Rent a Boyfriend

by Gloria Chao

  I felt naked walking out the door without it. At least I wasn’t missing much—just my music—since I wasn’t looking at my phone while outside, not in Chicago in January. It was currently the freeze-your-face-off kind of weather, which made me hurry home after class to warn pampered California-born Drew.

 

  You have a winter coat, right?

 

  I’m borrowing Jason’s

  He’s a skier

  You need accessories too

  Like what?

  Like whatever you can find

  Scarves, heavy-duty gloves, earmuffs, wool socks, boots

  And I have little hand warmer hot packs you can borrow

  You’re being funny, right?

  From one Californian to another, trust me

  Shit ok

  I guess I need to cross boating and lakeside picnic off our list of possible dates

  Snuggling with hot chocolate in front of a fire is just as romantic

  I’ll bring the marshmallows!

  And finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last Friday in January was upon me. The day of Drew’s arrival. I was about to see him this afternoon. In Chicago. My real home. I was so excited my head was spinning.

  An hour before his plane was supposed to land, I’d cleaned my dorm room, showered, put on two layers of deodorant, and paced my room only about a thousand times.

  I focused on the time we would have together, not the fact that this was likely the last stretch during which I could have my mooncake and eat it too. I wanted to see this visit as a privilege, not the final, lonely grain of sand passing through the hourglass.

  I reread the list of date ideas I’d written up. I sniffed my sheets for the thirtieth time just to make absolute sure, even though I’d used an entire cup of detergent and, for the first time, fabric softener.

  I wanted to know what Drew was thinking right now. Would he be able to focus on the present, or would he be preoccupied with what was inevitably coming? Would we be staying here in my dorm—hence the fresh sheets—or at his hotel, where the bed was likely bigger? Or not together at all? Was it presumptuous to have an overnight bag packed? What was the etiquette for this type of thing?

  Yes, I had to change into a fresh shirt right before he arrived.

  * * *

  Drew texted when his Uber was close. I bundled up, clomped down the stairs to the entrance, then flew straight into his arms, knocking his suitcase over.

  I didn’t even care. I didn’t glance at the other students giving me looks, didn’t preoccupy myself with how Drew was going to respond, and just squeezed him as tight as I could.

  “I missed you, too,” he said, hugging me back but with less force, probably because he was scared of hurting me. I loosened my arms but continued to hold on.

  Then I pulled back so I could kiss him. And holy smokes did I kiss him. Hands on either side of his face, one leg looped around him.

  When I finally pulled back, he panted a few breaths before saying, “Hell of a greeting.”

  “Come on,” I said. I righted his luggage, then grabbed his hand and pulled him into my dorm.

  Drew CHAPTER 61

  I’M GOOD RIGHT HERE

  Even Chicago weather couldn’t have kept me away (though I did cry inside when I saw the temperature would be below zero).

  Chloe’s dorm room was so very her: photos of her family were tacked to the wall (I particularly liked the one of her and her mother sticking their tongues out at the camera); a large stash of jasmine oolong tea lay beside the electric kettle on her dresser; and her bedding was a mishmash of bright and bold colors.

  I pointed to a poster of Barcelona hanging above her bed. “You been?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I’m planning on studying abroad there in a future quarter.”

  My heart soared at the life she was living. She felt different here. More clearly her.

  And then I saw it. My painting. Right above her desk. It looked different among Chloe’s things, mounted with love. The tear in the corner now reminded me how far we’d come.

  I may have gasped. My heart may have burst. And I definitely did wrap her in a bear hug. She leaned against me until we fell backward onto the bed.

  She kissed me. Soft, sweet, and sure. The only thing better than being here with her was how familiar her lips and taste were becoming.

  The next couple of hours were Ah-mazing with a capital A and added h.

  At one point, with a laugh, she pulled her lips from mine and asked if I wanted to actually see some of Chicago.

  “I’m good right here,” I said, looping my arm around her hips and bringing us back together.

  But we did eventually grow hungry, and because we were half-dressed and it was frozen-boogers cold outside, we ordered Neapolitan-style pizza from the place next door to eat in bed. I felt bad about crumbs on her very clean sheets, but she didn’t seem to mind as she grabbed a slice and curled up beside me.

  We munched, kissed, and talked until the wee hours of the morning, asking each other questions ranging from playful (If you could live in any time period, what would it be?) to serious (me inquiring about college life, her wanting to know about my past jobs and how Rent for Your ’Rents worked behind the scenes). She was uber-adorable when shyly asking whether I’d had to kiss any clients on jobs, and when I told her I’d only kissed one client, willingly, and not for the job, the relief and joy on her face made my heart soar.

  “Most parents, especially Asian parents who necessitate a rental, don’t have a huge desire to see their daughter kissing someone, even if it’s a person they approve of,” I pointed out as she laughed, probably remembering when she fell off my back just because her father had appeared. “In fact, a kiss on the head is more endearing anyway, and I’m comfortable doing that when needed.” She didn’t react as positively to that, which made me feel guilty, but she moved on swiftly. Our conversation shifted to sharing funny, sad, and embarrassing personal stories.

  When she asked whether I regretted picking art over my parents, I surprised myself by answering, “No. I wasn’t picking it over them. They were the ones who didn’t pick me. While it used to make me sad, and at the beginning I considered begging them, changing my path, whatever, to fix it, I’m now just really disappointed in them. And maybe still a little angry.”

  Then I found myself pouring out so many emotions I’d bottled up in the past. I thought I’d set them out to sea, but apparently they were floating back. “Parents are supposed to believe in us—or at least that’s what society claims. So when they didn’t think I could do it, when they decided to stop loving me…” I trailed off. There weren’t words to describe what it was like.

  “I get it,” Chloe said quietly. “I… may not have told you all the details with the whole Hongbo thing.” She paused. “The real reason I panicked and turned to Rent for Your ’Rents is because when I refused the proposal… when I tried to explain to my mom why I didn’t want to be with Hongbo… her response was…” She swallowed. “She told me I wouldn’t be able to find someone else. That I was too flat-chested, my face too ordinary, and my personality too anxious to attract anyone.” Her voice changed to eerily resemble her mother’s: “ ‘Who will want you?’ ” she mimicked. “Which was also the reason she was fine with Hongbo using me as a cover-up.” Her face and tone shifted again. “ ‘Why else would Hongbo—would the Kuos—want you?’ ”

  “Shit, Chloe.” How could her own mother not see how much she shines, both inside and out?

  “So I told her I already had a boyfriend, one who was rich and handsome and smart and loved me for me, because it hurt too much to tell her that she’d just voiced my own fears.” She took a breath. I wanted to hug her and never let go. “And it’s just like what you said: your parents are the ones who are supposed to think you’re the best, so when they think the opposite…” She also couldn’t seem to find words to describe it.

  I turned my palm up and squeezed
. “I can’t believe your mom said that pile of crap to you. What the hell.”

  Her head drooped. “I know,” she groaned. “It’s terrible. But it’s also just one side of her, and… I don’t know! She’s not all bad, but yeah, she says some really horrible things sometimes—things that make me want to scream and hurl stuff.”

  This shouldn’t be a conflict for her. It pained me emotionally and physically. Yet if anyone could understand what it was like to still crave a relationship with parents who didn’t fully deserve it, it was me. I didn’t act on it, but the ghost of them haunted me daily.

  So much churned beneath her shadowed expression as she said, “Sometimes I’m ashamed at how I’ve clung to them with bloody, torn-apart hands, trying to make it work even after they show me again and again it’s not worth it. But I’m somehow also ashamed of choosing myself now.” She hunched over, and her voice grew as small as her balled-up body. “Why am I forever doomed to be unhappy?”

  I wrapped my arms around her, big spoon to her little ball. “Chloe.” She looked at me. “I don’t think anyone treats you as well as you deserve, including me. Because how can anyone give enough to the girl who loves so unconditionally and puts others before herself? Your love for your parents doesn’t make you weak; it’s why you’re so special, and why you deserve everything. Including happiness. They’re the ones who didn’t choose you, not the other way around. You feel guilty because you’re you. I wish I could take it away but I can’t.”

  “Right,” she whispered, hearing me but perhaps not quite feeling it yet.

  I continued to squeeze ball-Chloe, hoping I could at least replace some of the pain with love.

  She adjusted and exhaled into the crook of my elbow. I laughed at how much it tickled. She did it again, on purpose this time, and I tackled her to the mattress. She was wearing a loose pajama shirt with a neckline wide enough to expose her collarbone and shoulder, and I couldn’t focus as it danced in front of my face while she play wrestled with me. She tried to grab my arm to tickle me again, but I escaped her grasp and wrapped her in a hug so her fingers couldn’t reach me. A fire flashed in her eyes and she kissed me hungrily, and, shit, I was going to lose it on the spot.

  That night (er, morning), right before we fell asleep in each other’s arms, Chloe whispered, “Thank you for wanting me.”

  I hugged her tight and didn’t let go.

  Voicemail from Chloe’s mother

  January 30

  Jing-Jing? You there? Eh, if you keep this up, Bǎbá and I will come to Chicago very soon to make sure you’re okay! Hmm, actually, that’s a great idea! Then we can have dinner with Andrew’s parents and meet his pastor. That would put a lot of my worries to rest.

  [into the distance] Eh! Lǎo Gōng! Do you want to take a trip to Chicago soon?

  Jing-Jing, call me back!

  Chloe CHAPTER 62

  FLYING

  January 30–February 5

  My week with Drew in Chicago was somehow both fireworks and comfy sweats in rocking chairs. Being near him made my nerve endings sizzle, but talking to him also felt like putting on your favorite fuzzy, broken-in socks that make you say ahhh and feel like everything is going to be okay even though the world is shit.

  Yet with every message from my mother, even fuzzy-sock time was tainted with a dash of dread. The thought of my parents—and the threat of what was to come—sent chills down my otherwise well-insulated toes. I decided to shut off my phone while Drew and I were together so I could compartmentalize, at least for now.

  Depending on our schedules, we spent some nights at his hotel, some at my dorm. Even though we never explicitly said so, our plans mostly revolved around who would be able to get to the other one sooner so we could maximize our time together. And while the king bed at the hotel was roll-around-making-out, starfish-when-you-sleep awesome, there was also something so cozy about curling tightly in Drew’s arms in my twin bed.

  Even though we were physical, it didn’t feel like the main thing. It complemented our conversations, another way to show affection. I was neither expecting nor opposed to sex, but it just didn’t feel necessary right now, not for us in this moment.

  In between our laughing, kissing, and soul-searching on the bed—my favorite moments thus far—we put on our tourist hats. Literally: a UChicago winter hat with a poof ball for me and a fur-lined ski one for Drew. And for the first time since I’d moved here more than a year ago, I did touristy things like take shivering selfies at the Bean and observe the otters at Shedd Aquarium—things I hadn’t done before because I’d been too focused on school, too shěng qián, too self-conscious, too past-me.

  And when Drew told me he wanted a tour of campus so he could have an image in his head when I told him in the future I was in class or walking to the library or getting boba, I took him to all my favorite UChicago spots: Rockefeller Chapel, the Quad, and Saieh Hall, the last of which resulted in a lot of unintended laughs.

  “Is this a church?” Drew had asked me. And I’d responded, “Sort of. This is the economics building. But it’s fitting it looks like a church given how the economics department is treated around here.”

  As we walked through Saieh, I had whispered to him about Becker and Friedman—the godfathers of UChicago economics—and how it was an honor to study at a place with so many economics Nobel Prize winners but also a little creepy how close it was to a religion here.

  Drew took in the Gothic architecture—“Looks like Hogwarts,” he had said—with awe and wistfulness, and my heart ached for the college experience he had missed.

  But based on the way his eyes lit up like the moon when he talked about his Art Institute experiences, he was on the right path. Visiting him there and walking around the museum as he told me about his day was another highlight of our time together, and I couldn’t help imagining his paintings on those walls one day. I knew how near impossible that was, but I also believed in him so much I couldn’t not dream it.

  Drew made me dream. For him, for myself, for us. I’d been so focused on what I didn’t want for so long that I’d forgotten how to fly among the stars and the moon—where the sun belonged.

  Drew CHAPTER 63

  SOARING

  I’d always thought that finding your partner was equal to finding the person who pushed your buttons the least, but I was wrong. Finding your person was finding a piece of yourself. Finding your best friend.

  Finding Chloe.

  I knew there were more serious times to come, but because it was inevitable, I tried to focus on the now. How lucky were we to have this little window of sunshine—three suns’ worth?

  Meanwhile, my fellowship further convinced me that art was to be celebrated, not hidden away in secret. I was introduced to others (entire rooms full of them) who cherished what I loved. Some had even achieved my dream. My classes took feelings and instincts I’d had and defined them in clear lines and strokes and gradients.

  I drank it all in like Cháng’é drank her longevity potion, and for the first time I believed that I could do this. That I was where I was meant to be. Even if I failed, I would be okay. Because at least I would have tried something that coursed in my veins. Even if my family didn’t come back, I would walk forward. Because I tried to choose this and them, I reminded myself for the millionth time. But now I felt it.

  Voicemail from Chloe’s mother

  February 5

  [cut off because Chloe’s mother started talking before the beep] can’t just leave me a message saying you’re alive and think that’s enough! I’m glad you’re alive, but that’s not enough! And stop calling me when you know I’m at work!

  I’m putting a package in the mail to you today: it’s a cream you rub on your belly, and then you bind it up real tight with Ace bandages soaked in this special mud taken from a volcano, and it just poof! Melts your fat away. We’ll video-chat as you do it so I can help you. It’s a present for you and Andrew.

  Chloe CHAPTER 64

  MY KIND OF FISH BA
LL

  February 6

  I woke before Drew on our last full day together. We were at the hotel, snuggled up haphazardly with one of his arms slung over my hips and my forearm nestled beneath his neck. Worried he’d wake up sore, I considered reclaiming my limb, but when I took in the peaceful look on his very familiar face, I instead wrapped both arms around him.

  A tear rolled down my cheek. This week had flown by too fast. I wasn’t ready to pop our bubble yet.

  But it was already popped. All the decisions I’d been putting off rushed in, demanding my attention. Was I going to tell my parents about him in a week when I returned home for Chinese New Year? My God, it was a week. That was too soon, wasn’t it?

  Except… talking to Drew about his family the past few days had given me hope. I had the privilege of seeing someone who was already on the other side, and even though his situation was bleak, he was also whole. Scarred, but whole.

  I could do scarred.

  I drifted back to sleep hugging my scarred, beautiful man to my chest. I wouldn’t be letting go.

  * * *

  When Drew woke me in the early afternoon with a shower of kisses on my head, face, and arms, I felt so light I could’ve floated right up out of bed even without antigravity boots. The reality that he would be flying back to California the next morning hung over us, but I also had so much clarity I couldn’t stop grinning at him with all my teeth on display—the way my mother hated, since “classy girls only show six teeth.” That same smile always made Drew’s eyes light up, which they did now.

  “Hey,” he said, matching my giant grin.

  “Hey.”