Page 33 of A Perfect Fit

“Maybe,” Jen says. “Another interpretation is, he didn’t care about the context. He’d do anything to help you, even if it meant jumping off a cliff.”

“Okay, let’s say, hypothetically, he was serious. As I said last time, it wouldn’t work. We’d just be throwing insults at each other the whole night.”

Jen’s blue eyes twinkle. “I think you’d have pretty good chemistry as a fake couple.”

Yeah, right. An ant and a twig would probably have more passion and excitement together.

“Chemistry so lethal that it’d be a dangerous explosion that blew up in our faces,” I say, taking another bite of my food. “And I don’t even need a science degree to know that.”

Jen sighs. “Okay, I give up. In other news, I might have hit Aaron up in his DMs, and he invited me for drinks with, uh, one of his … coworkers tomorrow night.”

“That’s so exciting. Look at you go!” I grin, feeling like a proud mother. At least one of our love lives is going somewhere. “Where does he work again?”

“At a marketing consultancy firm.” There’s a shine in her eyes. “Do you want to join? Other people will be there, too. There’ll definitely be single men around.”

“I was just going to stop by my parents’ place to give them their invitations to my fashion show,” I say. “After that, I might have an early night.”

Jen nods. “All good. Hey, even if you don’t bring a date to the reunion, you won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”

A grateful smile lingers on my lips. “I know. Thank you.”

I’ll get through the reunion without any drama and remain calm if I come face-to-face with Oliver.

Everything will be fine.

Returning to my parents’ townhouse—nestled in a quiet, leafy street in Brooklyn Heights—feels different from the last time I came here for our family dinner. I’m feeling hopeful. Light. Optimistic.

The three-story brownstone greets me as I walk up the stairs, mentally rehearsing what I’m going to say. Smoothing my blouse and jeans, I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.

Mom opens the door after several seconds. She’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants—a contrast to the corporate attire I’m used to seeing her in.

“Hey, Mom,” I greet.

“Hi, Isabelle,” Mom says. “Come inside.”

I take off my sandals and step inside, putting on slippers before following Mom down the hallway.

Even though I’m not the closest with my mom or sister, I still hope to have their support. Maybe, just maybe, if Mom goes to my fashion show, she’ll finally see how important fashion design is to me.

Ivy sits at the dining table, scrolling through her phone, her face tense as she types something. She glances up at me. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I say. “Is Dad home?”

“Your father had to stay back at the office for some last-minute work,” Mom responds.

“Oh. All good.” I ignore the tiny pang of disappointment that clashes against my chest. I suppose I can just ask Mom to pass on Dad’s invitation card.

“Have you eaten yet?” Mom asks.

In Chinese and many Asian cultures, that question is the equivalent of asking how are you.

“Yep,” I respond.

Mom nods. “You said you had something you wanted to tell us?”

“Yes.” I grab the cream invitation cards from my tote bag. “I’m hosting my first-ever fashion show for my business, and I want to invite you all to the event.” Walking around, I give Mom and Ivy their invites. “This one’s for Dad,” I add, handing another card to Mom.

Ivy places her phone down to read my card while Mom studies hers. My palms turn clammy, my foot tapping anxiously against the floorboards. I feel like I’m back in school again, presenting my report card to my mother and awaiting her reaction.