The Match {A Short Story} -- SELF-PUBLISHED

Part 9: Ice Cream

As we sat at the far corner of the ice cream shop, I watched Justine who started to dig into her green tea yogurt ice cream topped with mangoes, blue berries and almonds, while I poked my plain chocolate sundae. Of course I paid for everything and silently, I was already thinking of ways on how to get her alone like this again.

“Thanks for the treat,” she mumbled, her mouth full of the thing. I wondered why she liked that flavor. It leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

I grinned at her. “Don’t mention it. We could do this more often.” I stopped short. What the hell was I saying. I looked at her and she just gave me a poker face.

“Shouldn’t you be spending time with your fiancée instead?”

The spoonful of sundae floated mid-way to my mouth and I let it plop back down to its cup, my appetite leaving me. “Excuse me?”

“Your fiancée. Isn’t she the reason why you weren’t in school yesterday?” Her gray eyes suddenly met mine and they were coldly staring at me rendering me speechless. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bring that up. That’s totally out of line.”

“H-how did you know?” The anxiety in my voice was palpable as I gaped at her but she already dropped her eyes back to her half-eaten dessert. Just like me, her appetite was now out the window.

“Ah, the boys slipped,” she told me flatly and I felt the blood drain out of me.

I only told the boys about my situation because they were pestering me one time about my experience with women. Shocked was an understatement to describe how they looked when I told them about my parents promising me to their business partner’s daughter to save a million-dollar deal.

I was laughing when I told the team about that. But talking about it with Justine sucked out all the humor in me. “She’s my parents’ fiancée, not mine. And for the record, she stood me up,” I snorted and Justine’s brows hit her hairline. “And I was glad she did. I wish I hadn’t accompanied my parents to that mundane business lunch. Coming to school was more productive.”

Justine helped herself to another scoop of the light green stuff. “Hmm, what’s her name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

I scratched the back of my neck. Hell, she could ask me what my boxer size was and I'd gladly oblige. “Ahh, I think it’s Jude? Or Khristine? Or something.”

“You don’t know what your fiancée’s name is?” she asked in total disbelief.

“Stop saying that. And I tend to forget names especially of someone I haven’t even met yet,” I told her matter-of-factly. “The Friday lunch was supposed to be for us to meet. Guess she wasn’t interested too.”

She looked taken aback. “Really? You haven’t met her even once? No photos? I mean, the least that her parents could do is to send you her photo every year, right?”

“Maybe it got lost in the mail?” I laughed bitterly. Actually, I received a photo album of the girl a couple of months ago before my parents dragged me with them here in San Jose. I tried to take a peek at the girl's photo but never got past her childhood picture because looking at her reminded me that I’m furious at my parents who got themselves scammed and were now clinging onto some business tycoon to rise up again—with me as collateral. What the hell right?

“So you have no idea how she looks like at all? I mean, what if you already met her and you didn’t know?”

I shook my head briefly and wrinkled my nose. “I told you. I’m not interested. And from what my Mom told me, the girl’s everything a guy like me could ever want.”

“Pfft. And you don’t like that? Are you sure you’re a guy?” she laughed.

“Hmm, let’s say I have totally different taste in girls,” I said and threw a meaningful glance at her but she was looking out the window, deep in thought.