Sydney zipped by in a blur on the taxi ride to the large shopping mall, and my blazer stuck to my skin. I refused to complain because it would only prove Jett was right, and the last thing I wanted to hear was “I told you so.”
I trail him as heoohsandahhsat the various stores and kiosks. There’s a grocery store, a few banks, a liquor shop, places to eat, and dozens of clothing and home goods stores. He gasps at a donut stand but then bolts to a center kiosk selling hand sushi rolls and other fried foods, the greasy aroma filling the air.
“Hungry?” he asks, eyeing the display case. A massive grumble lets loose from my stomach, answering for me, and he chuckles. “Any dietary restrictions?”
I shake my head, and he rattles off different options. A sushi connoisseur, I am not, but I’m pretty confident teriyaki chicken is not traditional. He pays, and we find a small table to eat at, the sounds and scents of the mall surrounding us.
“We could split them in half,” I offer. “Do they have knives?”
My suggestion is two seconds too late. Jett lifts the first sushi roll—a fried vegetable tempura—and takes a massive bite, then holds what remains between us.
Leaning forward, I take a nibble, and the flavor explodes on my tongue, a tiny moan escaping as I chew. Shit, this is good.I steal another bite before Jett pulls the roll away. Wide hazel irises stare back at me as I swallow.
“Sorry,” I mumble, mouth full. I cover my lips with my hand to save what’s left of my dignity until I swallow. “That was better than I expected.”
“It’s mad delicious,” he confirms, glancing down at the stack of soy sauces on the table. “They’re fish! Charlie and Mateo would love these,” he says, scooping up a handful to take a photo. “The shape,” he clarifies, “not the single-use plastics.”
“Right,” I sigh, eyeballing another sushi roll, one filled with fresh salmon and avocado.
Even while busy doing something else, the man doesn’t miss a thing and slides the food across the table. “Eat up. Can’t shop on an empty stomach.”
“Harder to try on clothes when you’re bloated,” I say, though I take another nibble.
Jett pauses mid-bite and pulls the avocado roll from his mouth. “What?”
Horrified eyes fly across my face, and discomfort crawls along my skin like tiny venomous ants.What did I say?
“You know,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but his features intensify. “If I eat too much, then I’ll look funny in some of the clothing.”
“Look…funny?”
The way he repeats the words, a slow drag of each syllable, sets me on edge. I begin to babble. “You know, when you eat and then you’re bloated, so the clothes fit poorly? Especially if you’re wearing something form-fitting.”
His jaw hangs open, and he sets down the sushi. “Has someone told you that?”
Why does he look heartbroken? And why does it make me sick?
A knot tightens in my chest, wrapping around my heart. No matter how long it’s been since I left Tommy, the quiet voice persists. “Maybe once or twice, but what woman hasn’t heard that?”
He rubs a hand over his forehead, like adding friction will help him process my words. I don’t like his response or the way it makes me out to be the wild one here.
“That’s not right,” he says, gentler than I’ve ever heard from him. “Clothes are meant to fit you. Not the other way around.”
“I meant to say—”
WhatdidI mean to say?
That in my last long-term relationship, I was told I was less attractive after I ate? Or maybe how he would avoid any initiation of intimacy after I had eaten and my stomach wasn’t flat? Or his suggestion I wear Spanx underneath outfits to “smooth my curves”?
Words fizzle out on my tongue, and I’m caught floundering, uncomfortable and exposed even though I’ve said nothing at all.
“I don’t know who told you that,” he murmurs, “but it’s untrue. It was a cruel thing to say to you.”
Chewing on my lip, I digest his words, process the way they burrow into that piece of decay Tommy left behind, until they dig roots and heal over the wound. In the eight months I’ve known Jett, I’ve never heard an untruthful word fall from his lips. His authenticity and the tinge of disgust in his eyes when he pieced together my meaning allow the declaration to settle.
I have no response to offer him, so I pick up the sushi roll and eat every morsel. Then I eat another. Then the last gyoza until I’m so stuffed he might have to roll me into the shops.
It’s freeing and horrible all at once. Jett finishes the last of the food, then asks, “Ready to shop ’til you drop?”
