by Gloria Chao
My heartbeat was in my ears as I rang the doorbell—the first time I was arriving without Chloe by my side. Maybe try to think of tonight as the first night, I told myself in an effort to keep my brain from toggling between Drew and Andrew. I didn’t have that problem with Chloe, but I didn’t know what it would be like back in this house again, where I’d grown accustomed to being someone else.
Chloe opened the door with a weary smile. I gave her an everything okay? look and she sighed dramatically. Stubborn as an ox and a mouse, she mouthed to me, which made me stifle a laugh because it was the perfect use of her parents’ zodiac animals.
I pulled her into a hug, careful not to drop the gifts in my hands, and she surprised me by kissing me on the mouth, assuredly, before helping me with what I was carrying. Despite the weariness, she seemed to be moving more freely than before, a weight lifted.
Her parents did not come out to greet me.
“Are you sure it’s okay I’m here?” I whispered as we made our way to the kitchen.
“Like I said, they haven’t said much. But that also means I was able to tell them all about you.”
I raised a questioning eyebrow. She gave me a tight-lipped smile. Shit. (How could they not be excited about their brilliant, beautiful daughter dating a college dropout who painted moons between fake-boyfriend jobs?)
“I got you,” she whispered in my ear before giving my side a squeeze. “You got this. We’ve got this.”
The kitchen smelled like home, with beef broth simmering on the stove, kōng xīn cài sizzling in a wok, and made-from-scratch dumplings lining the table. It looked like home too, with red decorations hung from every crevice.
The Wangs smiled and waved, but no hugs and no break from bustling around the kitchen. I hopped in and lent a hand, trying not to let their reaction (or lack thereof) bring me down. If Mr. and Mrs. Wang appreciated my help or noticed my dumpling skills (yes, there had been a class), they didn’t express it in any way.
When the food was ready, I gave them the Zhōngguó jié and put the red envelopes on the table for after dinner. They gave me a curt thank-you before setting the Zhōngguó jié behind a pile of religious books so it couldn’t be seen.
Chloe shrugged at me. I guessed she was saving her strength for what was to come, and she proved me right not two minutes later.
We had just sat down and started passing food around when Mrs. Wang said, “So how many Chinese New Year dinners have you crashed, Andrew? Or, I guess it’s Drew.”
At least they’re here and this dinner is happening, I reminded myself. (Except I was digging through three layers of crap to find that silver lining.)
“He didn’t crash them, Mǎmá; he was invited,” Chloe said, exasperated.
“Under false pretenses,” Mr. Wang argued.
Maybe they were here just so they could berate me.
“We had you in our home! When you were a stranger!” Mrs. Wang exclaimed.
“The company does very extensive background checks,” Chloe supplied.
“That’s not enough!”
“It’s more than what you get with other people you date,” Chloe pointed out.
That made Mrs. Wang stop, but she turned down one of the many alternative paths in front of her. “What kind of person does this job?”
Chloe’s head dropped to her hands. “Someone who wants to help people.” She looked back up at them. “He’s here as my boyfriend, to get to know you better.”
“Which we’re doing,” her father said coldly. “This is part of his real life, isn’t it? Lying to others?”
“He supports himself,” Chloe retorted. “Do you know how hard that is?”
“Yes, Jing-Jing, of course we know,” her father said calmly.
“He supports himself doing that,” her mother added, spitting out the last word.
I felt as small as their words were meant to shrink me.
“If you want us to stop talking about his job, fine,” Mrs. Wang said with an undercurrent of spite. “Drew, do you go to strip clubs?”
What? “No, Ǎyí. I don’t.” Not even for the steak.
Mrs. Wang pointed an accusatory finger at me. “Aha! He’s a liar! I knew a professional liar wouldn’t be able to help himself. Jing-Jing, we can’t trust him!”
I looked to Chloe for an explanation, but her eyes were rolled to the ceiling.
Mrs. Wang continued her onslaught. “Tell us how you plan on supporting yourself and our daughter on an artist’s salary. Are you going to sell those Christmas ornaments you made?”
My face flushed. This was one of my nightmares come to life. She might as well have mentioned doodling tourists at the beach.
“You haven’t earned the right to ask him about that!” Chloe exclaimed.
“Then what can we ask about?” her mother said, a smug look on her face.
“Stop,” I said quietly. Then again, louder: “Please stop.” They all turned to look at me.
And, without thinking, I embarrassingly but sincerely launched into this:
“My name is Drew Chan, I’m the son of Taiwanese immigrants, I love Chinese culture but I am also bitter because I blame it—maybe a little unfairly—for why my parents decided to disown me when I pursued art. I turned to being a rental boyfriend because it offered me the opportunity to be paid, with benefits, while I helped others in familiar, heartbreaking situations. I don’t regret my decisions, but I do hate how everything turned out with my family, and even though it hurts, I’m still hopeful for a reunion with my parents, though I don’t think it’ll happen until I have some success as an artist, which is terrible that it has to be that way, but I think that’s what my parents need. I’m trying to be patient. I’m very sorry to you both for how this all started, but I’m also not sorry, because it brought me to your daughter, who you named perfectly, because to me she’s the sun and moon and stars. Also, I’m a cheesy romantic, but it only started when she came into my life. Nice to meet you, Wang Ǎyí, Shǔshú. Thank you for having me in your lovely home; the food looks fantastic.”
Dead. Ass. Silence.
Then a year—I mean, ten seconds—later, her mother pushed back from the table.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” she said, her eyes downcast.
Shit. Had my speech been too much? I pressed my lips together, vowing not to talk anymore.
“Please, Mǎmá,” Chloe begged with her words and her expression.
Mrs. Wang shook her head. “Jing-Jing, I can’t. I need some time. I don’t know this girl in front of me who lied about so many things. My heart is broken.”
And Chloe fell apart. I waffled between wanting to pick up her pieces and wanting to let them work this out without me here. Ultimately, I decided to fade into the background for now, keeping track of where each piece landed so I could hand them back to her when this was over.
Chloe
“I don’t know how to make it so we can both be happy at the same time,” I exclaimed to my parents, the tears pooling. “Half of me wants to beg you for forgiveness so we can move on, and the other half is just so angry and exasperated and tired.”
“Maybe…” My father swallowed. “Maybe I know what that’s like.”
My mother turned and glared at him.
“Jing-Jing, I still think it was the right decision to keep my diagnosis from you. But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The tears flowed down my face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, either.”
“But you’re both still hurt,” my mother said harshly. “As am I.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered for what felt like the thousandth time.
“I’m… I wish things had gone differently, Jing-Jing, I really do,” my father said. He cleared his throat. “I… I don’t know how to talk to you. I don’t know how to do better.”
I wiped my cheek. “That… is already doing better.”
He couldn’t look at me as he said, “Dr. Lin told me a couple of weeks ago that you knew I was sick.”
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br /> That explained why he hadn’t been more shocked when I’d brought it up yesterday. “Were you going to talk to me about it this weekend?”
He hesitated. “I didn’t know how to bring it up.”
That was so upsetting I had to sit and bite my lip for a second while my insides roiled. I knew it was a step forward that he was telling me this now, when he didn’t have to, but still…
Then he said two unexpected words: “I’m sorry.”
I released my lip from my teeth and looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
I was still processing, trying to move past the hurt so we could take a step forward together, but before I could get there, my mother stood.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” she said, then left.
“You should go after her,” my father said quietly. Then, tenderly, he told me, “I’ll be here when you get back.”
I only managed a nod.
Before I’d even entered her bedroom, I heard my mother say through the half-open door, “I think you should break up with him.”
“Why?” I pushed past the nerves and into the room to see her lying in bed, a forearm over her eyes. I sat on the empty half, near her head.
“Jing-Jing, you gave up a wealthy, respected suitor who would’ve provided for your entire life. And for what? A struggling artist estranged from his low-class family! And you live in different states, lǎo tiān yé! How do you expect to make this work?”
“I don’t know yet,” I answered honestly. “I just know I care about him and I want to try. Is that so terrible? I’m nineteen and I just want to continue dating my boyfriend.”
She didn’t move a muscle.
I took a breath. “Mǎmá, I’m not… myself with you. But I’m working on it. I want to show you the real me.”
She removed her arm, finally looking at me. “Then who was the girl I loved and laughed with?”
I tried not to fall apart at the past tense. “That was me too.”
She sat up, frustrated. “Then what are you saying?”
“I don’t know! I just—I want us to move forward from this. I want all of us to do better. I want to feel enough for you and for you to stop—”
“Aiyah, Jing-Jing, I pick at you because you’re my daughter,” my mother interrupted. “That’s how I show I care. I want you to be the best.”
“Why isn’t me just being me good enough?”
“That’s not the point. No one is perfect, and I’m showing you that I think you can be even better. I believe in you.”
We were speaking different languages. “I will… try to keep that in mind, if you can try to do it less.”
She lay back down and rolled over so her back was to me. “My head hurts, Jing-Jing. Please let me rest.”
I started to leave, but then I remembered something and paused. “Someone wise once told me that all relationships have problems. It’s how you solve them that matters. I hope you can forgive me for the mistakes I’ve made. When you’re ready, I really do want to start fresh. I believe we can.”
She said nothing. I waited a minute longer than was comfortable in this stifling silence. Then I couldn’t take it anymore and fled.
* * *
When I returned downstairs, my father and Drew were sitting frozen and silent. Both their faces flooded with relief at the sight of me.
As soon as I sat down, my father started talking.
“Jing-Jing…” He looked down at his hands, not at me, as he spoke. “I’m sorry our relationship became so broken you felt you had to go to such extremes. I’ve been paying more attention and I’ve noticed… things… about Hongbo I didn’t notice earlier. They’ve been lying about their company—did you know that? The stocks I bought have tanked, and when I tried to ask what happened, he yelled at me. Anyway, the point is, I should have trusted you to decide for yourself. I may…” He trailed off, a little winded—from emotion I hope, and nothing else. “I may have been scared of my illness. I wanted to know you’d be financially secure just… in case. But Andrew—I mean, Drew—reminded me a few months ago that you’re quite capable yourself. I wasn’t ready to hear it then, because you’ll always be a little girl to me, but…” He sighed. “Maybe things aren’t as black-and-white as I once believed. I used to think life was so straightforward, but then… you can do everything right—exercise, take vitamins, go to acupuncture—and still get sick.”
“Oh, Bǎbá,” I said softly, leaning over and reaching a hand across the table toward him.
He finally looked at me. “I didn’t tell you I was sick, even after you already knew, because I haven’t been able to truly face it myself.” He placed his hand on the table, angled toward mine but not touching. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things, okay? And I’ll try to be more open with you.”
I nodded, attempting to hold the oncoming wave of emotions in check. “You know vitamins and acupuncture don’t do anything, right?” I joked, and he laughed.
“Maybe you can come with me to my next doctor’s appointment,” he said, then added, “So you can tell Dr. Lin that.”
I smiled. “I would love that.”
We didn’t hug or cry or say I love you; we simply dug into our food. But for us, this was monumental. I tried to force my mother out of my mind so I could focus on how my father and I had just taken a long-overdue step forward. Together.
Chloe CHAPTER 68
VALENTINE’S DAY
February 14
“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the day with your parents?” Drew asked the following afternoon as we journeyed our way to San Francisco in the back seat of a so-far private UberPool. I was flying out of the San Francisco airport later today, and I’d asked him if he wanted to come with me and make a day of it. I only had a backpack, so luggage wasn’t a problem.
I poked his side. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Every day feels like Valentine’s Day with you, not just the rando day some Catholic priest died.”
I smiled, but the moment was laced with poignancy. “I wish it had gone differently yesterday. But I’m not surprised? Maybe I’m even a little relieved it didn’t go worse?”
“I would not have guessed your dad would handle it better than your mom.”
I chuckled. “They’re both roller coasters. Different ones, both unpredictable.” I rested my hand in the middle seat, and he reached over to clutch it. “My dad told me to give my mom some space. I think he might need some too, just to process. But… I’ll email him in a few days. Ask for a health update. I think it’ll be okay with him.”
Drew nodded in support and agreement. “I’m sorry I didn’t prepare more for today,” he said with a sad smile. “I would’ve made you something! I assume you feel differently about origami roses than real ones?”
I beamed. “Maybe we can find a pack of paper somewhere and you can teach me.”
* * *
We spent the day laughing, half talking in our own language made up of inside jokes, and gallivanting around a beautiful city I’d never really spent time in despite living adjacent to it my whole life.
Our first stop was the Ferry Building Marketplace, where I showed Drew very quickly how not shy I was around samples, especially cheese samples. We ate and giggled our way through some very fun and very tasty chocolate, ice cream, and olive oil stands.
At the ceramic shop, Drew hovered outside nervously, so I boldly walked in, introduced myself to the owner, and asked about her creative process and journey to this point. I also introduced her to my favorite artist, who was adorably shy but also talkative and passionate once pressed.
Somewhere in the middle of the indoor street, we clinked West Coast oysters, and the briny, salty deliciousness that filled my mouth made me feel guilty for preferring them over oyster pancakes.
Toward the end of the marketplace, Drew and I bought a chocolate croissant to share. But right as I was sitting down at a table by the water, he pecked me on the cheek, shot
me a mischievous smile, and darted away, no explanation. A minute later he returned with a pack of origami paper. I raised one arm in excitement while using the other to hide the fact that I’d already eaten half of the croissant.
Our red, pink, and blue origami roses ended up smeared with little streaks of chocolate and even more love. Mine didn’t look anywhere near as luminous or in bloom as his, but he cradled them like they were treasures, making me turn as red as the first rose I’d made. I scooped up the handful he’d folded and carefully tried to position them at the top of my backpack so they wouldn’t get crushed.
After grabbing a second croissant to go, we Ubered to the Asian Art Museum, which we explored languidly. Drew showed me some of his favorites, but since it had been a while since he’d visited, he was discovering a lot of the pieces with me.
As I walked among images of cranes and Buddha inked in Chinese calligraphy brushstrokes, I felt connected to them even though the works were so purely Asian. I used to think those pieces of my life were removable, but now I realized they were so ingrained, such an integral part of me, that they were mixed throughout, evenly. Like my blood vessels or connective tissue or nerves. They were not just a part of me, but me.
Before, I’d associated my Chinese side with judgments about my body, clothes, grades, and romantic life, but my eyes were opening to how far it went beyond that superficial interpretation. Parents wanting more for their kids than they themselves had, the emphasis on hard work, Dr. Lin helping Drew and me out with a courtesy visit, my mother making free Essix retainers—these were small examples of the better parts that had been lost beneath the toxic waste. But now I was ready to see. Being honest with myself and my parents helped me realize that Jing-Jing was a side of me that I should be embracing, not pushing out. My drive, my loyalty, my selflessness—they were fostered by the community too. And I could love those pieces without embracing the negative parts. I was allowed to find the joy in sharing a second language, a deeper connection, and Cháng’é jokes with Drew. Maybe one day with my parents, too.