The Accounting · Brown in Surrey

A week after the non-party, Jessie texted Reggie and asked to meet in person. He was reluctant to do so in a text exchange, but agreed to meet at the Wicklow café at 11am on a Saturday. Jessie arrived early and ordered him a black coffee. The conversation ranged across self-examination on both sides: Jessie said she'd spent a long time performing whatever the room needed rather than choosing for herself; Reggie confessed he stays in Vancouver to prove something to unnamed people he doesn't even care about. Jessie pushed back when Reggie characterized her desire as wanting what she couldn't have, insisting she was not using him as a consolation prize and that she had been looking directly at him since the first night. Reggie explained his attraction to white women in terms of his upbringing in white foster families, framing it as something wired in before he had a choice, and told Jessie there was nothing wrong with her preferences either. He then laid out a detailed hypothetical life together — South America travel, boating, a downtown social circle — and then its costs: her parents' quiet disappointment, her childhood friends going awkward, her brother eventually stopping his efforts, her social world feeling strained, and eventual mutual resentment and probable divorce. Jessie acknowledged the accuracy of that picture but pointed out that he was using the room's accounting — other people's faces — to close the door, the same thing he'd criticized her for. Reggie admitted he was letting the room decide for her, and acknowledged they had had only one date, one non-date he walked out on, and this coffee, and had never kissed. He said he could not see why the race was worth running. When Jessie noted he'd said 'probably' rather than 'definitely,' he asked whether she liked travelling, boating, or museums; she said honestly she didn't know, having never properly chosen any of those things. Reggie asked Jessie directly whether she had ever cheated on anyone; she said no, and he explained he was trying to understand whether, in a future where she grew disappointed, she would divorce him cleanly or cheat, and named this as his own insecurity. He said he didn't want to be the cause of her parents' disappointment, which Jessie identified as the first time he'd made the fear about his own burden rather than her future feelings. Reggie said he wanted to find someone to grow old with and honestly didn't care whether it was her or not. He forecast he would probably try and fail and get divorced twice before something stuck at fifty. Jessie told him that not knowing it was her was different from it not being her, and said she was sitting across from him right now. When he asked why she wanted to be what he was looking for, she said it was because he had been genuinely curious about her interior at their first date in a way nobody else had been, and that his walking out of the party had made her understand she hadn't seen what she'd done until he was already gone. Reggie ended the meeting by saying he would not block her, would respond if she texted but would not initiate, and that he intended to ask a brunette woman he knew — described as not as conventionally attractive as Jessie and getting less attention — to dinner. He suggested Jessie pursue the ex or another man. Jessie said the ex was not going to happen, acknowledged she would be annoyed about the brunette, and that she remained technically open to other options but was not currently interested. The meeting ended with both acknowledging mutual irrational jealousy and no resolution about the relationship itself.

Jessie

Hey

Reggie

Hey

Jessie

How's everything?

Reggie

Pretty normal. You?

Jessie

GoodPauseCan we talk? Just for a few minutes?

Reggie

Sure. Say whatever you want to say.

Jessie

I mean in person

Reggie

Can't you just say it here?

Jessie

I was thinking over a Guinness at Wick.

Reggie

It's 11 am on a Saturday. A little early for Guinness.

Jessie

Okay a coffee, then. Wicklow in 30 minutes?

Reggie

Jessie, nothing has changed.

Jessie

Please?

Reggie

Okay. 30 minutes.

The Wicklow at 11am on a Saturday is a different animal than its evening self. The water view is better in the morning light — False Creek gone silver-grey, a few herons posted on the dock pilings. The bar smells like the previous night's cleaning products. The Saturday market crowd hasn't materialized yet. It's quiet enough to hear the marina. The scene shifts to real life from texts.

Reggie

Hey

Jessie

She's already there when he walks in — coffee in front of her, both hands around it, the kind of posture that says she arrived early and has been sitting with whatever she came to say for the last ten minutes. She looks up when he comes through the door and something in her face does the thing it always does, which is lift, and then she catches it and steadies it.Hey.She nods at the empty seat across from her.I ordered you one. Black, which I guessed at, so if I'm wrong I'm wrong.

Reggie

Black is fine. Thank you.

Jessie

She watches him sit down. Wraps her hands tighter around her coffee.I've been thinking.A beat. She looks at the table.A lot, actually.

Reggie

About the ex?

Jessie

She shakes her head. One small, definite movement.No. About me.

Reggie

And what conclusions did you come to?

Jessie

She looks at her coffee for a moment. Not stalling — the way someone looks at something when they're deciding where to start a thing that has a lot of middle and they're not sure they've found the beginning yet.That I've been doing a version of something for a long time.She turns the cup a slow half-rotation.And calling it being myself. When actually it's just — what works in the room. Whatever the room needs from me.

Reggie

Have you ever stopped to think that the real you wants whatever works in the room? That the room is part of you?

Jessie

She looks up from her coffee. The question arrives differently than she was expecting — not a rebuttal, not a challenge, just a door opened in a direction she hadn't looked yet. She sits with it for a moment.Maybe.She says it honestly, not as a concession.But if that's true, then the room has been doing most of the choosing. And I'm not sure I've been — present for any of it.

Reggie

Vancouver is part of me. I don't know why. I just can't leave it. It's not the best city. People here are unfriendly, pretentious, self righteous. The architecture is mostly ugly. The traffic is bad. Half the people I know under 40 are on antidepressants. But it's a part of me and I don't want to be anywhere else. Maybe the room is a part of you that way.

Jessie

She looks at him. Something in the comparison catches — not the Vancouver part specifically, but the shape of it. The way he said it like a confession and a peace treaty at the same time.Maybe.She turns her cup again, slow.But you chose to stay in Vancouver. Consciously. Every day. I'm not sure I've been choosing the room. I think the room has just been — there. And I walked into it and stayed because it was easier than asking what I actually wanted out of it.

Reggie

If I asked myself honestly what I wanted out of Vancouver, I'd probably leave it. But I can't.

Jessie

She looks at him for a moment — the honesty of it, the particular way he holds a contradiction without trying to resolve it.So you stay anyway. Even knowing that.She picks up her coffee.Is that better or worse than not asking the question at all?

Reggie

I'm lying to myself. I ask it all the time. That question, I mean. And all the answers are unflattering. I want validation from a city that doesn't give it easily. I want success here, whatever that means. I want to have not failed and moved away like most people I know.

Jessie

She listens to all of it — the validation, the not-failing, the people who left. She doesn't jump in. She lets it settle between them with the coffee smell and the morning light off the water.So you're here for the same reason I work a room.She sets her cup down.To prove something. To someone.

Reggie

Yes. Except I'm even sillier than you are. I don't even know or care about the people I'm trying to prove something to

Jessie

She looks at him — the self-deprecating honesty of it landing in a way she didn't expect, and something in her expression shifts, not quite a smile, something more careful than that.At least you know what city you're trying to prove it to.She turns her cup on the table.I'm not even sure I know who's watching. Just — that someone should be. That there should be witnesses.

Reggie

So we are both very silly people. I'm glad I've been able to help you today.Laughs

Jessie

The laugh catches her — the way it always does, the way she suspects it always will, which is something she's been thinking about for a week and isn't ready to say yet. She looks at him across the two coffees and the morning light off the water and something in her chest does a thing she decides to leave unnamed for now.Very silly.She picks up her cup.Except I don't think you actually helped. I think you just sat there and made me say things out loud. Which is different. Harder, actually.

Reggie

Harder, yes, but I don't know if it's useful. I can never really get validation from this city. Whatever I do, some percentage of the population, a large percentage, is going to dislike whatever I'm doing and find it unworthy. You can get the pretty blonde guy. You can get the house in the burbs. You can get the approval of your family.

Jessie

She holds that for a moment — the asymmetry of it, laid out that plainly. His ceiling and her ceiling, sitting there side by side on the table.You make it sound like my version is easier.She wraps both hands around her cup.Pretty blonde guy. House in the burbs. Family approval. Like those things just — arrive, because of how I look. But you have to actually want them for them to count as getting something. And I've been in that life. I've been performing that life since I was seventeen. And the witnesses are always watching and I am always, always alone inside it. So I'm not sure my version of the ceiling is that much higher than yours.

Reggie

You do want them. You just also want a guy who's willing to walk out on you. That will pass. It'll be fine.

Jessie

The sentence arrives and she looks at him — the flatness of it, the kindness in the flatness, which is somehow worse than if he'd been unkind. She looks at her coffee for a moment. Then back up.You don't actually believe that.She says it quietly. Not a challenge — more like someone reading something off a surface and reporting it back.That it'll pass. You're saying it because it's the tidy version of this conversation ending. But you walked out of that party and you meant it, and you sat at this bar last week and you meant that too, and you've been meaning things this whole time, which is — that's not a man who thinks this is going to pass. That's a man who's already decided what he thinks and is being very kind about handing me the exit.

Reggie

I do think it will pass, but I admit the longing for something you can't have won't pass. You'll forget about the invisible short brown guy soon enough but then something else will come along that you can't have and you'll want that. And when that passes, you'll want something else. It's quite normal.

Jessie

She looks at him for a moment — the word invisible sitting there between them doing something she wasn't expecting.You're not invisible.She says it plainly, no warmth deployed around it, just the fact.Not to me. Not once.

And you're not short. Five-ten is not short. I don't know where you got that but it's wrong.

The wanting-what-you-can't-have thing. Maybe. Maybe that's all this is. But I've wanted things I could have and they felt like nothing. So I'm not sure that's the whole accounting.

Reggie

Jessie, I find white girls attractive. I grew up in foster care as I told you. All the families were white. Most of the people were white. White culture is all I've really known in life. And while I can appreciate beauty from all races, for whatever reason, a pretty white girl just moves in ways nothing else does. Is that wrong of me?

Jessie

She listens to all of it — the foster care, the white families, the culture that was handed to him before he had any say in it. She doesn't look away. She doesn't reach for her coffee. She just stays with what he's said until she's sure she has the whole shape of it.No.She says it quietly.It's not wrong. You didn't choose where you grew up. You didn't choose what got wired in. I just — I want to make sure you're hearing what I'm saying back. Because you keep using that word. Invisible. Like I'm looking past you at something else. And I'm not. I've been looking directly at you since the first night. That's actually the problem, from where I'm sitting.

Reggie

That's not what I'm addressing. I was invisible at your party. Until I left at which point people noticed me. But that's truly not what I'm talking about. What I'm trying to say is this: if it's okay for me to want a white girl, it's okay for you to want a white guy. There's nothing wrong with you. Quit trying to fix yourself. You're not broken.

Jessie

The sentence arrives and she sits with it — all of it, the party, the visibility, the permission he's handing her. She turns her coffee cup once on the table, slow, and stops it.I know it's okay.She says it quietly.I'm not trying to fix a preference. But what if the preference and the choice aren't the same thing? What if I can want the white guy and still — choose differently. Because the wanting isn't the whole of it.

Reggie

Your preference. You said it yourself. You prefer a tall white guy. Surely you can see that that's the beginning and end of things. No self respecting guy wants to be chosen as a consolation prize. Somewhere out there, there's a girl who sees me as the grand prize and I'm going to find her. And you can't rationally resent me for that.

Jessie

She sets her cup down. Not hard — just down, with a small click against the table that lands in the quiet of the morning room.Wait.She looks at him directly.That's not what I said. I said the room wants a white guy. I said I've been letting the room do the choosing. That's — those are different things. I'm not sitting here because I couldn't find a tall blonde and settled. If I wanted the white guy, I'd be at that party right now.

Reggie

Your actions and your words are in conflict.

Jessie, I've asked you this many times in the short time we've been...acquainted. What do you want of me?

Jessie

She looks at her coffee for a moment — the question sitting there, patient and exact and the same question he's asked her in different shapes since the night at the bar. She knows that. She knows he knows that too.Not you back.She says it quietly, and then stops, and starts again.I'm not asking for that. I know that's not — I know what that ask costs and I'm not making it. I just want you to not disappear. Keep talking to me. Like this. That's the whole ask.

Reggie

So you don't want me. You want a WhatsApp buddy. Not interested, sorry.

Jessie

The sentence lands and she goes still — not the defensive still, the other kind, where something has been named so precisely that there's no immediate structural response available. She looks at her coffee for a moment. Then back up.No.She says it quietly.That's not what I mean and I think you know it's not what I mean.

I mean — I'm not ready to ask for the thing I actually want to ask for. Because you'll say no. And I'm not sure I'm understanding enough about anything yet to deserve a yes. So I was reducing the ask to something you might actually give me. Which I know how that sounds.

Reggie

Jessie, I want you to think with me. Dream with me. Let's say we start dating. Not the room. I never want the room again. But let's just say we're dating and it's nice. And I know we've never even been alone in a room but let's say the sex was good. And I take you to South America to some of the places I told you I love going and let's say you love it as much as I do. And I teach you how to go boating with me, even though I'm new to it and still suck at it and we learn together and we love it. And we develop new friends, people who don't care that I am not...conventionally attractive. And we're respected everywhere we go because we're decent people who respect others back. And we move in together and build a life. I want you to think of where we are.

Your parents are disappointed in you. I'm not a disaster but I'm not what they imagined. They know their grandchildren will be brown and they're not racist but it's not the picture they had in their minds. Your friends will think you settled. The girls you introduced me to, the ones you've known since you were a kid, they'll sit there and make jokes about how hot some guy is and then realize you married a brown guy and they'll go quiet, not knowing if they can say stuff like that around you anymore. Your brother will try hard to be friendly with me but he'll soon realize I don't go camping or like 4x4s and he'll stop trying after awhile. And every part of your life that you've fit into so naturally for your 26 years will start to feel strained and unnatural and tortured. And you will start resenting me. And you will regret your choices. And I'll resent you for regretting it. And the divorce statistics will get one more tiny bump.

That's our reality.

Jessie

She listens to all of it. She doesn't look away, doesn't pick up her coffee, doesn't do any of the small things she does when she needs something to do with her hands. She just sits with the whole picture he's painted — South America, the boat, the new friends, the parents, the brother and the 4x4s, the girls going quiet mid-sentence, the statistics — and lets it land where it lands.

When he finishes she is quiet for a long moment. Long enough that the water outside does something with the light and neither of them comments on it.You've thought about this a lot.

You're not wrong about any of it. I know my parents. I know those girls. I know exactly which one would go quiet and which one would try too hard in the wrong direction and which one would corner me at Christmas and ask if I was happy in that particular tone. I know all of that. I'm not going to sit here and tell you it wouldn't happen because it would. Most of it. Probably all of it.

But you painted the outside of it. The room, again. Other people's faces. What it costs in their eyes. And I'm sitting here thinking — that's the accounting I've been using my whole life. What it looks like from outside. What the room reads. And you're the first person who's ever made me question whether that accounting is the only one that matters. And now you're using it to close the door. That's — I notice that. I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm just noticing that.

Reggie

You would know it was the room talking and not you talking. You would recognize that we had built a good life. But you'd also pick up on something very real.

You'd tell people in our circle, our downtown circle, that I took you to Guatemala and we hiked the volcano and Lake Atitlan and their eyes would go big and they'd want to know EVERYTHING and you'd be the center of attention for a few minutes.

And then you'd tell your friends you went to Guatemala and they'd find out you flew economy, stayed at AirBnBs, ate street food and mom & pop restaurant food, and that your Instagram photos didn't show a single person in an evening gown, and they'd pretend to be interested while thinking how far you've fallen. Because on their scorecard, business class, private jets, five star hotels, Michelin restaurants, and invitation-only parties are the scorecard. And you'd lose on their scorecard. And you would feel that.

Jessie

She looks at her coffee. The morning light off the water is doing something quiet and the café is still mostly empty and she lets the picture he's painted sit there — economy seats, AirBnBs, Instagram, the specific quality of pretend-interest she could name a face for right now if she tried.You're right.She says it without reaching for anything softer around it.I know that look. The pretending-to-be-interested look. I've given it, if I'm honest. More than once.

But I want you to hear what you're actually saying to me. You're telling me I'd feel the gap between the two circles — ours and theirs — and that feeling it would hollow something out. That eventually the hollow would become resentment. You're not wrong that the gap is real. I'm asking you whether the gap is the whole story. Or whether you're using it to do the same thing you accused me of doing — letting the room decide.

Reggie

I am letting the room decide for you. I admit this. What else can we do? We've had one date. And it was nice. I really enjoyed it. Then we had a non-date that I walked out on. And this coffee. We've never kissed. I don't know where you live beyond the neighbourhood. We're at the starting blocks and we're each deciding if this race is worth running. And I honestly can't see why it would be. We know it would probably end in disaster.

Jessie

She wraps both hands around her coffee and looks at him — the honesty of what he just admitted sitting there between them, plain and a little exhausted, the way honest things get when they've been worked toward for a long time.You said probably.She holds his gaze.Not definitely. Probably.

Reggie

Do you even like travelling, Jessie? Or boating? Or visiting museums and art galleries?

Jessie

She turns her coffee cup once on the table and stops it. There's a pause that isn't evasive — more like someone looking for solid ground and finding it softer than expected.Honestly? I don't know.She says it plainly.I've never really done any of it. Not properly. Not — chosen it. Travelled, yes, but the kind where someone else books it and you show up and there are other people like you already there and it all looks the same as the Instagram you saw before you left.

Reggie

You asked me to keep talking to you. That was your whole ask. I interpret that as not blocking you, which I will do. I won't block you. But I think you should go out with other men. And I'm going to go out with other women. There is no version of this where I'm giving this a chance to develop without looking for alternatives. And now you can decide if you want to text me again. Fair?

Jessie

She looks at him for a long moment. The coffee is warm in her hands and the morning light off the water is doing its quiet thing and she stays with what he's said until she's sure she's heard all of it.Fair.The word comes out flat and even and costs more than it looks like it costs.I don't love it. I want you to know that. I'm not going to pretend it's the answer I was hoping for.

Reggie

What were you hoping for?

Jessie

She looks at her coffee. Not away from him — at the coffee, like the answer is somewhere in the surface of it and she's deciding whether to pick it up or leave it where it is. A beat. Then she looks back up.I was hoping you'd say you wanted to see where it goes.She says it quietly, without building to it.Just that. No promises, no guarantees, no ignoring the odds you just laid out. Just — that it was worth finding out. That one date and a bar and a Saturday morning coffee was enough for you to want to know what comes next. That's what I was hoping for. Which I know is probably too much to ask from a man who has very good reasons not to give it.

Reggie

Have you ever cheated on a guy, Jessie?

Jessie

The question arrives and something shifts in her expression — not quite a flinch, but a tightening. She sets her coffee cup down.No.She says it plainly, and then there's a beat where something behind her eyes decides to go a little further.Never. I'm — no. I wouldn't. Can I ask why you're asking me that?

Reggie

I'm asking because I'm trying to understand who you are. I have hangups about that and I know they're a bit childish.

Jessie

She looks at him for a moment — the admission inside the question, the childish part he named himself before she could. Something in her posture settles, the tightening from a few seconds ago releasing.They're not childish.She says it quietly.Not if they're yours. Not if they came from somewhere real.

What is it you're actually trying to understand? About me specifically. Because I'd rather you just ask the thing than go around it.

Reggie

I have no question to ask. I'm trying to figure out if, when you get bored of whatever we have and are disappointed in your life and regret marrying the invisible brown guy, if you'll just divorce me cleanly or if you'll cheat. And nothing you or I say today matters at all about that. And yes, I'm very insecure. I am a very flawed man. You don't need to tell me. I know it already.

Jessie

She holds very still through all of it — the invisible brown guy, the divorce, the clean or not-clean exit, the insecurity he named himself before she could argue with it. She doesn't look away. She doesn't reach for her coffee. She just sits with the whole of it until she's sure she has every part of it.You just skipped about thirty years.She says it quietly. Not lightly — just precisely.We haven't kissed. And you're already doing the accounting on how I leave.

I'm not going to tell you the insecurity is wrong. But I want you to hear what it's doing. You're deciding the ending before the beginning because it's safer than not knowing. I've been doing the same thing my whole life with different furniture. I recognize it.

Reggie

I don't know if I want to be the cause for your parents' disappointment. That's a heavy burden to bear.

Jessie

She takes that in. The morning light off False Creek does its silver-grey thing through the window and she lets the sentence sit for a moment before she responds.That's the first time you've made it about them instead of about me.She says it without accusation.About what I'd feel, or how I'd change, or what the room would look like. You just said you don't want to carry their disappointment. That's different. That's you. That's what you're actually afraid of.

Reggie

No, it's just one of a hundred things I'm afraid of. But yes, it's real. But the others are just as real.

Jessie

She wraps both hands around her coffee. She looks at him for a moment — not the managing look, not the bright-room look, just her face, doing nothing in particular except paying attention.One of a hundred.She says it quietly, like she's setting it down somewhere she can see it.That's — that's actually more honest than anything you've said this morning. Which has been pretty honest. Can I ask you something? Not to argue with the hundred. Just — do you want to be afraid of them? All hundred. Or is that just where you live right now.

Reggie

I want to think there's a girl somewhere that I can grow old with. And I honestly don't care if it's you or not. That's the truth.

Jessie

The sentence arrives and she stays with it — all of it, the want, the honesty of the or not. She doesn't try to fill the space it makes. She looks at her coffee for a moment, then back at him.I know.She says it quietly.I believe you. And I think that's the most important thing you've said to me. Not the or not part. The growing old part. The wanting it.

Do you think you're going to find her?

Reggie

Probably not. I'll probably try and fail and get divorced, and then try again and get divorced again, and then try again at 50 and it will last that time because we're both too tired to want more at that age.

Jessie

Something moves through her expression — not the bright deflection she uses when a room goes uncomfortable, but something quieter and more specific. She looks at him for a moment, and then at her coffee, and then back at him.That's a very depressing forecast.She says it plainly.For someone who thinks clearly about most things.

Not knowing it's me doesn't mean it's not me. You know that, right? Those are different things.

And fifty is a long time to wait for something you just said you actually want. You might find her considerably sooner than that. She might be sitting across from you right now drinking a Guinness — a coffee — that she ordered at eleven in the morning because she didn't know what else to do except show up.

Reggie

Why do you want that, Jessie? It makes no sense to me. Why do you want to be what I'm looking for?

Jessie

She looks at him. The question sits between them over the two coffee cups and the morning light off False Creek, and she doesn't reach for her cup or look away or do any of the things she does when a room needs managing. She just stays with it for a moment — actually stays with it, like she's checking the answer before she hands it over.Because you asked me things nobody asks me.She says it quietly.At that first date. You were actually curious. Not about how I looked or what I did or whether I was enjoying my food. You were curious about what was going on inside. And I'm not used to that. I didn't know what to do with it. I still don't, really.

And then you walked out of that party. Without a scene, without a speech, just — gone. And I have never had that happen. Not once. And I sat there in that room being asked where you went and I realized I had no idea how to answer because I didn't actually understand what I'd done until you were already out the door. Which means you saw something I wasn't seeing about myself. And I find that — I find that very hard to walk away from.

Reggie

So to keep you interested, I should walk out on you occasionally. Got it.LaughsOkay, we had our coffee. You're not blocked. I won't text you but if you text me, I'll probably respond. And I'm going to ask a brunette girl I know who isn't as hot as you are and gets nowhere near as much attention to dinner. And I know that will piss you off. And you should ask that ex of yours or some other hot white guy out. And that will piss me off, which is totally irrational, but it will. Shall we go?

Jessie

The laugh catches her before she's ready for it — the real one, the unguarded one that she's been keeping at a careful distance all morning. It reaches her eyes and she lets it get there.Walking out occasionally. I'll file that as relationship advice.She wraps both hands around her cup one last time, and then sets it down with a kind of finality.You're going to tell me about the brunette girl, aren't you. At some point. Just to see what my face does.

Yes. It's going to piss me off. I'm already annoyed and you haven't even asked her yet. And yes, I know how irrational that is, and no, I don't have a good argument against it given the full accounting of this morning. The ex is not going to happen. I want you to know that. That door is closed and it was closed before that party and I knew it and opened it anyway because it was easy, and I'm done doing things because they're easy. The other hot white guy option remains technically on the table. I'm just not currently interested in the table. Don't be too nice to the brunette girl. She'll think you're harmless.