JULY 22, 2020 / VILLA PAULA

"Fourth isn't bad at all. You were never going to be eliminated from the semi-finals," Tallulah comforted Asher. "You were always in the top five. I never had any doubts."

Tallulah, having grown up in Guangzhou, was impossibly unperturbed by hot, humid weather. 

She sipped Pinot Noir with a pleasant smile on her face, her cheeks slightly rosy to match her pink sundress, while Asher continued to perspire his body weight in sweat in the Arizona summer night.

Tallulah had a uni friend who lived in Phoenix, so she had planned to fly out to catch up with her during the day and watch Asher compete in the AMA Series Semi-Final race in the evening. Knowing this, Asher had reserved a table at a chic restaurant in the city center.

With grapevines growing through the thatched ceiling, Villa Paula was the sort of off-beat, indie location that Tallulah would adore. Bulb lights, live music, grew their own herbs. And, as expected, she was glancing around with unrestrained glee in her warm brown eyes. 

For Asher's part, he couldn't give a shit about the decor.

The fact that this restaurant was blissfully air-conditioned, however, already earned it five stars.

"It's impacted on my starting position for the final. It's going to bite me in the ass."

"Maybe it's the kick up the ass you'll need to pull through and win the whole thing," Tallulah calmly suggested. She was the only person Asher didn't have to keep a positive-thinking facade around. He could whine and complain as much as he liked around her, which was part of why he loved her.

"You're beautiful."

Tallulah quirked an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic, but readily accepted that Asher didn't want to talk motocross over dinner. "Aw, thanks, baby. You are beautiful, too."

"And you're talented, and so damn likable."

"I've already got Asian flush, Asher," she chastised him. "Do you want me to leave here looking like a tomato?"

"You'd be the cutest goddamn tomato I've ever seen. Probably win all the county fairs this side of the Atlantic."

"Eat your salmon."

Asher let an amused laugh bubble from his throat, never tiring of Tallulah's ravenous appetite and insistence on finishing meals. "I will, after."

"After what?"

Then Asher clicked his fingers, gesturing for the waiter — who'd been given explicit instructions — to bring over the iced bucket of champagne and two slim flutes.

Tallulah watched the tray be arranged on the table with wide, shell-shocked eyes.

"Asher . . . what's going on?" she asked after the waiter departed.

Gently taking her hands in his, Asher met the eyes of the woman who'd done so much for him since they met. He couldn't believe a year and eight months had passed that quickly, but then again, Tallulah had been supporting him, engaging him and pushing his comfort zones the whole while. 

She made life exciting.

"Thank you, Lulu, for interviewing me that October. Thank you for making me get shirtless and oiled up in front of a camera."

"Oh, you're welcome, baby," she said absentmindedly. "No need to thank me, really."

Tallulah eyed the champagne with a flicker of nervousness, but Asher mulishly trundled ahead. She had never been great at taking compliments, humble as she was.

"You push me to my limits, but I know that's because you care about me. You support my ambitions and career with a selflessness that not many people have. I swear, I wouldn't have gotten as many sponsorship opportunities as I have had it not been for you arranging all your interviews, talk shows, radio calls, livestreams — you name it."

"A— Asher," Tallulah stammered. Maybe the heat was getting to her, after all — her hands were clammy with sweat. The rosy glow in her cheeks had paled considerably. "It's alright, you don't need to—"

"I want to. I have to. You have been my number one fan with no expectations, that I had to do something—"

"—but not this, Asher, what are you thinking?!—"

Asher released one of his hands to pull the smooth box that was resting by his feet onto the table. Tallulah blanched completely, her eyes barely registering anything save for Asher's movements and the fact that a sleek, black box was now sitting on the table.

"Asher, stop. I love you, I really do, but I can't do this. Not right now. Not with you. I don't even have the time to think about marriage—"

"Marriage?" Asher asked, horribly befuddled. "What are you talking about?"

"T— th— the champagne . . . and the speech . . . and the box—"

Asher pulled loose the ribbon on the box — which Tallulah belatedly realised was far too large to be a ring box — to reveal a shiny, new smartphone. 

"Y— you . . . I mean, your phone's been shattered beyond repair for a few months, though you insist on using it until it craps out," Asher took a deep breath as he realised that he was rambling. 

His heart was hammering against his chest at how Tallulah had brought up marriage, to which he never even paid much thought outside of their far-fetched pillow-talk ramblings.

"I just wanted to thank you for all the work you've been doing behind the scenes to get me to this point," Asher explained dumbly. 

Somehow Tallulah's abject horror at the idea of being proposed to by him stung — which was crazy, because it wasn't something he wanted either. It suddenly hurt to talk through the knot in his throat.

"It's not gone unnoticed," he abruptly concluded, sliding the phone over the table towards Tallulah.

Tallulah took one look at the smartphone, then Asher's hurt, surprised face, and dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, God . . . I'm sorry."

"You said 'not with you.' What does that mean?"

"I— um. Look, nothing has happened. I love you too much to disrespect you like that. But, well, my ex contacted me about a journalism job in Hong Kong that he's recommended me for." 

Asher bristled at the mention of Tallulah's ex, because he knew exactly which Hong Kong-living, Ivy League-graduate, snooty, pious douche she was talking about.

"I was going to wait until the Series is over to tell you, because you didn't need the distraction, but I'd be writing for their newspaper of record, which is — well — it's what I've been dreaming of. It was seeing you chase your dreams that made me want to apply, and, well, if I did . . ."

"So you'd move to Hong Kong? That's not a big deal," Asher insisted, wondering why she broke the news with so much trepidation. "We could do long distance."

She cleared her throat roughly, and downed the rest of her wine in a questionably large gulp. When their gazes met again, she looked pained with guilt. 

"See, I'd move there indefinitely. And it's not fair to ask that of you. Plus . . . I . . . don't want to do the long distance thing. It hasn't worked out before for me."

"And I'm not worth the effort?"

"You know that's not the case, Asher," Tallulah said sharply. "You never work a day in your life because you have your dream job. I want that, too. Don't I deserve that?"

They simply regarded each other for a long time. 

Tallulah's eyes pleaded with Asher to understand. 

Asher stared at Tallulah for an entirely different reason.

He already understood. Over the nearly two years they'd been dating, he'd come to admire every part of her character. Her wit, her tenacity, her determination. She had a mind of gold, and, even rarer, the heart to match. He loved her so much.

Which meant — considering he'd already decided — that he should take this opportunity to memorise the lovely face he might not ever see in person again.

"Of course you deserve that," Asher finally mumbled. 

He picked up Tallulah's hands once more, tracing her knuckles to comfort her as much as to commit the softness of her skin to memory. The bittersweet acceptance that must have been scrawled across his face coaxed a watery, hesitant smile from Tallulah.

Asher returned the smile, equally as watery. 

"I love you so much. You deserve your dream job, your utter happiness, and, still, so much more. Go get it, sweetheart."