Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
I
needed to get out of the house. Beth was baking up a storm again, tempting me with all the extra calories, and the Google Home speaker was now occasionally broadcasting our neighbor Grady’s non-porn ESPN football highlights. But when I made the decision to leave the apartment to study elsewhere, I didn’t expect it to be sunny one minute and then raining cats and dogs the next. “Light drizzle” was in the weather forecast, but it wasn’t supposed to hit until the evening.
I especially didn’t expect to see Jake walking a tiny dog ahead of me on my way to campus. Had he always been a dog person? From my days in New York, a cishet guy walking a tiny dog usually meant there was a girlfriend in the picture. It was almost as certain as other evident truths in life, like how horse dewormers shouldn’t be used to cure human viral illnesses, or that drinking beer before liquor would never end well.
In my past life, when PetMania was one of my clients, it was my responsibility to conduct dozens of focus groups
with pet owners. Self-professed dog lovers were lively in their discourse, far more energetic and chattier than I expected as they gushed about their pups, and this was definitely
not
how I would describe Jake. Seeing Jake in this slice-of-life moment was perplexing to me.
Simply put, he didn’t give off dog-owner energy. Not back then, and not now.
Did he give manic Asian
Back to the Future
Doc Brown vibes in college sometimes? Yes. But bubbly, yippy dog-owner vibes? No.
The rain continued to soak through my clothes, making them cling to me like an octopus clutching its prey. And of course I had on a heavyweight, absorbent cotton hoodie and jeans in the thickest fall denim. My waterlogged sweatshirt turned into a weighted blanket and the pants suctioned to my thighs, making my stride heavier and slower with each step. The only thing that was waterproof was my backpack, and thank goodness for that, because my laptop and reading materials were inside.
Jake veered off the path as his doggy contemplated a bathroom break next to a spindly maple. I drew closer and he saw me. “Hey, Lily! Wanna share? It’s a golf umbrella. Those backpacks are good but they’re water resistant, not waterproof.”
My sneakers squished as I continued walking. “No thanks.”
Jake cocked his head, and his dog mirrored his head tilt. Great, even this dog thought it was idiotic to turn down rain protection. “But the rain’s getting worse.” He was right, it was pouring now. And my refusing to take shelter under
his umbrella was nothing more than me being petty. I sometimes wondered if holding long grudges was hereditary, because my parents did the same. If it was a sport, the Lee family would be Olympians. Maybe it was in our DNA, and as Kylo Ren tells Rey, “The dark side is in our blood.” It was just how we were. How
I
was.
But maybe just once I could resist it for the sake of self-preservation.
“Okay,” I conceded, while pushing my sopping wet curtain bangs from my eyes. I took steps toward him and the dog growled. “I’m headed to Cobbs Library, if you’re headed that way.”
“I’m going to my office, so it’s no trouble. And don’t worry about her. She’s just territorial. Thinks you’re trying to steal her favorite pee spot.” More snarling. “Sasha, no! She’s just sharing the umbrella with us.”
I swear, Sasha rolled her eyes at me as she squatted. There was more than enough room for the two of us plus Sasha under his umbrella. It was practically the size of a pop-up tent. “Thank you for the coverage. Is Sasha your dog?”
He nodded. “Yup.”
Silence fell between us. That’s it? No more info? No backstory on why a grown-ass man would have such a tiny-ass dog?
After a few seconds he asked, “Do you like dogs?”
Back when we were dating, this sort of thing never came up. We had other priorities besides discussing pet affinity.
I scrunched my nose. “I had dogs growing up.”
“That’s not the same thing as liking them.”
“It’s not?”
He answered, “It’s not. That’s like me asking, ‘Do you like popcorn, specifically those tins with caramel and cheese?’ and you saying, ‘I have some in my pantry.’ It doesn’t mean you like it, or even eat it. It could be your roommate’s, or a long-forgotten present.”
“People give popcorn as a present?” I gaped.
“Anyone gifting me popcorn would be my soul mate.” He stopped walking. “Garrett’s is the best.”
“I have a sweet tooth. I’d want perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies. Crispy on the outer rim, chewy on the inside. A hint of brown butter and vanilla flavor. My roommate makes them and they’re close to perfect.”
He turned to face me as we approached the campus grounds. “I bake cookies.”
“You do?” Who
was
this man?
“I preheat the oven, cut the cookie dough log, and let them cook for ten to twelve minutes until they turn a golden brown.” He showed a hint of a smile.
A snort escaped me. “That’s not baking. I can’t believe you said that. That’s offensive to all home bakers around the world.”
He pointed out, “Technically, it
is
baking, because I’m pressing the
bake
button on my oven. That makes me a baker, aka a person who bakes. And I’m afraid my human-walking services end here. No dogs allowed around the main campus library.”
While we chatted, I forgot that the rain had soaked every inch of me. Even my bra and underwear were drenched, and my running shoes made slurping sounds as I walked. Not
too sad about leaving the downpour, but my heart fluttered inside my chest as Jake and Sasha waited for me to leave their umbrella canopy and enter the library building.
Jake’s eyes sparkled and his lips turned upward into a smirk, making me suspicious.
“Why are you smiling?”
“She likes you.”
He pointed to my feet. Sasha had finished sniffing me and sat on my right sneaker. “She hates everyone. Including my ex, her former owner.”
Aha! Thank you, Sasha, for drawing out Jake’s origin story. I owe you one for that.
I squatted down to pet her, and my knees popped, scaring her into a standing, teeth-snarling position, which made Jake burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“She gets this way only on the Fourth of July when the neighborhood goes berserk with illegal fireworks.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry for laughing. My knees pop like that too. Seeing her trying to act ferocious, as if her Chihuahua and Jack Russell terrier genes were not an impediment, is just so funny to me.”
Sasha’s ears pricked up, then she flopped down on my shoe again and rolled to her side.
He explained, “Now she wants you to rub her belly, even on the wet sidewalk. Man, I’ve really spoiled her.” Jake pulled gently on her leash, but Sasha wouldn’t budge.
With my knees already loosened, I attempted a second squat. After about ten seconds of petting, I resumed standing. Sasha rolled to her feet and barked. A soft, quick yip.
Jake tilted the umbrella and scooped her up. “That’s her way of showing appreciation. Thanks for the fun walk. And look! The rain is slowing.”
I hadn’t noticed it had transitioned from a cascade to a hard drizzle to a sprinkle. I’d missed the entire progression.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow, in class?” he asked.
“Yeah. And thanks again for the umbrella coverage.”
Taking a few steps, I turned to see if they’d already turned to leave, only to find Jake staring right at me. His face turned tomato red and he jerked his head down to speak to Sasha.
I continued my journey to the library. What had I learned?
That Jake was still nice enough to share his umbrella.
He was a dog person. Surprising to me, but maybe he always had been.
He had an ex who no longer had joint pet custody.
His ornery dog liked me.
When he blushed, his ears blazed bright pink.
And huh. I enjoyed the company. Mainly Sasha’s, of course.
Hiking up my waterlogged jeans, I entered the library and inhaled the smell of bound books and the aroma of aged wood from the bookshelves, floors, and tables. The combination of scents triggered a pleasing feeling of nostalgia from my earliest college memories, hanging out in the libraries with friends I’d made in the dorms. I found an isolated desk away from the crowds and placed my bag on an adjacent chair. The seats had low backs, which meant hanging my sweatshirt would result in half of it bunched up on the floor, which was hardly desirable. I kept everything on and hoped
that the warm air pumping through the ventilation system would eventually dry me.
I laid out my textbook, notebook, and rainbow assortment of felt-tip pens as a golden stream of sunlight flooded through the window, casting an overexposed glow on all my belongings. Of course the sun would reappear the moment I entered the library. I sighed and glanced outside, observing the youthful crop of Carlthorpe students walking in and out of the surrounding buildings. It was a strange feeling to no longer be among the youngest generation of adults anymore. I had to be the oldest undergrad student on campus, and I’d never felt so out of place in my entire life.
Get it together, Lily. Age is not your identity and you don’t have an expiration date. It’s just an artificial limitation in your mind.
I had just zipped my backpack closed when a muffled
WOMP WOMP
sound emitted from the front interior compartment. My textbooks and gym clothes muted the sound of my mom’s ringtone as it rang a second time,
WOMP WOMMMMMP
. It was the sad trombone sound effect, which I’d assigned to Umma after she messaged me for the millionth time, asking about my job and my move back to Carlthorpe.
“Hello?” I whispered. “Is everything okay?”
“I called over and over again.”
Yeah, I noticed.
“Sorry, Umma, but I can’t talk right now. I’m in the library. Studying hard.” I added the last part because I knew she would consider that more important than almost anything else.
“Did you get package? I send something from Amazon.”
I’d gotten a package earlier in the day. Snail mucus K-beauty eye cream to depuff the bags under my eyes, vitamin C supplements, and a box of ginseng tea. Honestly, I thought it was a misdelivery. Good to know it was from my mom. Her version of a care package.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll use them soon. I have to go write a paper for that class I’m taking.”
“Go study. Don’t forget eye cream once a day. Two if you have baggy eye.”
“Okay. Gamsahamnida! And geokjeonghaji maseyo.”
Don’t worry, Umma.
She ended the call, telling me to take the supplements so I wouldn’t get sick.
Once I entered my thirties, my parents and I chatted only once a week, always on Sundays. These calls were more check-ins than actual conversations, rarely lasting longer than five minutes. For the most part, my parents focused primarily on my sister’s life, as she started her own medical practice and gave birth to twins. But now, after hearing I was going back to school, my mom was all up in my business. Did she know deep down that something wasn’t right? Or was this the only way she knew how to feel useful and “motherly”—by badgering me about my health, studying, and grades, as if we were winding back the clock to a time she and my dad had had a bigger impact on my life? I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Hopefully she would chill out soon, because the last thing I needed right now was
more pressure from two domineering, meddling parents with priorities that didn’t align with mine.
I cracked open the textbook and began reading, with my yellow highlighter in hand. I made it through one chapter without any study breaks or phone notification interruptions, but while skimming more pages to get ahead for the next assignment, my mind drifted back to my rainy-day encounter with my ex. What would it be like to be friends with Jake now? He didn’t have to offer to help, but he had, and this act of selflessness had protected me from the torrential rain. It was gentlemanly and thoughtful, but not far beyond what a TA would do for a student in a storm.
I stared out the window, letting my mind continue to drift. I glanced toward the sky, watching more rays of sunshine push through the clouds. The rain had fully stopped and sunlight had finally broken through the heather-gray billows, giving them a metallic shimmer.
There was that popular saying that every cloud has a silver lining. That every bad situation holds some promise or possibility.
Could these clouds be a metaphor for my life? Was there a silver lining? And did Jake Cho represent the cloud or the silver lining?
My mouth twitched into a slight smile as I focused on the words on the page.