Rent a Boyfriend

by Gloria Chao

  I ignored the pit in my stomach and texted Drew, asking him if we could meet my high school friend at a Palo Alto nightclub. There will still be dancing, I promised. He texted back a smiley emoji and said he couldn’t wait to meet Genevieve. I felt like a moldy piece of Swiss cheese thinking about how it wasn’t a step forward for us, where I was introducing him to a close friend, but just another brand-new web my lies had tangled us into. And because I felt so guilty, I decided I’d introduce him to Gen as Drew, not Andrew, so we’d at least have that first step.

  But then, the pickle grew. Past life-size. Just a few moments before our meet time, Genevieve texted me that Luke, Harry, and Christa—all of whom she hadn’t hung around much in high school, but, doy, they were all at UCLA together—were also meeting us tonight. As in Christa with the big hair full of secrets who had been most known for collecting enamel pins and gossip. Which meant… I needed Andrew tonight, not Drew.

  My stomach was now roiling like I was free-falling without sheep Cháng’é’s antigravity boots. I was used to hating who I was with my parents, but someone else was involved this time—someone I really cared about. I didn’t know how to reconcile the two.

  My Uber pulled up to the nightclub, and, thank God, Drew was already waiting up front. I ran to him and begged, “Are you okay being Andrew tonight? There’s a chance stuff could get back to my parents through the grapevine or whatever, and, you know.”

  Instead of smiling with ease and telling me whatever you wish, his face completely fell. But before he could say what was on his mind, Genevieve ran up to us and we dove into introductions and oh-God-it’s-been-so-longs and blah blah blah. But I remembered to introduce Drew as “Andrew,” and his stiff handshake was not lost on me.

  Luke, Harry, and Christa joined us soon after, and that was that: a somber Andrew was officially my date tonight instead of excited Drew.

  We showed our IDs to the bouncer—with all of us but Drew getting marked with two giant black Xs on our hands to show we were under the drinking age—and then we weaved our way through bodies as a single-file group.

  Surrounded by tiaras, top hats, and light-up glasses, we huddled in a messy circle on the dance floor and bopped to the beat. Christa and Harry were joined at the hip, Luke was a brittle, swaying tree, and Genevieve moved with complete freedom, somehow looking both cool and quirky at the same time.

  Drew and I shared a smile and did the awkward where-should-we-put-our-hands and which-direction-are-we-leaning pre-dance dance. Just as we were about to find our groove, a familiar beat came on and Genevieve grabbed my hand and whirled me to her. “Ah, doesn’t this take you back, Cece?” I hadn’t heard that nickname in so long.

  She was grinding against me in an attempt to make me squirm. She’d always been perplexed by my innocence. In high school I had played along because it had felt like my role, but now I remembered why I hadn’t made an effort with her once I left for Chicago—I had wanted to shed my goody-goody skin. Was it just me, or was high school all about everyone’s need to label you as one thing, with the four years revolving around you trying to either break free or live up to that label? I enthusiastically rubbed up against Genevieve to try the option I hadn’t attempted in high school—to break free—but that felt wrong too.

  “Whooo!” she whistled. “College loosened you up!” Which felt even worse.

  At least I had my opportunity. I pulled my phone out and snapped a few photos of us, learning very quickly that there’s some skill involved in finding flattering angles, and that even flattering angles were useless when trying to take flash photos in a dim nightclub where everyone was covered in buckets of sweat. But the pictures accomplished the goal of throwing my sniffing mom off the scent.

  Genevieve grabbed Christa’s tiara and put it on my head, then yelled, “One more!” way too loudly in my ear. Because Drew was in the background of my shot, I made Gen move to one side before snapping the photo. When I stowed my phone, Drew was looking at me, intense and enigmatic. He’d definitely noticed, but I wasn’t sure if he knew what was going on. With an easy smile pasted on my face, I grabbed his hand and spun him to me.

  I tried to enjoy myself. The lights thrown around the room were invigorating; the DJ was playing my favorite hits from today and from high school, the latter of which was especially fun with Genevieve here; and, finally, Drew was starting to melt into both the music and me.

  We’d found our rhythm. His body moved smoothly and, yes, quite sexily to not just the beat, but also the intricacies beneath. Definitely trained. The way his shoulders moved one way but his hips and head another proved he’d had more practice than just dancing in front of a bathroom mirror like me. Damn, was it hot, and I found myself pressing my pelvis to his, then kissing him like I wanted to swallow his essence.

  Except… his mouth wasn’t as inviting as usual.

  I pulled back. “Everything okay?” I yelled.

  But then a camera flashed to my right and I turned in time to see Genevieve’s devilish grin. Just as the song happened to decrease in volume, Genevieve shouted for all to hear, “For proof that your pussy isn’t shriveled.” I’d forgotten I had previously told her Hongbo’s comments—in private, for a shoulder to lean on.

  I stopped cold, too stunned by what she’d said. Everyone near us laughed.

  “What? I said it’s not shriveled,” Gen yelled, but her words were drowned out by the laughter and crescendoing bassline.

  I was still frozen with embarrassment, but Gen didn’t notice because she’d turned back to her phone, thumbs flying. And then the panic set in. Because that picture was damning.

  “Can you not post that?” I asked, and Drew’s hands left my hips.

  “Why not?” Gen asked, giving me her I don’t understand you look, which hadn’t changed with time. “If I were you, I’d be plastering this one’s face everywhere,” she joked, jabbing a stubby thumb in Drew’s direction. Then her face changed. “Wait, do your parents not know about him?”

  “No, they do,” I said truthfully. “It’s just… complicated.” Like, he’s supposed to be in Chicago right now. My eyes flicked over to Christa, and Gen came to my rescue.

  “No worries,” she said with a smile. She gave me a wide-eyed look, asking me to tell her the details later, in private. I reluctantly nodded.

  Christa stared at me with one eyebrow raised, but then, with a shrug, she seemingly decided to let it go. With her butt still firmly pushed into Harry’s crotch—as it had been since high school—Christa gestured to Drew, then yelled to me over the music, “I didn’t peg you for one to like older men, though I guess none of us really knew what you liked.”

  He’s twenty-one, not seventy, I thought but didn’t say.

  Harry pumped his eyebrows. “Hey, bro, think you can get us a couple drinks?”

  “Nah, we don’t need that,” Drew said, nonchalant, but even though his body was completely relaxed, I knew he was on edge.

  Harry mumbled a curse that was swallowed by the music, and Drew pretended not to notice.

  Harry’s eyes met mine, which—shudder—reminded me that there had always been something about him that made me keep my distance.

  “Andrew looks a little out of your league,” he said to me with a toothy grin that clashed with his tone. “How’d you bag him?”

  “I strung up some Sichuan food as bait and waited a few days,” I yelled back. Drew laughed, but no one else did, obviously. I shared a giant, in-joke smile with him.

  “Wait, what?” asked Luke, his bopping slowing.

  “We met in class,” I told them with a wave of a hand. Drew’s smile disappeared.

  “Ohhh, another UChicago nerd—now it makes sense,” Luke said with a laugh, even his barely-there sways coming to a halt. He turned to Drew, telling him, “She had quite the prudish reputation in school, though that’s obviously changed with you given what y’all were doing a minute ago. My man!”

  Luke lifted his hand for a high five but Drew left him hanging, excus
ing himself and then weaving his way to the closest exit. I hurried after him, but my shorter legs slowed me down. By the time I pushed my way outside, Drew was on his phone, the Uber app open but no ride requested yet.

  The door shut behind me, and the blaring music suddenly became a background buzz.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked.

  His arms dropped to his sides and he looked at me with sad eyes. “Why are we here with them, Chloe?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, feigning innocence. But everything down to my churning stomach already knew what he was talking about.

  He exhaled forcefully, then gave me a pleading come on look.

  “It all happened so fast!” I burst out. “I lied and told my parents I was seeing Gen tonight, and then I remembered that her mother knows someone who’s my mother’s patient, and so, you get it, I had to make sure we covered our tracks—”

  “Chloe, Chloe, just stop for a second.” He raked a hand through his hair. “There are so many lies I can’t even keep them straight.”

  “Me either. That’s why this all happened.”

  He said nothing. But he didn’t have to. I knew this was my fault.

  A sinking feeling came over me—shame, guilt, and so much dread.

  He took a step away. “I can’t be your real boyfriend and still have to pull Andrew out at a moment’s notice. If I didn’t care about you as much as I do, I might be okay hiding in the shadows. But I want to be with you, actually be with you.” He looked at me, his eyes searching my face for a reaction. “I’m just—Chloe, I’m so into you that I don’t know how to be Andrew for you anymore. I can only give you Drew, and maybe that’s not enough.…” He trailed off.

  My heart constricted. What was I supposed to do with that? “Drew—” I started.

  “Chloe, you’re asking me to lie too,” he interrupted. “I can play someone else to pay the rent, but I gave up my relationship with my parents so I could be myself with the people I care about.”

  “You’re right,” I realized. When he had a choice, he fought. Sacrificed everything to stay true to himself. Then I came along and dragged him so far into my mess neither of us could see the sun anymore.

  He sighed. “I get it. Really. Your parents aren’t going to approve of me for the same reason my parents cut me out.” After a heavy beat, he said, “It’s true that I don’t fit in your world. I don’t have any degree, let alone from Harvard or Stanford or whatever. Just fake ones, backed up by a closet full of logoed shirts.”

  “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I didn’t say I was ashamed, but clearly you think I should be.”

  “I…” The defensive words that had been on the tip of my tongue dissolved. “I’m sorry. I’m being all kinds of shitty. I’m sorry,” I said again. “Really. I—I don’t even know what to—I just want—” I took a breath. “You deserve better than me. Better than what I’m giving you.” I hated myself for hurting him.

  The hourglass was on the last few grains of sand, our borrowed time running out and the universe coming to collect.

  “I think we should walk away before it gets even harder,” I said. “Before I hurt you more.” The words were so painful I almost choked on them, but the realization that I should’ve done this sooner, before I hurt him at all, forced them out.

  He looked away from me, away from the club, and into the dark, engulfing night. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

  It was what I’d suggested, but his words gutted me. Stuck a knife in my abdomen and dragged it across. Because his agreement confirmed how much pain I’d caused him.

  “I’m so sorry.” My words came out in a shaky exhale, as if someone had just punched me in the chest.

  He still wasn’t looking at me when he said, “Me too.”

  There were so many other things I wanted to say, but it hurt too much.

  I’m so ashamed of how I treated you I want to throw up.

  I don’t know how to say good-bye.

  I don’t know how to be myself without you.

  Instead I took my phone out and called an Uber. When I saw the car was only two minutes away, I felt both relief and panic.

  He finally turned back toward me. “At least let me take you home.”

  My nose burned. Tears formed and pooled, blurring my vision. “You’ve already done too much for me.”

  I wanted to hug him, kiss him, pull him to me and never let go. So as soon as my Honda Civic was in sight, I chased it down and jumped in. Because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to leave.

  He didn’t stop me.

  Drew

  Fix this! a voice screamed in my head as Chloe and her warmth, her scent, her everything disappeared, leaving me alone in the parking lot.

  But I was too beaten down. I could only take so many hits, and I had reached my limit.

  I understood why we were in this mess. How impossible her situation was.

  I also knew I deserved more.

  So much frigging irony. She was the one who’d helped me see my worth, and because of that, we were now parting ways.

  Well, all I did was tell her how I feel. She was the one who chose to walk away instead of fight. So I let her.

  It hurt to breathe.

  Would anyone I cared about ever choose me back?

  Chloe CHAPTER 55

  FAREWELL FRANKENBREAKFAST

  December 31–January 1

  I arrived home well before midnight, but I stayed awake long after, tossing and turning in bed.

  I wanted to jump out of my own skin. Everything felt too fucking much and I needed to scream or punch my rage into the wall or tear the room apart.

  I had hurt him. The one who had put me first. The only one.

  I was so desperate I texted Gen, secretly hoping she’d want to chat, maybe offer me some clarity, but when I messaged her thanks for not posting the photo, sorry I had to run, my night really blew up, all I’d gotten back was np. All for the best, I guess.

  That night, in my dreams, I ran and ran and ran from a monster, only to realize that the monster was me.

  New Year’s Day, I had a farewell breakfast with my parents. I always flew out January first because flights were cheaper, UChicago’s winter quarter started soon after, and I was usually itching to leave by this point. But this year, I wished I had a couple more days in Palo Alto.

  “Make us proud,” my father said to me over raisin toast and honey-drizzled sriracha beef. Non-Frankenbreakfast had been too much to hope for on my last day.

  “Um-hmm,” I mumbled with my mouth full, only because I hadn’t been able to swallow this bite yet.

  “This is always the toughest part, you know,” he said. “Sending you back off to school. I wish you were closer to home.”

  The guilt over my Stanford lie was worse than Frankentoast, which I forced down with a gulp of bitter tea.

  “It’s tough for me, too,” I answered honestly.

  AFTER NEW YEAR’S

  Voicemail from Chloe’s mother

  January 7

  Eh? Wéi? Jing-Jing? You there? I guess not. I hope it’s recording. What’s Andrew’s parents’ names? I told the girls at Bible study today about his parents—oh, and don’t worry, I’ve been telling everyone behind Kuo Ǎyí’s back that you lied about the pregnancy because you knew you were too good for Hongbo but were so selfless you wanted to protect the Kuos, and it’s spreading. And of course I’m also telling them how much better Andrew is than Hongbo. Oh! And, my new Bible is the envy of everyone!

  Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes. I told people about Andrew’s parents being top-notch surgeons at the University of Chicago, and Tsai An said she has a friend there, but it can’t be Andrew’s parents because her friend has two daughters. But they probably know each other! She’s going to ask her friend if she knows any surgeon couples there, but tell me their names to make it easier.

  Oh, and of course, how is his grandmother? You sent them a good gift from us, right? Not pears? [lau
gh] Call me back tonight so I can stop worrying myself silly about the gift.

  Chloe CHAPTER 56

  REIMMERSION

  January 1–8

  In Chicago, I didn’t feel fully myself because a piece of me had been left behind with Drew. And, in a different way, with my father.

  I tried to shift my focus. Now that Hongbo was gone, how simple would it be for me to reimmerse myself in my schoolwork—the way it was meant to be?

  Answer: not simple at all.

  I tried—really, I did—so freaking hard. I skipped like a carefree child to my classes, listened to every word my professors said, introduced myself to my new winter-quarter classmates, and made study plans and non-study plans.

  But between the forced happiness and meaningless small talk, my spaces were empty. I was missing Drew. It also didn’t help that my Rent for Your ’Rents app suddenly went wild with random ba-boop-boop notifications, as if it were trying to remind me how much I’d fucked up.

  After a few days of faking, I gave in to my impulses. I reread our texts, opened the Rent for Your ’Rents app to look through the limited Drew data on there, ran my fingers along the edges of the sheep ornaments I’d brought with me because I hadn’t been able to leave them behind. And then, last night, I unfurled the painting that so far in my possession had only seen the underside of my Palo Alto bed and my suitcase. The rip in the corner was a tear in my heart but also a reminder of what my presence did to him.

  You can’t hurt him now that you’re out of his life, I told myself.

  But why did that feel like a lie?

  Voicemails from Chloe’s mother

  January 10

  You know, Jing-Jing, I’ve been thinking. It really doesn’t sit right with me that we haven’t met Andrew’s parents yet. Do you think we could talk about arranging something in the future, maybe the next time we come visit you at school? I just… you know me. I need to make sure he comes from good people. I know they’re surgeons, but that’s not a guarantee. I want to see their home, their church. How can I fully know Andrew until I see those things?