Confessions of a Call Center Gal - By Lisa Lim Page 0,111
out as great friendships.” Holding my gaze, he continues, “We were good friends.” He stops and smiles. “We are good friends, and I thought dating too soon might change things.”
I take a long sip of my latte. “So things have changed now. Is that bad?”
“No,” he says at once. “But we’re starting out on something more substantial. I’ve gotten to know you so much better now, and I love everything about you, flaws and all.”
“Flaws?” I sit up straighter. “What kind of flaws?” I release a nervous laugh and brace myself.
“Well, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on tight.”
I fling a napkin at him playfully.
“It’s true.” He laughs. “You have these big, beautiful doe-like eyes. But babes, I’m afraid they’re just there for decoration only, you can’t see jack.”
I kick him under the table. “I can see!”
Unperturbed, my Shakespeare goes on professing, “I love how you’re firm and fragile, lovely and unapologetic.”
A warm glow envelops me. Mmm. I’m starting to like this.
“And I’ve been enchanted by your cute, sweet and shy persona since day one.”
Smiling, I take a healthy swallow of lukewarm latte. “What else?” I ask, fishing for more compliments.
“And my petal...” He strokes my cheek. “You may look like a delicate flower, but you’re as feisty as an old Ukrainian wife.”
I splutter coffee into my cup.
“An old Ukrainian wife?” I demand huffily.
He chortles. “They’re a force to be reckoned with. Haven’t you heard the joke about the old Ukrainian wife?”
“Nope,” I reply stonily.
He launches right into it, “An old Ukrainian man lies dying in his bed. Suddenly, he sniffs the sweet aroma of pierogi and—”
“Wait,” I cut in. “Do you like pierogi?”
“Nah. I’m not really a fan of boiled dumplings.”
“Okay. Continue,” I say with a flick of my wrist.
Mika’s voice is animated as he regales the story of The Old Ukrainian Wife. “And even though the old man is near death’s door, he musters all his remaining strength and crawls into the kitchen. There, he is beyond ecstatic to find three hundred of his favorite pierogi, spread out on the kitchen counter. It’s a feast for his eyes. He thinks to himself that either he’s died and gone to Heaven, or this is one final act of love from his loyal wife of sixty years, ensuring that he leaves this earth a happy man. The frail, old man gathers all his remaining strength and flings himself at the kitchen counter. With trembling hands, he reaches for a pierogi. He’s about to shove it into his drooling mouth, when all of a sudden KABAAAAM!”
I jerk my head up. “What happened?”
“His wife smacks him with a wooden spoon and yells ‘Piss off! Those are for the funeral’.”
I burst into a spasm giggles. “Mika, if you were a dying man, I’d let you stuff your face with Belgian trippe sausages.”
“Now that’s one more thing I love about you—you remember things about me. And about others. You’re thoughtful and kind, fiercely loyal…especially to Kars.”
I cough. “Um, you said you love my flaws. What other flaws do I have?”
“None.” His voice is colored with amusement.
“You sure? If there’s anything else, I’d like to know.”
“I’m sure.” He gazes into my eyes. “I find everything about you endearing.”
Since Mika is declaring his love for me, it seems only fair I reciprocate. “You know what I love most about you?”
His eyes twinkle. “What?”
“I love that you have the patience of a Dalai Lama.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Maddy, I’d rather not be compared to a monk.”
“And, I adore how when you laugh, no sound is emitted.”
At that, he laughs and of course, it is silent.
“And has anyone ever told you that you look like Zac Levi and Zac Efron?”
He draws a blank. “Who’s Zac Efron? And who’s Zac Levi?”
I stare at him as if he’d just returned from Jupiter and Mars.
“Wait!” I exclaim. “Back to you and me. You said there were two reasons. What’s reason number two?”
“Well, you made it clear from the get-go that dating someone at the work place was a bad idea. And the more I thought about it, you were right.”
I blink. “But we’re still working at the same place.”
He sets down his cup. “Not anymore.”
“What?” I gawp. “You quit?!?”
“I gave my two weeks’ notice before we left. I’ve got a new job, Maddy. An engineering gig with Greenworth.”
I can hear the exuberance and the passion in his voice as he goes on to tell me all about his new job. He continues, “And they’ll even pay for