♫ On the Eighth day of Christmas my fortune gave to me…
trouble deciding
jolly friends a gambling
sneaky people meddling
clever new plans
champagne for two
the good friend
two second thoughts
and a ticket home to see my family ♪
I was wrong. The body stocking was so worth risking gangrene and hives! Sam nearly fell off the bed when he saw it. Then he fell on me, in the nicest possible way. I was thinking of buying a drawer full of the things. Though that would probably be weird and Sam might wonder why I refused to get into bed without one. Still, I wanted to wear it every day. It made me feel so sexy, sucking in all the wobbly bits and highlighting the fun ones. Granted, it might be tricky to wear one in summer unless some clever bunny thought to design a shorty – the fishnet equivalent of a summer wetsuit.
Sam and I lazed in each other’s arms, groggy with sleep. He traced outlines on my stomach, exciting shivers along my body. For long minutes we just stared at each other. I could not get enough of this man. This was how I imagined our life together when I first said I’d move to Hong Kong. Nights out, nights in, with friends or alone, active days and lazy days, all spent together, enjoying each other and the feelings we shared.
And now I had exactly what I’d wished for. Everything should have been perfect. Except it was becoming less so by the day. Why wasn’t I one of those non-obsessive women, like Stacy? Maybe I was over-thinking (she said, over-thinking that possibility). Or maybe this was one of those times when worrying was called for.
I didn’t like the train of thought. It went something like this. I hadn’t always been myself with Sam. I’d been a better version of me. But by not being completely myself, I wasn’t being truthful with Sam. I was keeping things from him. And those things were part of who I was.
I’d always done it. I wanted to be liked. So maybe I’d… adapted a bit. The question was: how was I supposed to be myself now, when Sam loved the other me?
We stayed in bed and the hours ticked down, until there was barely time to shower and still make it to brunch on time. ‘Can I shower first?’ I asked, kissing him again.
‘What’s your rush? Let’s stay in bed for a while longer.’ He made a grab for my thigh as I stood.
‘We need to be in Central in half an hour,’ I reminded him. ‘Brunch, remember?’
‘I didn’t think those were definite plans. I had another idea, for just the two of us. We have brunch nearly every weekend. I’d wanted to spend the day alone with you. I’ve got a surprise.’
A surprise? My ears perked up. ‘What kind of surprise?’
‘You’ll have to wait until we get there. Otherwise it’s not a surprise, is it? I promise you’ll love it. Go ahead and shower now if you want to, then we can go. It’s going to be a big day!’
I wouldn’t count an amusement park in the top, well, one hundred of my all-time favorite pastimes, but I had to give Sam credit for the surprise element. Surprise! You’re likely to throw up breakfast. At least it wasn’t a long bus ride to get there. Just long enough for me to imagine a dozen or so romantic possibilities. When I saw the park, my heart sank.
I suppose it could be a bit romantic, as long as we stayed away from the hordes of children trying to make my ears bleed with their screaming. As we navigated through crowds of families and teens, it occurred to me that in the evolution of theme parks, Ocean Park would have been Sea World’s offspring, had she been knocked up by a traveling carnival after a few too many tequila shots. In a gene pool full of sea-life-related exhibits and vomit-inducing rides, I was all for sticking to the maternal side of the family. I could handle the seals’ fish-breath better than the head-spinning feeling of nearly plunging to my death in the name of fun.
At Panda Village we found… ‘Those are otters.’ Sam squinted at the pool.
‘Definitely otters. It did seem odd to have pandas at Ocean Park. Either pandas swim or they’ve got otter cousins that I don’t know about.’
He peered at the map. ‘It definitely says Panda Village. Do otters even live in Asia?’
‘I thought they lived in California. Maybe they’re good swimmers, though probably not seaworthy. Translation error?’
‘False promise. Ah well, it doesn’t matter. Look at those birds!’
He was gleeful at the sight of tiny yellow birds flitting through the trees. He was the kind of man who’d be excited by a wren on the pavement. I’d only known him once to be down, when we broke up and I stopped speaking to him. I knew he was down because I had a spy in the enemy’s camp. Sam’s best friend Pete was also friendly with Stacy, so she got detailed updates about his state of mind. She was smart enough to limit that information flow. Like an addict, I craved the thing that made me miserable.
I knew from Sam’s own lips that he loved me then. His timing was terrible. Nobody wants to hear that kind of declaration when you’ve just told your boyfriend that you never want to see him again. But that’s how it happened. It was pure irony after nearly a year of hoping for those very words, but it didn’t matter. I was too hurt to let a little thing like love sway my decision. I walked away, told him not to get in touch. Then I cried. For about two months. I ignored his texts asking if I was okay. If he was so concerned about my well-being, he could have not slept with another woman in the first place. Oh yes, I was angry.
But I had to admit that Stacy (and everybody else) was right. I was the one who’d said we should see other people. Technically, he’d done nothing wrong in following instructions. But if he loved me, as he professed to do, what was he doing with another woman in his bed? You don’t do that if you’re really in love. If you love someone, you only have eyes for that person. It wouldn’t matter whether the rules allowed extracurricular activity. If you’re in love, then you wouldn’t pound your erasers in another woman’s classroom.
Only… hadn’t I spent the night with Brent? So if my theories were true, how could I have done that while being in love with Sam?
There I was, well away from the rides and I still felt nauseated.
Sam grabbed my hand, jerking me off that ominous path. ‘I have something for you,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ Either it’s not true, and you can sleep with another when you’re in love. Or it is true, and you’re not in love if you sleep with another.
‘Hannah, these last few months have been amazing. I feel like we’ve been given another chance to do everything right. And I plan to. Do everything right, I mean.’
‘Mmm hmm.’ If Sam’s dalliance meant nothing, then my night with Brent probably meant nothing either. Sam loved me and I loved him.
‘So I have something for you, to show you how much these last few months have meant to me. To show you how much you mean to me. I want to give you your Christmas present early.’
I suddenly realized what Sam was saying. My Christmas present? Early?!? My heart thudded. ‘Yes?’ I felt dizzy. And ill. Suddenly really sick to my stomach. Panic flooded through me, making it hard to breathe. ‘Sam, I–’
He took a little box from his pocket and handed it to me. ‘I hope you like it.’
I knew right away it wasn’t the gift. He wasn’t on bended knee, for one thing. He didn’t ask me anything, for another. My pulse slowed again, and the panic receded as I opened the box. The stone was a brilliant blue, mounted with a tiny gold chain.
‘It’s your birthstone, aquamarine. Do you like it?’
‘I love it, thank you!’ I unhooked the clasp. ‘Here, hold my hair.’
‘I didn’t want to wait till we were home. It’s your Christmas present… but it’s not your big present.’ He grinned.
I grinned back, fakely. This man was going to propose to me under false pretenses. He didn’t really know me. Even setting aside the little lies I’d told, there was a lot he didn’t know. And I was afraid to show him. That’s what it all came down to, I realized with a sinking heart. I didn’t want
to risk him seeing the un-airbrushed me.
♫ On the Ninth day of Christmas my fortune gave to me…
merry ladies dancing
trouble deciding
jolly friends a gambling
sneaky people meddling
clever new plans
champagne for two
the good friend
two second thoughts
and a ticket home to see my family ♪
I knew I had to talk to Stacy about it but oh my, I did not want to. Her you-don’t-have-to-change-for-a-man views were legendary.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to invite Josh to come tonight?’ I asked her instead. ‘Stuart and Brent wouldn’t mind. They get along really well.’ Stalling, that’s what it was. Just stalling for time.
‘Positive,’ Stacy said as she swiped on a perfect arc of liquid liner. ‘Tonight’s just for us.’ The bathroom’s hers-and-hers sinks made it our favorite room in the apartment. Wine glasses sweated on the expansive countertop, littered with the debris of our girly preparations. ‘I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.’ She peered at me. ‘Why are you asking? Do you want Sam to come?’
‘No!’ That sounded much harsher than I meant it to. ‘It’s just us four tonight. That’s great. Nice that we can celebrate before we all go away.’ You wouldn’t think that Hong Kongers were big believers in Santa Claus. But the city positively sparkled with Christmas cheer. The skyscrapers were gaily lit and tinny Christmas music bleated from every department store speaker. ‘Are we going together or meeting there?’ Brent and Stuart only lived about five minutes away.
‘Meeting there. Will you be ready to go in about twenty minutes?’
‘Yep.’
She looked at my bathrobe. And my wet hair. ‘How long do you really need?’
‘Probably more than twenty minutes.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t lie.’
That was it. The perfect time to start the conversation I didn’t want to have. I didn’t want to. But I had to. Okay. Ready? One… two, three. Four. Five. Six… All right, I was being ridiculous. I needed Stacy’s help. She already knew what I was like. It wasn’t like she was going to think any less of me. ‘Speaking of lying.’
I had her full attention.
‘Something’s come up lately, involving Sam.’
‘He’s been lying? Oh no, not after all you’ve been through. The son of a bitch. And I was really rooting for him too–’
‘No, no, it’s not Sam. It’s, well, it’s me.’ I sighed. ‘It’s nothing new. You’ve yelled at me before about it.’
‘Me?’ Her eyes were wide. ‘I can’t imagine ever raising my voice at you.’ We both snorted with laughter. ‘So you’re the liar? What about. Ooh, is it scandalous?’
‘No, nothing scandalous. Sorry to disappoint you. Remember the Tevas?’ Last year, when she first arrived in Hong Kong, we had a little tiff about Tevas. It wasn’t really about the practical, outdoor shoes, of course. It was about the fact that, had I not been going out with Sam, those painfully ugly excuses for footwear would never have graced my feet. ‘I think Sam might have a slightly different impression of me than, say, you do.’
‘Well, you’re probably not quite the adventurous sex kitten he thinks you are, if that’s what you mean. Is there something else?’
There was. I told her everything Sam didn’t know about me, from my aversion to ‘sportswear’ (a word that should be banned from the language) and its related activities to my fear of flying, and spiders, and clowns, to my belief that cookies and milk made for a fine dinner. I left out my night with Brent, though. No need to muddy the waters with that.
Of course, none of it came as news to her. We’d been best friends since childhood. She just didn’t know how different Sam’s impression of me was. He’d be shocked to see his real girlfriend, the lazy one who preferred her sofa to any outdoor activity and regularly ate entire pints of ice cream while watching romcoms (which she referred to in public as documentaries).
‘It sounds like there are two problems here. One–’ She ticked off on her finger. ‘–Sam needs to know the real you, don’t you think? You can’t keep up these pretenses for the rest of your life, or you’ll end up on rafting holidays every summer eating a macrobiotic diet. You’ll be wearing hemp clothes by the time you’re forty.’ I nodded. I did not want my wardrobe to suffer any more than it already had. ‘But there’s a second problem, or at least something you’ve got to consider. Why can’t you be yourself with Sam? Does he make you feel that way?’
‘No, not at all. He’s never put any pressure on me. It’s inside my head, I’m sure. You’ve always said I change when I go out with someone.’
‘Well, yes, that’s true. But don’t be so quick to assume it’s always you, Han. People can make us feel insecure without actually saying anything. And lots of guys make lots of girls feel insecure. They do it all the time. We, humans, do it all the time to each other. Of course, you might be right. It’s possible that it is you. Maybe you’re just screwed up.’ She smiled and shook her head, letting me know she didn’t really think so. ‘But if there’s some reason you think you need to act differently around Sam, you’d better figure it out before he pops the question. You can’t start your life together based on lies.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ Finally, I had a name for what was making me panic every time I thought about Sam’s proposal. It was called dishonesty.
If anything could put me in a good mood after that confession, it was Brent’s reaction to Winterfest. He was grinning like a six year old who’d just seen Santa Claus. ‘Look, reindeer!’
In a corral beside an enormous light-littered tree stood three of the angriest looking deer I’d ever seen. I didn’t blame them. They were about 40 degrees latitude south of their homeland.
Fairy lights festooned the tropical square, in which an Alpine village complete with snowy eaves had appeared. It was an odd tableau given that it was wedged between skyscrapers.
‘Want to sit on Father Christmas’s knee?’ Stuart said, gesturing towards a Santa who looked as angry as the deer.
‘No, thanks. Santa looks a bit mean.’
‘He looks drunk. And I suppose you’re already getting all you want for Christmas, eh?’ He said. ‘Brent told me about Sam’s big plans.’ Brent shot him a look. In filial devotion, he completely ignored his brother. ‘Have you been buffing your ring finger until it shines? Let me see.’ He grabbed for my hand, touching the delicate garnet ring that I wore every day. ‘You’d better take that off when you get on the plane. It might put him off. We men are skittish, you know.’
That’s exactly what I was afraid of. I couldn’t keep up the perfect-girlfriend charade if we were to have a life together. But even if I could tell him everything, everything, how could I take the risk that he’d accept it, and accept me? I was starting to realize that I probably couldn’t. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. ‘Let’s get a drink. Do you think they have mulled wine?’
‘Of course,’ Stacy said, pointing to the wooden stall manned by a Chinese elf in lederhosen. ‘We may as well start here, to limber up for later.’
She didn’t mean social lubrication. She meant limbering up. Literally.
‘Is this where you take your dates?’ I asked Stuart, thinking of Winnie as we made our way to the hotel’s opulent ballroom.
‘Sometimes. It depends on the woman. Not everyone can pull off the ballroom look as well as you and Stacy. Spin!’ He twirled me, sending my knee-length dress flaring at the hemline. We did look pretty, and Brent and Stuart were striking in their linen suits. They usually turned heads when they were together. It wasn’t every day you saw tall English ginger twins in Hong Kong.
I was very glad they told us exactly what kind of dancing we’d be doing tonight. That kind of miscommunication had fashion car crash written all over it. It wouldn’t have been my first collision. Without wishing to blame everything in my career on Mrs. Reese, it was totally her fault. You don’t accidentally te
ll someone to dress for a dance club night with clients when they’re really going to a sedate dinner at a family restaurant. I turned up an hour late (thanks again, Mrs. Reese), in my favorite sparkly tank top and skinny jeans. Josh looked like he wanted to throw the tablecloth over my cleavage. At least tonight I wasn’t dressed like a party favor.
The orchestra was already playing when we were shown to our little round table near the dance floor.
‘Madam.’ Brent bowed. ‘May I have this dance?’
‘Why of course, kind sir, I thought you’d never ask.’
I hadn’t the faintest idea how to ballroom dance, but clearly Brent and Stuart did. Brent guided me around the floor, his hand on my waist gently pushing and pulling as required. ‘You’re good!’ I said.
‘Mandatory classes at school.’ He grimaced. ‘Believe me, it left its mark. It was an all-boys school.’
The Expat Diaries: Twelve Days to Christmas (Single in the City Book 3) Page 6