This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,60

specials. “I don’t know how you can be around these amazing smells all day and not constantly have the munchies.”

Jos shrugs and starts on another sampler. Each office is going to get a dozen jiaozi, an extra-large order of pork fried rice, and two cucumber avocado rolls. We’re dropping off three a day based on geography and which drug reps Jocelyn was able to get in contact with.

I’m still embarrassed that I had to pawn that part of the job on Jocelyn, but I console myself with knowing that she’s 1,000 percent better at it than I would be. I’m happy to be the food mule, and though it does ratchet my anxiety up to knock on people’s doors and talk to them, it’s a type of nerves that I’ve gotten used to.

Having spent a significant part of my childhood doing homework with my sister in a storage room in my mom’s office, I know my way through medical buildings. I know enough to dress up in a suit so they know right away I’m not a patient, and to wait until there isn’t a line at the front desk to politely give them the business card I made up on Vistaprint and leave them one of the ribboned tiers of take-out containers that Jocelyn made.

One of the reception ladies at the surgeon’s office actually moans when she smells the tower of goodness. “Oh my god, I love dumplings.”

“We’re definitely one of the more affordable catering options out there,” I say. “Make sure to order extra dumplings so you can take some home. Gotta have fringe benefits, right?”

“You said it,” she says, glaring at an elderly patient who’s been giving her the stink eye since I walked in. She calls in our first catering job that afternoon.

When we get the order, Jocelyn and I exchange high fives without thinking, only to hear Mr. Wu’s shout of outrage from the counter.

“No hanky-panky!”

Later on in the afternoon, two identical Post-it notes show up on our laptops:

A-PLUS RULES

* No touching allowed (any body part)

* Will use nanny cam if hanky-panky continue

* Also no secret whispering or messages

PS: We expect revenue report on Friday.

I can practically hear Jocelyn’s teeth grating when she sees the note.

“It’s okay,” I say, glancing over at Grandma Wu where she’s pretending to snooze at a booth at the far end of the restaurant. “It’s kind of funny—I’ll have to tell my friends that I have a rep for being handsy now. They’ll think it’s hysterical. Do you think your dad would lay off if I gave him their names as character references?”

“I think my dad’s going to lay off when I’ve reached menopause,” Jocelyn says sourly. She tears the note off her computer screen with extreme prejudice and crumples it up into a tiny dense ball before tossing it into the trash.

I shrug and stick my note in the little blank spot to the right of my touchpad.

For the next few minutes Jocelyn just takes her anger out on her keyboard, hammering out quick violent finger strokes with a scowl on her face. I see her look up at me a couple of times in my peripheral vision, but I keep my eyes on my own work. I’ve never been good at defusing other people’s moods.

Finally, Jocelyn slams her laptop shut. “I just don’t get how you just sit there and take it,” she says, and it’s like the blast of heat you get when you open the door of a car that’s been sitting outside all day in August.

“Why aren’t you more angry about this?” she hisses at me. I don’t know what it means that my first concern is that she’s breaking rule number three. “Shouldn’t you be resisting? Or fighting back? Is it because you assume that you have something to prove, that my dad’s right and you’re not worthy to date me unless you fulfill some sort of bullshit arbitrary contract?”

“Ummm…” It makes me slightly breathless, not only to see the depth of her rage, but to have it directed at me all of a sudden. I blink heavily, like I’m trying to ward off smoke, or tears. “I mean, it’s his prerogative as your father…”

“What about your prerogative as my… kind-of boyfriend?” She stutters over what to call us, and it makes my heart hiccup at the idea of even having a kind-of girlfriend. “Shouldn’t you stand up for yourself?”

I have to admit that I never really questioned the deal I made. I accepted