B pulls next to me in the barren parking lot, just off the corner of Highway 9 and E Beverly Blvd. Bao’s unfortunate location and lackluster advertising always resulted in abysmal turnout, even on days like today: half-off bona fide China buffet. But Bao’s was Our Spot, so I couldn’t say no when I got the text.
Do we hug? B steps out of the Beamer, arms limp at his sides. The brightness in his eyes confirm the awkwardness I had hoped I was imagining, so I offer a feeble handshake.
“You look good!” I say, hoping that adding a little buoyancy to my words would take away from the risk of him interpreting them for flirtation.
“You too,” he says, with a firm grip on our now unmoving hands.
I was unsuccessful.
The owner of Bao’s, who’s name I assume could only be Bao, catches us before we walk in. He’s leaned against the brick, smoking in his usual spot, clearly anticipating another bad business day. B and I often wondered if our attendance (although interrupting Bao’s eternal smoke break) was appreciated.
“Ah, my favorite couple. It’sbeenawhilewelcomein!”
Bao’s mediocre English skills never seemed to waver his boldness in speaking it, so most of his thickly accented sentences held the same velocity as our own.
B glances at me, hoping I was able to Catch That Last Part.
“You bet!” I say, hoping my interpretation and painfully general response fit his remark.
Neither of us has the balls to tell Bao the bad news, so we let him lead us to our regular corner booth.
This was meant to be the basic We Broke Up For College And Want To See If You’re Doing Better Than Me check up, where neither of us are supposed to admit how much we miss the other.
B breaks that rule briskly, so I bury my fingers into the paper chopstick wrapper, hoping my eyes don’t convey my inner turmoil. “Yeah, it’s been a weird year.”
I don’t reciprocate B’s confession, as much as I would like to. He was a bad boyfriend and my mother would not be happy.
We order. Catch up. Eat. Catch up. B hooked up with a girl the night I broke up with him, basically. That bothers me more than it should. I tell him about Milwaukee and basketball and class and he shares his beef and broccoli with me and it was better than last time.
B wasn’t that bad of a boyfriend, really. He remembered my birthday, both times. And he was kind and funny and had a jawline that could cut glass. But I am in college, and in college you don’t bring back the highschool boyfriend.
Bao brings the fortune cookies and bill. We do the awkward No I’ll Pay No I’ll Pay dance until B insists, like always.
I open my fortune cookie as he signs the receipt and I squint at the tiny paper that holds my destiny.
Make a decision. The universe will conspire to make it happen.
Bullshit.
Alexi Walker is a current undergraduate student with a major in Psychology and minor in Creative Writing.
“Fight between a Tiger and a Buffalo”, Henri Rousseau (1949).