The Kiss Quotient(87)

“You never told me she works for AEA. Even my professors are envious I’m interning there. When they like you, they fund your research in grad school and postdoc. I’ve got it made—if I don’t mess this up.”

“You need to call her and thank her, Michael,” his mom said in a serious tone. “This is a big thing she did.”

Did people do that when their exes got jobs for their siblings? Wait a second. How could there be a precedent? Exes didn’t do that. Only Stella. How was he supposed to stop loving her when she did things like this?

Janie puffed out her chest and blew on her fingernails. “In my defense, I killed those interviews. I spoke to all six of their senior econometricians, and they have to decide unanimously when they make an offer.”

He realized then that Janie had seen Stella. Recently. His heartbeat sped up. He had to know.

“How was she?”

With that question, Janie’s eyes hardened. “She’s fine. She looks really good, actually.”

“That’s . . . good.” It didn’t feel good, though. It felt shitty. He should be happy she was doing well, but he wasn’t. He wanted her to be sad without him, as sad as he was without her.

She’d really moved on. Fuck, a knife in the ribs would be better than this.

“That’s right. It is good,” Janie said.

His mom sent Janie an admonishing look, but Janie merely crossed her arms and jutted her chin out.

Michael pushed away from his sewing machine. “Since you’re here, I’m going to take off early.”

He got into his car without a destination in mind. All he knew was he needed to leave the shop.

Janie would be starting her first job soon. His mom’s health was good enough for her to start dating. Stella was moving on.

Everyone was moving forward with their lives but him.

What was stopping him? The bills were gone, and he didn’t need to escort anymore. His mom wanted him to stop working in the shop. All the bars of his cage were gone, but he was still sitting in his old place, afraid to move.

Maybe it was time for him to change that.

He pulled his car into the parking lot outside a Vietnamese restaurant in Milpitas that specialized in noodle dishes. Bells on the door jingled as he stepped inside. Quan cleared dirty eatware into plastic bins on a roller cart and wiped down the tabletops with a wet towel. The lunch crowd had left, and he was the only one in the front of his parents’ restaurant—aside from the assortment of freshwater fish that lived in the tank covering the entire back wall of the place.

He glanced up at Michael, paused a second, and said, “You look like shit.”

Michael rubbed at the back of his neck. “Haven’t been sleeping much.” After sharing a bed with Stella for so long, he was having trouble transitioning back to solitary sleeping. When he did manage to fall asleep, he dreamed of her. And came all over his sheets. That reminded him he had to do his goddamned laundry. Again.

“Barely seen you lately. How’s it going with your girl?”

Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets. “We broke up.”

Quan’s tattooed arm froze in midswipe along the tabletop. “Why?”

“Wasn’t working.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Look, I came to ask for your help with something else.”

Quan’s eyebrows shot up. “So this is why you look like shit. What did you do that she broke up with your ass? Did you try, you know, saying sorry? Getting flowers? Stuffed bears? Chocolate? Chicks dig those things. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

“I was the one who ended it.”

Quan tossed his cleaning towel on the table. “What the hell, man. Why?”

Michael raked a hand through his hair, grimacing as the knife in his ribs twisted. Because he wasn’t good enough for her. And even if he could get good enough for her, she wasn’t into him, anyway. She’d moved on.

A tight breath punched from Quan’s lips as he watched Michael’s reaction. “Well, what did you need help with? Are you finally thinking of getting a bike?”

“No, no bike. I’m . . . looking for my replacement at the tailor shop.” Saying the words out loud made him sweat.

“And you’re telling me because . . . ?”

“You can sew, and . . .” Michael snuck a glance at the swinging door leading to the kitchen and lowered his voice to say, “You hate working for your mom, but you get along with mine. Most importantly, I trust you. I can’t go if my mom’s not in good hands.”

“What are you planning to do? Are you moving back to New York?”

“No, I’m staying here—I need to stay close even if I’m not there, you know? I’m thinking of starting my own line.”

It had been his dream since forever, but he’d been forced to put it off. All this time, the ideas and the concepts had grown in his head, getting bigger and harder to suppress, but now . . .

“About time.” Quan punched him in the shoulder as he grinned.

“So will you do it? Will you work at the shop?”

Quan gave him a funny look before saying, “I could do it short term if you needed it, but not permanently. Alterations bore the shit out of me. Yen is looking for work, though, and she likes sewing. As long as she can bring the baby in, that should work out for everyone.”