​The Chinese spot.

I’ve taken every guy I’ve dated to the Chinese spot by my house. I always order the same thing. “Can I get half fried rice half chowmein, Kung Pao chicken and a canned Diet Coke?” I ask the cashier. He doesn’t even look up anymore. He has seen me enter with nine other men. Nine men, nine versions of the same interview, nine times we leave hand in hand to never return.
Yet this time was different, I had brought this one here for a third time.
I always sit across from them, playing with my food as I half heartedly listen to them tell me about themselves. I know when to look up and smile coyly at them.
The food always tastes the same, it’s not good but it’s not bad. It’s mediocre at best. Though I always wished they had desserts.
I don’t think each guy knows. I don’t think they know how many times I’ve sat at this same booth with nine other guys. I don’t think they’d care either way. They never seem to last anyway. I think this one was the longest. We lasted 7 months, setting a new record.
In that same booth, we sat together. He looked at me apologetically, though it felt more like pity. I stared at him, he wasn’t very tall or particularly handsome. He had tan skin, and black hair. He was half my size too. He was kind in some aspects, but he never quite stood out either. He always told me he was terrified of women, and that he wouldn’t treat me right. Maybe I should’ve taken that as a warning.
“I think we should break up.” My throat burned as I interrupted him. He was explaining to me the most recent football match between Barcelona and Athletico Madrid. I never cared for sports, not until him at least. I had tried so hard to keep up, to learn the language of things he loved just to have a reason to stay.
I continue to play with the kung Pao chicken on my plate. This was our 7th month together, though it didn’t quite feel like we were actually together. We went on dates once a week, yet we were still strangers. We’d go out to eat, then have sex. Everytime it was the same. He’d pick me up at my house, sometimes half an hour late in his work clothes, smelling of grease and dish soap. Some days I’d spend the whole day getting ready just to see him. I’d wake up at 10 and shower. I would spend hours on my hair and makeup. Though I’m not the fashionable kind, I did always try to look presentable. I knew he would steal glances at my chest, so who was I to hide it from him? It was a funny contrast, him in his work uniform and me in a tight fitting dress. My expensive perfume mixing in with the scent of his sweat, and food from the dishes he washed.
“I understand why. I’m not the boyfriend type.” He sighed, pushing his hair back. “I always felt awful that I couldn’t give you what you wanted.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t give me what I wanted, it’s just that I wasn’t what he wanted. If he had wanted me he would have moved mountains. Yes, we went out once a week, but that was usually the only time we’d talk. He could go days without talking to me. I think I could disappear one day and he wouldn’t even notice.
He looked at me and I averted my eyes. I always did that. I really wanted to make it work with this one yet I don’t think it was reciprocated. He never responded to my “I love yous”with anything but a small smile and a kiss. It was like a question I had already knew the answer to. He would always hold my hand but the grip was always loose. He demanded my location, yet wouldn’t ever actually check it. It’s like he was always almost there, but never actually present.
“I just hope you treat the next girl with respect.” This time it was him who averted his eyes. I tucked my long black hair behind my ears, still playing with the kung Pao chicken on my plate. I wasn’t even hungry anymore. “I mean that is if you actually want her to like you back.” It stung when I said that. All I ever wanted was for him to reciprocate.
He stayed quiet, unusual because he was always so chatty. I was never once one for many words. Normally when we were together he did all the talking. I learned about every single one of his interests. I always wonder if he knew mine. Like, if someone were to ask him, “what are your girlfriend’s interests?”, he at least know what to respond with. But I don’t think we ever quite got there.
“I know. I should’ve never pursued a relationship knowing that I’d hurt you.” He started, tears forming in his eyes. I stared at him trying to process whether he was for real or not. He was the one in tears. “You’re a sweet girl, and you’re quite beautiful. I think that you deserve a beautiful relationship, and it’s just not something I could ever give you.” I laughed a little and shook my head.
Though it was always easy being with him. He always assured me he would never cheat. He would never lie. He always told me the truth. He had nothing to hide. It’s like with every downside there was an upside too. He wasn’t black nor white, more so gray. He could be sweet when he wanted to. I thought about the time he picked me up drunk from a party. I came out from the party stumbling and crying, mascara streaming down my face. He got out of the car and held me, kissing my face and telling me everything would be okay. He held me so tightly. I truly did believe everything would be alright. Then I remembered how in that same night he started to kiss me, pushing me back as his hand slid up my skirt. The smell of bleach on him was intoxicating, making me nauseous. I think he had just gotten off of work. His free hand unbuttoned his pants.
I was so out of it I just let it happen. This was our routine after all. He slid my skirt down, continuing to kiss me. I didn’t kiss back. He adjusted himself, pushing me back further. I hit my head on the backseat door. He put his hand underneath my skull so it wouldn’t happen again.
“It’s okay.” I whispered.
Though it wasn’t actually. It wasn’t the right word. The right word would’ve been “expected.” I expected this, I knew it would come down to this. Yet I let it go on for so long. I looked up at him. Why couldn’t i be what he wanted? This constant cycle seemed never ending. So I had to end it. I closed the container of my food and look around. “Do you want to have sex?” I asked quietly, a small smile on my face.