That’s a slap in the face that I deserve, but damn if it doesn’t hurt.
“We have a job to do, so let’s just focus on that. Did you get to read the brief?”
“Yes. And you’re Donna Li. School teacher from Austin. We’ve been dating for six months.”
“Yes. And you know our hosts pretty well, right? What would they expect our dynamic to be?”
I cock my head in confusion. “What do you mean, our dynamic?” I put the last word in air quotes.
“I mean, do you hold hands? Are you into PDA? What would they expect?”
I shrug and resist the urge to tug at my collar. “I’ve never brought a woman with me to anything.”
She’s silent for a beat. “Not ever?”
“No. Not ever. I don’t date. This is the first time they’ve met anyone.”
“Oh” is all she says.
“Is that a problem?”
“No. Then maybe tell me what you think they’d expect given what they know of you.”
“I don’t know, Dina. I guess we can do what couples do. My brother plays with his girl’s hair, touches her hands, kisses her, looks at her in a way that leaves no doubt to anyone watching that she’s his.”
She nods. “Okay, we can do that. If it’s comfortable for you.”
“Will it be comfortable for you?” She told me she’d never let me touch her again last time we actually spoke.
“Yes, it’ll be fine. I’m an affectionate person.” Her reply is curt and sharp.
“Fine, but no flirting back when someone flirts with you. It’s disrespectful. I’ll have to see these people again, so what they think of me matters.”
“Well, even though I’ll likely never see them again, same goes.”
I scoff. “I don’t flirt.”
“Trust me, you do. Even if you don’t mean to.”
“Anything else you need?” I ask.
“Yes. When I reach for your hand, don’t leave me hanging. It’s one of the first tells of a couple that’s out of sync, and the women will notice. And they’ll ask their husbands who are your friends and then tomorrow, someone will do a Google search of me because they’ll wonder who I am. If I’m everything they expect, they won’t feel the need to learn more, okay?”
She’s a little too good at this, but I’m glad she’s got her head in the game. “Sounds fine. We have our story. Donna and Tyson met at a restaurant in Rivers Wilde. You’re a teacher. We’ve been dating for six months.”
“Right. Did you say our host is George Dupont, Jr?”
“Yes. He and his wife Kate are hosting at their house.”
“Doesn’t he live in London?”
“Yes.”
She pulls her phone out of her bag and starts scrolling through. “Yup, that’s what my notes say. So whose house are we going to? Let me see the address.”
I bristle at the way she’s barking orders. “You don’t have to check. I know these people.”
“Well, I don’t, and it’s my job to check. What’s the address?”
I read it off to her.
She types furiously and then sighs. “Nope, that’s not listed on the personal records we have for them. Let’s find out whose place it is. Make sure it’s not something they haven’t disclosed.”
“Well, it would be stupid of him to invite me there if that was the case. He’s my friend, Dina. This is a good thing.”
“Who else will be there?”
“I didn’t ask. It’s dinner. Business starts tomorrow.”
She groans and drops her face into her hands.
“What now?” I ask.
She uncovers her face and turns it to look at me, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You have no clue who’s joining us. He’s your friend, but are you sure he’s really your ally?”
“Of course he is, Dina.”
“Yeah, because he’s your friend,” she says in a sarcastic tone that’s too much like the one my mother uses.
“I know you think you’re the only one taking their job seriously, Dina. But I’m not just socializing with my college buddy. He’s the head of their sales division—and the son of their CEO.”
“And bang-up job he’s done of that.”
I frown at her. “Sales is hard, especially when you’ve got a niche product. You can do everything right and it will still fall flat.”
“Or you can expand too quickly and have a terrible strategy. One that makes you hemorrhage money and need to sell your family’s business.”
I bristle, it sounds so damning when she says it. “Whether he’s been successful or not, he’ll have his father’s ear. And tomorrow, we’ll have an advantage over the others.”
“I hope you’re right. And no more surprises or it’s going to be a very long weekend.” She leans forward and raps the partition glass with her knuckles.
When it slides down, she leans forward. “Excusez- moi Monsieur, pouvez-vous dire à quelle heure nous allons arriver?” she asks him how much longer we have.
“Dans environ dix minutes, madame,” he replies.
“Merci,” she replies cheerily and then in a much cooler tone, tells me, “I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes. It’s been a long day.”
I thought I’d be translating for her this weekend. But her French is better than mine—accented like she grew up speaking the language. I’m curious and use that as a way to bridge the stifling silence.
“Have you lived here before?”
“Nope. First time here, in fact.”
“So how do you speak French so well?”
“My parents are from Francophone countries. They met here in college. I was born after they moved to Texas, but French was my first language.”
“Oh, yeah. Your dad is Vietnamese, right? Where’s your mom from?”
“Senegal.”
“Have you been there?”
She sighs and raises her hand to turn on the overhead light. Her face comes into full view, and it’s ridiculous how relieved I am that it still looks exactly as I remember.
“Tyson, why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because I want to know, why else?”
“Why do you want to know anything about me? Has something changed since the last time I saw you?” She eyes me with a knowing look I wish I could wipe off her face. But the only way I could do that would be to lie to her. And I’ve done enough of that already.
“No. Dina, nothing has changed.”
She leans back and nestles into the seat. “I’m going to close my eyes again and try to get my head in the game.” With that, she turns to face her window and ends our conversation.
I stare out of my window unseeingly as the city of lights goes by us in a blur. The silence that falls between us gets heavier every passing second, and after a minute, I can’t take it anymore.
“Dina—”
“Listen—”
We speak at the same time.
“Go ahead,” she offers. I take the opening before I lose my nerve or let myself think too much about what I want to say.