Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(63)

I take a deep breath. “I’m here,” I say, “because I have a problem.”

By the end of the day, I don’t just have a therapist. I have a nutritionist. A food diary. And I have something else from her: a promise that this has happened to other people, but that they have gotten better.

For the first time, when I tell myself that I have a problem but that I’m going to fix it, I believe it.

TINA

I try to call my mother. I figure that I can tell her that Blake’s my boyfriend now, that she was right and I was wrong. I want it to be an olive branch. Something to try and put us back where we used to be.

But she’s stiff and formal when she answers the phone.

“Tina.” Her voice sounds disapproving.

“Hi, Ma. How are things going?”

“Well,” she says. “Very well.”

“How is work?”

“Fine,” she says. “No need for you to worry about it, okay?”

I exhale. “And is everything okay otherwise?”

“There’s nothing for you to do,” she says stiffly. “I’m responsible for myself. So don’t worry. Go be a student.”

I hang up, dissatisfied. Isn’t that what I wanted? For her to take care of herself? For me to not have to worry?

I pull up the utilities website anyway. But when I try to log in, an error message appears. Email and/or password is invalid or incorrect, the site tells me in red letters.

I try again, and then again. But I can’t get in. My mother has changed the password, locking me out.

I never realized that the thing I most wanted would feel like a slap in the face.

“I think I’m dating Blake.” I set the plates on the kitchen table later that night. It’s a dark glass table, round, big enough for two. It’s not dark yet, but the sun is beginning to set over the Bay, coloring the view with hints of pink and purple. Dinner tonight is simple—rice, steamed fish, spicy green beans—but the scent of almond oil and fresh ginger, combined with a generous handful of cilantro, still feels luxurious to me.

Maria does not look surprised by this revelation. Instead she pulls her plate toward her. “Duh.”

“No, I mean…” I fumble for words. “I don’t think we’re just hooking up, okay? I think we’re dating.”

Whatever that magical division is between having sex and having a relationship, we crossed it. We crossed it a long time ago; I just wasn’t willing to admit it. And more than anything, that scares me.

“I’m sorry,” Maria says. “Am I supposed to be shocked?”

“Yes. You could at least pretend.”

She turns to me and widens her eyes. “Oh my God, you’re dating Blake Reynolds? How is that even possible? It seems so unlikely, what with you two lusting after each other and spending all that time in each other’s company. I would never have imagined it, especially after you spent an entire weekend with him and then boned him all night. Who would have thought that two people in their early twenties would have functional hormones?”

“I think you could be more sarcastic.”

“You’re right.” She eats a forkful of fish. “Let me try harder. To think that this happened on a college campus, of all places. Nobody ever gets horny in college. I’m shocked. This is my shocked face.” She gestures to her nose with her chopsticks. Unsurprisingly, her shocked face looks dryly amused.

I throw a green bean at her.

“Show off.” She frowns. “You know I can’t throw with chopsticks.”

“I’m being serious,” I say. “I’m dating Blake Reynolds and I’m freaking out here. We don’t make any sense. This is going to be over in a little more than a week, and what am I doing? I’m letting myself get all wound up in him. It’s getting worse.”

“Okay,” Maria says with a roll of her eyes, “is there a real reason this is going to be over in a week, or is that just dramatics on your part?”

He’s going back to his father’s company in a week. He won’t have time for me. He won’t be here. I look over at Maria—and I realize that this is not yet public information. Dating Blake Reynolds, absurdly wealthy college student, is ridiculous. The prospect of dating Blake Reynolds, interim CEO of Cyclone Systems, is unfathomable.

“Okay,” I say. “Remember how I had to sign a huge stack of papers to get Cyclone prototypes? I have this vague memory of something that said something like, ‘WARNING: YOUR CONDUCT IS BLAH BLAH LAW BLAH BLAH SOMETHING SOMETHING TWENTY YEARS OF JAIL.’ This is the point in the conversation where I think I need to talk to a lawyer before I tell you anything.” I don’t know what constitutes material, non-public information, but the fact that a twenty-three-year old is about to take over for his father is probably material. And it’s certainly not public.

Her eyes widen.

I spread my hands. “Now do you understand why I’m freaking out? I’m dating a guy where, if I tell you what’s going on, I might go to jail. His family puts their private business up for public consumption to sell products. Tell me honestly, Maria. Do you think this is going to last?”

She blows out a breath. But she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

Some things are obvious from the start. I knew this; I knew I had to protect myself.