The Proposal That Was Just a Bet

2: 2

My roommate dragged me, half against my will, to the little grove where Job and I used to meet.

There was Sylvia, holding a flower crown, down on one knee in front of Job.

"Job, I'm greedy. I don't want you to be my boyfriend for just one day. I want you to be my fiancé."

Job froze.

Sylvia bowed her head, the picture of wounded sweetness.

"Just pretend for one day. It won't get in the way of you and Erica going to grad school together, and it won't touch your future."

Their classmates started chanting, "Say yes! Say yes!"

Job took the flower crown from her hands and set it on his own head, gazing down at her like she was something to be adored.

I used to weave flower crowns for Job too. He always called it childish and never once put one on.

The next second,

someone gave Sylvia a little shove.

Job caught her against his chest and laughed out loud, delighted.

The smile on his face looked exactly like the one he'd worn the day I agreed to be with him.

I stepped closer.

Job was still lost in his happiness. He didn't notice a thing.

Sylvia wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Job, who's prettier, me or Erica?"

He answered without missing a beat.

"You, of course."

Then Sylvia rose onto her toes and kissed him at the corner of his mouth.

Job's eyes went blank for a moment.

Then he closed them.

I bit down on my lip, pushed back the bitterness rising in my throat, and walked right up to them.

The classmates saw me.

The whole place went dead silent.

Job sensed something was wrong, opened his eyes, and saw me.

He shoved Sylvia away on reflex and started explaining.

"I agreed to be Sylvia's boyfriend for one day. It's normal for a couple to kiss."

My mind went blank. I couldn't get out a single word to challenge him.

Job dragged in an irritated breath.

"I already told you, today I'm Sylvia's boyfriend. What did you come here for?"

I dug my nails into my palm and said, "To watch. To catch you two being sweet on each other."

Sylvia came over, eyes brimming with hurt.

"Erica, don't blame Job. He's just making my college love-story dream come true. If you're angry, you can hit me, yell at me, whatever you want."

Job pulled Sylvia behind him and looked at me like I was a threat.

"Erica, if you keep making a scene, then we're breaking up. You can go to grad school on your own."

I said it calmly. "Fine. We're done!"

Job's eyes went wide with disbelief.

The classmates rushed to smooth things over.

"Erica, four years together. Breaking up over one of Sylvia's jokes would be such a waste."

They pulled Sylvia in front of me.

"Let Sylvia treat everyone to dinner to make it up to you, okay?"

Before I could answer, they hauled me into a car and drove straight to the steakhouse by the school gate.

As we got out, Job explained under his breath.

"Erica, I really was just helping Sylvia live out her dream. Don't be angry anymore."

He reached out to pat my head the way he always did. I turned aside and dodged it.

His hand hung frozen in the air.

Once everyone sat down, Job planted himself next to Sylvia, sulking like a kid.

Just then the waiter brought over two drinks.

"These are our graduation-season couple's specials, on the house. Which two are they for?"

Job took the drinks and, right in front of me, handed one to Sylvia, carefully sticking the straw in for her.

Not long after, the waiter set down the split pot, one broth mild, one spicy.

Job took one look and rapped his knuckles on the table.

"Sylvia's been running hot lately, she can't have anything spicy. Put the mild broth on her side."

The classmates laughed. "Job's so thoughtful. No wonder Sylvia chased after him."

Then someone caught on to how wrong that sounded and glanced at me.

Job didn't deny it. He just patted Sylvia's head.

Sylvia flushed and lowered her face to sip her drink.

It took a while before something finally registered with Job.

He picked up food for me and gave a small cough.

"Why the cold face? Are you hungry?"

I looked at the bowl heaped full of chili peppers and pulled my mouth into a bitter little smile.

My stomach's bad. I can't eat spicy food.

Once, the moment Job saw me eat anything spicy he'd panic like he was watching me swallow poison.

He'd even order the mild broth every time we had hot pot, just to keep me company.

Now he'd piled the chilies into my bowl with his own hands.

I set down my chopsticks and held back the tears spinning in my eyes.

"My stomach hurts. I'm leaving."