Two Jakes, Which One To Love

Waking up, I found two husbands in my bed.

18-year-old Jake, with a sparkle in his eyes, said, So, can I call you my wife now?

I glanced at 28-year-old Jake, who was still pretending to be asleep, and shook my head.

Nope, we're getting divorced soon.

...

The scar on 18-year-old Jakes face was still pretty noticeable. Looking at it, the first thing I remembered was him, face covered in blood, grinning like a fool at the hospital, holding out a crushed bouquet of flowers as he confessed his feelings for me.

But now

The divorce papers had been sitting in my drawer for two months already.

The noise of me and 18-year-old Jake waking up wasnt exactly subtle.

Id been startled by him, and hed been startled by 28-year-old Jake.

28-year-old Jake still hadnt opened his eyes. I wasn't sure if he was too tired to wake up, or if he was just avoiding me.

So, I took 18-year-old Jake into the living room and explained the situation.

"This is the house of 28-year-old me and you?"

18-year-old Jake stared at me for a long while, then hurried back into the bedroom.

He studied 28-year-old Jakes face, then grabbed his phone, used his fingerprint to unlock it, and checked the time.

After that, he came out, his eyes shining.

"Hey, Amy, his phone has our wedding photo on the lock screen! How long have we been married?

"Six years."

Sosocan I call you my wife now?

I looked at his hopeful face.

My heart felt like a barren wasteland.

Things that were hard for me to say to 28-year-old Jake, I suddenly could say to 18-year-old Jake.

Maybe its because, at this age, he still loved me.

I paused, then said, No.

Because we're getting divorced soon.

18-year-old Jake stared at me in disbelief, his eyes showing confusion and hurt.

But in the end, he just asked, cautiously, "Amy, did I do something wrong?"

I looked into his eyes.

They were still so bright, so full of hope.

My divorce papers had been printed out for ages.

But I hadn't been able to bring myself to pull them out.

Because I knew very well that it wasn't just 28-year-old Jake that Id be letting go of.

There was also 22-year-old Jake, kneeling down at the company entrance to propose to me; 20-year-old Jake, skipping classes to take me stargazing; 18-year-old Jake, taking a knife for me and getting that scar; 12-year-old Jake, protecting me; 8-year-old Jake, huddling together with me to keep warm, singing me to sleep

At this moment, 28-year-old Jake finally woke up. He tidied himself up, came into the living room, and kissed me on the forehead.

He completely ignored 18-year-old Jake, probably because he literally couldnt see him.

"Amy, I'm off to work. You're off today, right? Stay home and get some rest. Ill order us that Cantonese place you like for lunch.

I gave him some face in front of 18-year-old Jake and replied faintly, Have a good day.

18-year-old Jake looked at us with even more confusion.

In his eyes, we must have looked like a loving couple.

Not long after 28-year-old Jake left, I gathered my things and got ready to go out.

As I was leaving, I told 18-year-old Jake, "Come with me."

18-year-old Jake and I ended up at a coffee shop.

I led him, as if Id done it a million times before, to a secluded table. It was tucked away behind a large potted plant that provided good cover.

Then, I waved over a server and ordered two black coffees.

The server asked politely, "Miss, are you waiting for a friend?"

I was taken aback, realizing that the server probably couldn't see 18-year-old Jake.

So, was 18-year-old Jake a traveler whod suddenly warped from ten years in the past, or a ghost roaming in my memories?

18-year-old Jake had been a bit out of it since he sat down.

He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at the bitterness. I was amused by his reaction.

"What's wrong? This is your favorite drink now."

I pushed the coffee closer to him, propping my chin on my hand as I looked at him.

"You were always telling me that you were over the girly stuff."

"That's him. I still like milk tea," he pushed the coffee aside, as if it was a threat.

I knew he really did like milk tea.

When we were 16, we worked together at a milk tea shop to help support our family.

I was at the counter, and he was in the back making the drinks.

When we closed up for the night, the staff could take the leftover milk tea home. Jake would fill a big cup with all the toppings and then another big cup with milk tea for me. We'd walk home, and I'd sip the milk tea that didn't have a lid. Jake would take the cup of toppings and add them to my drink as I went.

If I couldnt drink anymore, he'd take the milk tea and drink it himself.

He loved sweet drinks, but he always made mine low-sugar to suit my tastes.

The coffee shop door opened again.

This time, 28-year-old Jake walked in.

And there was a very pregnant woman, who he was carefully guiding to a table.

I watched as 18-year-old Jakes eyes widened, an angry expression spreading across his face, his fists clenching.

I smiled even more.

How ironic.

We were truly childhood sweethearts, we had the exact same reaction when we saw this scene.

28-year-old Jake helped the woman sit down at the counter, ordered a sweet milk tea for her, specifically asking that it be lukewarm, not too hot or cold.

He didnt order any coffee for himself. Instead, he grabbed another straw and shared the same drink with the woman.

"Looks like your taste hasn't changed."

I lost my smile and said to 18-year-old Jake,

"Its just changed when it comes to me."

"Thats not me!"

18-year-old Jake trembled with anger, but he didn't go over there and drive off the people who were hurting me, like he used to. He also didn't grab my hand and frantically explain, either.

He just sat there, helplessly wringing the hem of his shirt under the table.

"Are you still wondering why I want a divorce?"

I set down my coffee, too.

The bitterness of the coffee was doing its best to keep the sadness down, but it was rising up, threatening to drown me.

"Amy, just give me another chance..."

"Why dont you go ask him? There might be some misunderstanding..."

A wet, smacking sound interrupted us.

We both looked toward the counter.

Those two were kissing, oblivious to the world.

18-year-old Jake was silent. There wasn't anything left to explain.

He finally looked at me, wanting to reach out to hold my hand, to tell me not to cry, not to feel bad.

But in the end, 18-year-old Jake didnt reach out.

Because he was the one causing me pain.

"Im sorry Amy"

"Don't beat yourself up."

I looked away, taking a sip of my coffee.

A few teardrops fell into my cup, making little ripples.

And when I looked up again, 18-year-old Jake was gone.

Leaving behind a cup of cold black coffee in the corner.

As icy as my own heart.

I got up, ready to go home, get my things together, and contact a lawyer, and officially start the divorce proceedings with Jake. He was the one at fault, and he should have to pay for it.

Before going home, I first went to the house where Jake and I used to live ?C the house where Jakes father used to live.

Jake's father had disappeared after he got out of prison. No one had been to the house in a long time. When I opened the door, dust rushed out to greet me.

My life was a bitter pill.

My parents died when I was 3, and I didn't have any other relatives.

Jake's mother was a friend of my mother, and she had taken me in to raise me.

And so, Jake became my brother.

She was a kind and gentle woman, but good people never seem to live long.

Two years later, Jakes mom passed away from leukemia.

Rumors began to spread.

"That girl, she must be cursed, right?"

"Makes sense. First, she killed her parents, and then she killed the kind woman who took her in..."

"Tsk, tsk, that father better be careful, she might kill him too."

The adults took the gossip home, and told their children. At school, I became the cursed one, the "burden".

They would carve things into my desk, throw trash in my desk drawer, and they would corner me in the bathroom, drenching me in cold water to exorcise the evil.

And thats why Jake watched over me like a hawk every day. Hed yell back at the people who called me names, beat up the ones who bullied me. He'd wait for me at the classroom door after school each afternoon, and if I didnt come out, he'd go look for me, class by class.

But Jake was just a kid, too.

He was sad and scared, losing his mother, his father not even bothering with him.

I would often find him hiding in the closet. He would be huddled there, his eyes red.

I would climb in and hug him.

There were still a few of Jakes mothers clothes in the closet. We would wrap ourselves in them, as if we could still feel a bit of her warmth, a bit of her presence.

Late at night, he would softly sing nursery rhymes, hugging me to help me fall asleep.

"The stars at night can sing"

On lonely nights, its singing with me

Everything in the house was run down, covered in dust.

The large pieces of furniture were covered with white sheets, like dead bodies, silently standing in the tombs of the past.

I had hidden some of my parents' belongings in the closet.

But, right then, I heard a rustling noise coming from the closet.

It sounded like something was moving around in there.

I was worried that a rat had gotten in the closet and was messing up my parents things.

So, I whipped off the white sheet, and opened the closet door.

What I saw was completely unexpected.

I saw a small figure curled up in a ball.

It felt like the world was going backward.

We stared at each other.

8-year-old Jake crawled out politely, brushed the dust off his clothes, and asked,

"Hi, big sister, have you seen my little sister?"

"Her name is Amy, she's a little shorter than me, and kind of looks like you." He showed his height with his hand.

"We were playing hide-and-seek, and Ive been hiding here for a long time. She hasn't come to find me. Im a little worried."

I vaguely remembered.

Jake's father had become an alcoholic after Jake's mother died.

When I was 8, he would come home drunk, searching all over the house for me and Jake.

If he found either of us, it was a mouthful of alcohol, followed by a slap.

We were just kids and we couldn't fight back. We would run and hide.

Jake would always hide in the closet, which was the easiest to find, and I would hide in the attic, which was almost impossible to find.

There was a hole in the attic floor, where I could see what was happening down below.

If Jakes father left, or if he passed out on the couch, I would come down from the attic, and knock on the closet door, and pull Jake out.

We called this game - Hide-and-Seek.

Right now, 8-year-old Jake was looking up at me.

His eyes were shining brightly.

I reached out and took his hand, and led him slowly into the living room.

8-year-old Jake was staring at everything around him, looking really confused.

For him, it was like waking up to find the world completely changed: the empty living room, all the furniture covered in white sheets.

Even the father he was so afraid of had disappeared.

"Big sister, wheres my father?"

"Hes gone."

I looked at the clock in the living room.

It was forever frozen on the day that Jakes father had been sentenced.

The face was broken and the hands were bent.

"He's never coming back."

8-year-old Jake seemed to relax a little.

Then does little sister Amy still need me to protect her?

I knelt down to look at him.

"No."

"She's all grown up now."

"She has the strength and courage to face those storms all by herself now.

As soon as I finished speaking, I saw 8-year-old Jake smile at me.

And in that moment, the living room was empty.

8-year-old Jake was gone, too.

I went home, sat on the sofa, and put all the documents together. I waited for 28-year-old Jake to come back.

Around eleven oclock, I heard my phone light up. It was a message from him.

Amy, dont wait up for me, go to sleep.

I silently closed my phone without replying.

At one in the morning, the front door of the house opened with a creak.

28-year-old Jake turned on the light, and was surprised to see me sitting on the sofa silently.

Amy, you could have said something.

Jake chuckled, putting down his briefcase.

He pulled a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back.

Creamy yellow roses, mixed with sprigs of babys breath. They were beautiful.

But not my style.

Ever since the day he confessed his feelings when we were 18, and his flowers were crushed, he vowed to give me flowers every month.

At first, we didn't have much money, so we couldn't buy them from a flower shop. He'd buy loose flowers, pick up the ones that had fallen, and bundle them into a bouquet.

Later, once his company went public, he got even busier.

And now, he'd forgotten to buy me flowers for three months.

Today, I received another bouquet.

It was huge, I could barely hold it without covering my entire upper body.

Much bigger, more beautiful, and more complete than the bouquet I had received when I was 18.

But I didnt like it.

The flowers I liked were small, delicate, they could fit in the palm of my hand.

Like his love for me, something that he cherished with such care.

In the end, I put the bouquet down.

Jake watched me, his smile faltering.

Amy what's wrong? You don't like these flowers? Just tell me what kind you like, and Ill buy them for you next time.

I pointed at the coffee table, where the divorce papers were, the ones he should have seen as soon as he walked into the room.

Jake sat down on the sofa opposite me.

He took out a cigarette, but he didnt light it. His hand was shaking. You saw it?

Ive been looking at it for two months.

I took the cigarette from his hand and tossed it in the trash.

Smoking is bad for your health.

I saw you arguing with her, accusing her of setting you up. I saw you frantically answering phone calls, going to the maternity ward in the middle of the night.

I saw you give in, warning her to leave you alone once she has the baby, and handing her a big check.

I stared directly at him.

And I saw you kissing her in that coffee shop today.

The scar on 28-year-old Jake's face was so faint it was almost gone.

The road that took you and I 25 years to walk, she just walked in a single step."