Even dressed up, Jake is treś hipster chic. The sleeves of his white hemp button-down roll up into the pushed-up sleeves of his wool tweed suit jacket. Underneath his open jacket is a buttoned brown vest that looks more like a repurposed burlap sack. His peach-colored washed-out slacks don’t match a damn thing he has on. But this is Jake in all his millennial hipster glory. He even started growing out his hair post-graduation. His signature blond locks are even curlier as it grows longer. He has it pulled back in a half-hearted bun.
In contrast to Mr. Non-Mainstream, I wear a simple dark blue trapeze dress with a white stripe across the chest. The quarter-length sleeves are big and drapey, so I figured this choice could masquerade as dressy. I wore this at my graduation, my cousin’s wedding, and even to the club.
I wasn’t all that excited about coming here, so I refused to buy something new for the occasion. I knew Jake wouldn’t care what I wore anyway. He’s already complimented me three times, as if it’s his first time seeing me wear this. Or maybe it’s the way I took the extra time to get my chignon and makeup just right. Whatever it is, he can’t seem to take his eyes off of me.
He has yet to give me a clear explanation as to why he insisted on bringing me to this specific restaurant. But here we are—slowly eating our cabbage salads. We both know that if we don’t eat at a snail’s pace, we won’t get full from these bunny-sized portions they are serving us.
Each time I look up from the table, Jake’s blue eyes are lasered on me. The past month and a half since our first date at the sushi spot has been surreal. To say that Jake Barker has been going above and beyond to win me over would be a major understatement. Even knowing that I’ve also been going out with Bobby hasn’t hampered his efforts. As far as Jake is concerned, I am still in play, and he’s working his ass off to make sure that he comes out as a winner.
For a month now, Jake has made good on his promise to return to Portland every weekend to see me. He’s been juggling his first year of law school in Eugene along with trying to win me back. I’m still waiting on the day when he decides that all the hard work and effort that he’s putting forth isn’t really worth it.
I still won’t let him kiss me. He’ll put one on my cheek, but that’s as far as I’ll let him go. After our dates, whether it was dinner, a movie, or chilling at a friend’s house party, I make sure he takes me straight home. Any time spent alone in a tight, quiet place always leads to disaster. Once Jake and I start fucking again, all bets are off. He’ll have exactly what he wants, and he’ll no longer have to put forth the effort. The moment sex is back in the equation, I’ll feel inclined to return to Eugene to be near him, and he’ll have my soul again.
Crazy enough, Drew O’Brien owns that at the moment.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the now thirty-two-year-old juggernaut in California. It’s been well over two months since we last saw each other, and still the aftershock of that encounter remains ever-present.
Drew still texts. He does it every day, in fact. I continue to stick to my guns, making sure I don’t appear desperate so he can’t walk all over me. I even have this ridiculous rule when it comes to replying to him: For every third text, only send one.
He finally won that Gillen Tech bid he’d worked so hard on. I’m sure he’s thrilled about that. He tried calling once after all was said and done. I was bitter about it.
You win the company, and now you want to talk to me?
Doesn’t work that way, pal.
Sometimes I think I’m being petty by not answering his calls. In reality, this is my method of self-preservation. Hearing his voice would be a major setback on my quest to heal.
Drew is not in Oregon, nor has he attempted to return to pay me a visit. I even toyed with the idea of sending him an email like the one that made him beat me home. I’ll never forget how suave and sexy he looked while leaning against that car, waiting for me.
In the end, I don’t send the email. I don’t want to influence him in any way. If Drew O’Brien truly wants to be with me, he would put forth the effort.
Like this guy here.
I watch Jake watch me as I fork the last bit of salad into my mouth.
“Good?” he murmurs suggestively.
I don’t take the flirty bait. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
Jake hasn’t been the only man putting in work. Bobby has been going out of his way, too. I’ve been having a lot of dreams about him as of late. Many of them are simply replays of my life in sixth grade. I’ve been reliving the rejection of watching the star basketball player, my crush, taking the prettiest girl in school to the dance. Each time in the dream, I’m a loser wallflower gawking at the popular couple. They are slow dancing and kissing, while I’m sobbing in my punch.
I have no idea what Trish Spencer is up to these days. I’ve even asked Bobby, who claims he doesn’t know what she’s doing. But one day out of sheer boredom, I browsed through his list of Facebook friends and saw that Trish Spencer was one of them. Her settings were super private, so I couldn’t see anything on her page other than a single supermodelesque profile pic. God, she’s looking even better these days.
I guess if I cared more, I’d challenge Bobby on his claim of not knowing what his ex has been up to. I’m pretty sure he has private messaged her as he had with me. But I figure I don’t have the right to call him out. Like Jake, Bobby claims that we are exclusive. In reality, that so-called exclusivity is one-sided.
I refuse to be tied down, I tell myself. I’m happy to be living for me for a change.
In reality, I don’t believe that’s what I’ve been doing as of late. If I’m being truthful with myself, I’m afraid to quit these two men only to be rejected by the one man I really want.
Then, I’ll have no one.
Those July nights with Drew changed my life. It was the fresh start post-college that I desperately needed. I try hard to keep the memories of that time in its proper place. Although it is not quite in my distant past, it is in the past, nonetheless. Just as I brush my teeth every morning, I have to repeatedly brush away the California sunsets and him.
My life these days has been like a twelve-step program where I’m failing miserably.
“Why are you so quiet?” Jake asks, pulling me out of my reverie.
“I don’t recall ever being a big talker,” I reply.
“You’re not,” he agrees. “But you’re especially quiet tonight. I need to liven you up.”
I have no clue why his words offend me. “Was Bianca more lively?”
Triggered, Jake’s soft smile wipes clear away.
“How many times do I have to tell you that she was a mistake? That whole experience with her had to happen in order for me to appreciate you.”
I know his words were meant to reassure me, but they do the exact opposite. “Well, obviously you didn’t appreciate having me in the first place for you to be able to say that.”
“I appreciate you now,” he desperately pleads. “Quen, quit torturing us by always bringing up my ex. Hell—I can’t even call her that with a straight face… We were only together for a month. I never loved her, but I’ve always loved you. I love you. Why do you think I keep coming to Portland even though I’m in school in Eugene?”