Regret. Regret, remorse, contempt - pure, unadulterated regret.
In hindsight, Han should have stopped to reconsider wearing her nicest and only pair of leather boots and paper-thin cardigan. In an ecstatic daze, she decided to ignore today’s weather forecast. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t carry an umbrella. Besides, Han is convinced that forecasters play a round of blindfolded darts to determine the weather. Still, she discarded her raincoat to show off the first date outfit she’d worn in forever.
Han now stands wallowing in the consequences of her actions: soaking head to toe in the pouring rain, clothes sticking frigidly onto her skin like uncomfortable tape, knowing she’ll be coughing her guts out tomorrow morning.
All this after leaving the most humiliating and humbling date she’s had in her entire life.
After getting off a call with her sister Cindy, begging for a ride home, her gaze shoots up to see an umbrella hanging above her head. Instantly, she swings back to look behind her, throwing up her hands, only to nearly collapse to her knees.
Absolutely nothing in the world could have prepared her for the sight of her ex-boyfriend dressed in a suit that probably costs more than her car, and carrying a comically stitched Pokemon bag.
Oh, and he’s also holding the umbrella over her head.
“Fancy seeing you here. Outside a…” Peter scans the street, swinging his head theatrically. “Papillon? Not bad.”
Han doesn’t know if she wants to choke or laugh. “Please tell me this is a fever dream. I’ve just lived through the worst date of my life, and now I’m hallucinating.”
Peter raised his eyebrow with a playful glint. “Oh? But he took you to Papillon. Rich and smart, just your type”
Han sniffs indignantly as she exasperatedly throws up her hands.
“Yeah, intelligence is hot, but not when you’re so... soulless! Boring!”
“I’m flattered then, to have been hot and intelligent enough to last more than one date with you.”
Han grimaces in disgust. “Not funny. Negative zero out of ten.”
“No, no. Say it again. Intelligence is hot.”
“You are diverging.”
“Don’t worry, I’m listening to you, I promise.”
“Selective hearing!”
Peter chuckles and yields, “If I recall correctly, you never complained when about my arbitrary aerodynamics tirades and NASCAR rambles at three A.M. This date must’ve been abysmal, huh?”
“He was so mundane!” Han exclaims. “You either get the ridiculously witty ones or people entirely out of touch when it comes to engineers in the Bay Area—book-smart but completely drab. You should’ve been there, I was going to cry when he missed my Umbrella Academy joke!”
At that remark, Peter shudders grimly. “I can’t blame you for that, to be honest. I went on a date with a guy who also studied physics, and we entertained each other with STEM-major horror stories, but he was terribly uncultured. He didn’t get any of my Beatles references, which I can excuse since older bands are becoming obsolete. I would’ve appreciated a fake laugh at my W.A.P. joke but he looked like he wanted me to repent for my vulgar language right then and there.”
“Right?! I can get it if someone isn’t into my humor, but he was so stingy. His name was Stein. Even his name sounds stingy. I tried talking about working with anime, and he said that it’s a miracle that animators even get paid for drawing lines. Who says that nowadays?”
And Stein’s remark had struck a nerve. Just last week, Han pushed through fourteen-hour shifts drawing webcomic panels for five days straight because her assistants fell sick, and now her wrists throb as if she got stabbed.
Peter shakes his head empathetically. “Elitists. They don’t get childhoods and develop a superiority complex from it. I hope that his future marketing teams end up with incompetent graphic designers on your behalf. Wait. You still draw?”
“I do,” Han replies in appeased surprise. “I launched my webcomic on Tapestry last year, actually. It’s titled ‘Concision’. It’s a coming-of-age story with elements of time-travel and such, although I think you’d flame me for the inaccurate cosmology references.”
“You continued it? And it’s published for a real audience to read?”
Right. He was there when Han drew the concept designs. “Yeah. It’s a struggle, but I’ve been getting waves of readers. It’s so surreal.”
“And you deserve them. I’m proud of you, congrats.” Peter says sincerely. His compliment leaves Han torn between sulking about her ruined date and beaming from elation. “I sound like an old man. That’s not weird to say, right? That I’m proud?”
“No, not at all. That means a lot, thank you. How about you? What are you all dressed up for?”
It’s Peter’s turn to beam. “I have a meeting with a couple of chairmen regarding a project we’re working on. I’m proposing an outline to them—I can’t disclose any details, but it’s a work in progress.”
A rush of pride swells in Han. She isn’t surprised at the news, and she never would have been. “You’ve always had it in you—everything you put into aerospace paid off.”
“I would hope it did. It’d be a shame if I had to apply navier-strokes to flipping fast-food burgers for the rest of my life. So, what compelled you to get soaked out here instead of staying inside?”
Flushing abashedly for the fifth time that night, Han clears her throat and averts her eyes, looking everywhere but at Peter, who gives her his earnest attention.
“I gave it. My umbrella. Stein said his chauffeur couldn’t pick him up, so I…”
As if for theatrical effect, Han sneezes, causing Peter to double over in a fit of incredulous laughter. The umbrella shakes with his movement, causing more rain to splash onto Han until she finds herself laughing too. Every aspect of the moment felt ridiculous: standing in the rain after a miserable failure of a date, talking to her ex-boyfriend while dripping from head to toe like a loser.
Suddenly, Han is struck with a bittersweet reminder of the cementing reason why she’d never pursue Stein: his career. It was the common denominator in Han’s long line of shoddy dates and hard-pressed lovers and cut strings: workaholism and time-consuming ambitions. Han has been a subject to relentless teasing for her miserable taste in company: nerds with big dreams and thick wallets. The more exhilarating a person, though, the more Han had to fight for their time.
Inevitably, not everyone stuck around, and most of her former partners ended up getting cut from her life, and here she is.
It’s been five years since their breakup. The man that now stands before Han is one she bears no resentment towards. Peter’s name still hangs heavy on the back of her tongue more like an old friend rather than a rock she couldn’t swallow.
Han takes in Peter’s figure and feels pride in the way neither of them droop like the sleep-deprived college students they used to be. Peter’s face belongs to magazines, now—the image of a charismatic CEO bound for success. Beyond pictures, though, Peter has stayed the same; his laugh is one that she can recognize anywhere, and he still carries a Pokemon bag everywhere he goes.
You still draw? That’s not weird to say, right? That I’m proud?
And he remembered.
Of course he remembered, because he’d spent countless nights modeling for her assignments. Han sketched him so often that she could still trace his face blindfolded if she wanted to. They once lived off of plain eggs and rice for a week just to rent out suits for Han’s first showcase back in their sophomore year. He’d grinned at her boyishly when they raced across campus after the showcase, drenched from the rain after missing the bus ride home, and she had let him borrow her umbrella to walk home. Han still cringes when she remembers how they returned the soaked rentals sheepishly and prayed they wouldn’t get charged for the damage.
And he definitely remembers the long stretches when they wouldn’t talk to each other. Peter had been swept away by overseas internships and projects, and Han secluded herself in a desperate grasp for reasons to pursue art. Their break up followed naturally, even if her regrets never completely eroded away.
In attempt to recover from his laughing fit, Peter adjusts his umbrella, saying, “You’re incredible. Incredibly stupid. What is it with you and giving away umbrellas? Man, you’re ridiculous.”
“The sentiment is reciprocated.”
“Well, I don’t know about your date, but my chauffeur is here.”
On cue, a bright red Tesla rolls its way down the road, robotic doors swinging up like a bug.
Rich people, Han thinks, it’s always rich people!
“I have to head to my meeting, but if you want I can have Alberto drive you home,” Peter offers.
He rambles again, saying, “You don’t have to worry about drenching the car; I keep towels with the prospect of encountering a stranded animal to save.”
“You’re not funny at all."
Discomfort creeps in as Han straightens herself, knowing the night is coming to an end. She was pleasantly distracted by the conversation, but now her socks feel sticky and her hair clings ungracefully to her face.
“It’s okay, Cindy’s on her way to pick me up. She’s going to have a laugh when I tell her about this.”
“Well, then…”
Peter hands her his umbrella and starts to head toward his car. “As a thank you for the chat, and for the umbrella you lent me that one time.”
“Thank you,” Han replies. “Good luck with your meeting. I hope your colleagues aren’t deterred by that horrendous bag.”
Peter grins. “Tell Cindy I say hi. Good luck on your next date.”
The night is ending and the world will continue to turn. Han is going to get home, bask in a hot bath for an hour because she feels miserable, sneak ice cream into her room and move on. Softly but sincerely, she waves goodbye to Peter and the freakishly red Tesla.
“Take care.”
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