while I’m hiding out here.
Some of the women out here are actually kind of cute. I mean, they’ll have no idea what he’s saying or what he’s doing or who he is, but they’re not terrible to look at. Why does the idea of all of the cute little farmers dancing with him and batting their goopy, dime-store mascara-covered eyes bother me?
We’re fake dating.
I refuse to go rushing in there because I’m sort of jealous. I’m Helen Fisher. I don’t cave and follow people around. I whip out my phone and call Abby.
“Hello?” It’s noisy where she is.
“Hey, Abs.”
“I can hardly hear you. Are you okay?”
“The thing is, I kind of need a ride.”
“Oh, well, where are you? I’m not at home, but I can—”
Someone else is talking to her.
“Sorry. Steve was asking who it was.”
“Where are you?” I feel guilty for calling her. My sister spends most nights at home with her kids and her new husband. Usually a drive down the road and back wouldn’t cause her any frustration. “You know what? Never mind. I can just call Ethan.”
“You need to talk to Ethan? He’s right here.”
“Wait,” I shout. “Where’s here?”
“Manila has this Christmas ball every year,” she says. “It’s a cute little town event, really.” Abby’s talking to someone else again. “Helen? Why am I talking to David Park right now? Where are you, exactly? Did he ditch you? Should I kick him in the shin right now? Because I may be pregnant, but I swear, I can still kick the ever-loving fire—”
I swear under my breath and hang up.
But at least I know that there will be a few people there I know. The worst part is that, as I walk past the stupid manger scene, baby Jesus is smirking at me. I just know he is.
He should be.
I’m pretentious.
Snobby.
And I’m about to look like an idiot, because now everyone knows I didn’t want to come, and that stupid David Park left me alone because I threw a baby fit.
Also, they can clearly see that I lost our tug-of-war.
“Hey,” David says the moment I walk through the door. “Did your call finally end?” He holds up his arm as if to wave me over.
I glance at Abby and then back at David.
“Did you get so distracted you didn’t see which way he went?” Abby’s laughing at me alright, but not for the reason I thought she would be. “Helen, you get so focused on work stuff that sometimes, I worry you’ll walk off the edge of a cliff. You’re not a good multitasker. It’s a good thing you usually have a driver.”
Steve’s laughing.
David’s laughing.
And now Amanda and Donna are approaching, also both laughing. “Did you hear what just happened?” Donna’s face is bright red.
“About Mr. Crenshaw’s pants?” Steve’s laughing even harder. “Did you know that same thing happened to his dad, but like, twenty years ago?”
“What are they talking about?” I ask, hoping Abby will clue me in.
“Mr. Crenshaw has a black suit he wears every year, but only for this,” David says. “He’s the head elder in the church here. But this year, apparently he gained a bit too much weight, and his wife told him it wouldn’t fit.”
“Okay.”
“Well, he was determined to prove her wrong,” Amanda says. “He told everyone that his wife didn’t pay any attention to how he looked, and he insisted that he hadn’t gained a pound.”
