“This is it.” He gestured to a seedy bar.
Discarded cigarette filters littered the pavement as a thick veil of smoke wrapped around the entrance like folded hands with fingers intertwined. A few broken light bulbs gave the cheap sign a gap-toothed quality. Goose bumps prickled my skin.
I held my breath as we ducked inside. Two billiard tables flanked a long, noisy bar with a handful of circular tables in the back. Jon Bon Jovi blared on the tinny speakers. I would have thought this a joke if I weren’t on a date with my boyfriend. Marc guided us to one of the tables in the back.
I recognized the players at the table: the men from the restaurant. Marc pulled up a stool for me.
This wasn’t what I wanted.
My fingers gripped my sequined black clutch. The tiny discs dug into my palms.
Marc settled in and was dealt his hand. The others barely acknowledged my presence—they were too engaged in the game. Marc exchanged a few words with his friends and laughed.
I might as well not be here.
I drew my arms in, hugging myself. The worn stool under me wobbled from its age and uneven legs. I compensated by balancing myself on the balls of my feet. Tendrils of smoke thickened like a chalky fog. My throat was scratchy from the haze of cigarette smoke. I coughed in response and made no effort to minimize the gesture.
Instead of asking me if I was all right, Marc flashed me a smile before starting the next round.
I forced an awkward smile in return. He never noticed. His attention was centered on the cards in front of him.
I placed my hand on his arm in an effort to draw his interest. Without turning his head, he covered my hand with his and squeezed, treating my gesture as a form of encouragement.
Outing his gambling habit had caused a temporary rift between us. Marc told me he had cut it out of his life, yet he was here, lured by a pastime that could easily trip into something worse.
One of my clients at the firm owned an office supply business that couldn’t feed his gambling addiction fast enough. It poisoned everything, from his personal and business finances to his marriage and family life. I didn’t know how to handle it and had to escalate it to one of the managing partners.
I didn’t need my aunt to read my tea leaves to know where Marc and I could be headed.
He laughed, flashing his straight, white teeth when he won, revealing his cards.
It would be so easy to take him home after this trip and introduce him to the family. The aunties would love his charm and his good looks. They didn’t need to know about the gambling habit. I could bury it. It wasn’t so hard to see what I didn’t want to see.
I had everything I had wanted: my predictions gone, a relationship with a man I cared about.
It should be enough.
But starting a serious relationship with coping mechanisms in place was never something I wanted, no matter the man. I could not be content to live with this shadow looming over us, to be so grateful that I’d been given this gift of romance that I’d overlook any flaw, to care about love more than I cared about myself.
The smoky air thickened, constricting my throat.
“Can we talk?” I asked, tapping him on the arm and glancing toward the exit.
I risked losing everything I had always hoped for.
Marc nodded. He left the table and we made our way to the exit, but not before his hand found mine and clasped it. I welcomed the cool night air as we found a spot under a nearby streetlamp. Before I could say a word, he cradled my face in his hands and kissed me. I leaned into his warm lips and his embrace, reaching up to thread my fingers through his thick hair. His strong hands traveled down to the small of my back. The heat of his touch burned through the jersey fabric of my dress. Any coherent thought in my mind burst like golden bubbles in champagne.
A soft breeze sent wisps of my hair into the air as the clouds overhead parted, revealing a field of sparkling stars whose light rivaled the city’s lights. We broke apart long enough to crane our necks to the sky and admire its impromptu brilliance.
Marc brushed his thumb against my lower lip. “As you can tell, I’ve missed you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I cupped his cheek where a two-day stubble grew.
“I know I’ve been working too much—”
I placed a finger to his lips. “You know we don’t have much time together. And don’t try to kiss me again. I’ll forget what I need to say.”
He nodded and kept silent. His beautiful brown eyes focused on me.
If I said nothing, I would resent myself and, in time, my resentment would transfer to him.
The weight of what I needed to say caused me to pause before proceeding. I chose each word with care, as if they would be tattooed on my skin.
“I hoped for this all of my life. For the longest time, I wanted to be in love and to be loved. And to fall in love in here, I couldn’t have asked for a better fairy tale.” I placed my hand on his chest. “I understand your job is stressful and your need for an outlet is justified, but I can’t compete with that, nor do I want to.”
“What are you saying?”
“I love you, Marc, but that”—I gestured toward the poker tables—“can’t be more important than us.” I tiptoed and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t try to stop me.
Our red thread snapped like a taut rubber band and vanished as my heart constricted from the loss.
I walked away and headed toward the apartment, hearing the rumbles of thunder overhead. The colorful awnings of the shops and cafés turned into a smeared pigmented blur through my clouding peripheral vision. The weight of what I had given up caused a deluge of sobs and tears as the sky wept with me.
Fifty
There was only one heartbroken Yu woman in the apartment the next morning. I had stayed up all night; my aunt returned after sunrise. She was the exact opposite of how I felt: jubilant and glowing from a night with her true love.
“You look terrible,” Aunt Evelyn remarked, taking the teacup I offered.
Since I crumpled the note I had left last night explaining my absence, I told her between sips what had happened.
“I’m sorry, Vanessa. I had hoped you would continue your relationship.”
“I had the choice to not say anything,” I whispered into my tea. “I could have lived with it.”
“That would be a disservice to you and your needs. He also lied to you by saying that he wasn’t going anymore. You deserve better. You made the right decision.”
“But it hurts, Auntie. He was such a great guy.”
The tears fell again, big droplets trickling down from my cheeks. The sobs soon followed. The logical part of me protested, saying I didn’t know him long enough or well enough. The justifications of why I shouldn’t have fallen in love couldn’t mitigate my anguish. Not even close.