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  A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and broad shoulders placed a hand on Mr. Wang’s shoulders. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his volume low as if it were a secret.

  “Dr. Lin, hello!” Mr. Wang answered nervously, shaking hands with him longer than normal societal standards would dictate.

  At the same time, a woman ran up to Mrs. Wang and, in lieu of a greeting, rambled, “Aiyah, I heard your Jing-Jing is studying economics at UChicago! I wish my Charlie would major in something that practical, but he just had to become an MD-PhD, which, giǎ xiláng, is a nine-year program—though I think he’s on track to do it in six, giving me gray hairs worrying about how hard he’s working!”

  Mr. and Mrs. Wang threw their coats and scarves on top of me to slow me down. As I tried to untangle myself, the chatter around me increased as more guests swarmed the Wangs.

  “Oh! Hey,” I heard Jing-Jing say.

  A voice I didn’t recognize said “Hey” back in a mocking way. (How could anyone make fun of the word “hey”?)

  I’d just freed my head from Mr. Wang’s scarf when Mrs. Wang threw Jing-Jing’s outerwear at me too.

  “How are you, Lisa?” Jing-Jing said with a forced smile. (I couldn’t see her, but I knew from her tone what her facial expression was.)

  “Oh, you know, there’s a lot of pressure on me in law school, but it’s Harvard so I can’t complain, right?”

  Oh, gross.

  A boy piped up, “The pressure probably comes from your older sister having three master’s degrees and now getting a PhD, right?”

  “Well, everyone in our family has at least two master’s, so that’s not a big deal, but yeah, the PhD is prestigious.”

  “And I’m going to be a Rhodes scholar!” another girl blurted as if she couldn’t hold on to the information a second longer without bursting.

  How the eff had Jing-Jing survived high school with people like this? My childhood Asian community had been nothing but supportive, lifting one another up because no one else would help us.

  I finally escaped the choke hold of the outerwear and passed everything to the (very confused) maid, but the Wangs were nowhere in sight. Lisa took one look at my UChicago scarf and she and her minions turned their backs to me (what would they have done if they knew my real background?). Then the faux bragger, who had zero interest in finding out who the Wangs’ coat servant was, turned to one of the overt braggers to tell them how positively dreadful it was that poor Charlie was working so hard he wouldn’t be having kids anytime soon.

  Part of me wanted to stick around and watch faux bragger vs. overt bragger, buuut I was already sure all outcomes would annoy me.

  I calmly handed the maid my scarf, but I slipped out of my dress shoes and placed them near the other shoes myself so the maid wouldn’t have to touch something my feet had. Then I moseyed into the sharky sea as if I had all the time and calm in the world, like I was so sure of my relationship with Jing-Jing that I didn’t need to rush after her (or own her, like Hongbo surely would).

  The foyer was massive, with ceilings taller than my apartment building (okay, maybe not, but it felt like that because it was so cavernous). On the right side of the hall, two curved staircases from opposite sides met in the middle, melting into one grand, oversize staircase. To the left, the library or den or whatever you call that usually empty, meant-to-impress room was teeming with people. And even more chatter was coming from beyond the indoor columns (can’t believe I had to specify that).

  So Jing-Jing was saying no to all this. For just a small piece, I would have faked a relationship with Hongbo (clearly—I’d done it for a lot less).

  My green socks with red polka dots glided over the polished marble floor. I looked for Jing-Jing while reminding myself to give off cool and comfortable vibes by keeping my spine straight, shoulders down, lips tilted slightly, head at the perfect angle (not too high and arrogant, but not low as if trying to hide).

  My outer appearance remained relaxed, but inside, I was on guard just in case. It was super unlikely I’d run into another client (especially given the all clear), but bolting was the best defense for face-to-face run-ins, where deniability was difficult (which was our strategy otherwise, and why we changed last names between jobs and avoided photos).

  I passed between the indoor columns, then traversed a hallway nook with great acoustics where two women dressed in Tang dynasty clothes were playing the pípa and èrhú (gorgeously, I might add—the music, not the women… well, also the women, maybe; I wasn’t looking). Then I passed an enormous room (ballroom?) where guests were chatting and snacking on egg rolls and chāshāo bāos and turnip sī bǐngs served by staff in red and green qípáos. Eventually, I found Jing-Jing in the very back, in the kitchen, which was vast but not meant for company, as evidenced by the lack of Christmas decorations. In fact, it was devoid of anything save for a plastic bag tied to one of the drawer handles, which made me happy: even crazy rich Asians still recycled plastic bags in a distinctly Asian way.

  They were still a few yards from me, but I could see that Jing-Jing was surrounded by her parents and the Kuos, with Hongbo hovering slightly outside the circle, looking uncomfortable. Jing-Jing’s head was nonstop nodding like a bobblehead, and a polite smile graced her face, but I knew from the tightness in her eyes that she was trying to escape.

  Hongbo was dressed in a shiny silver silk suit (nice s alliteration there—I’m sure that was what he was going for). Every time his slippery suit brushed against Jing-Jing’s elbow (he was pacing now), she flinched.

  When Hongbo saw me, his head perked up, and then he sidled over to put his arm around Jing-Jing. As predicted, both sets of parents urged them on with their hungry, disgusting eyes.

  I’d never felt so desperate to book it across an overwaxed floor in socks. Except I knew she didn’t actually need me. Which she proved half a second later when she grabbed Hongbo’s hand and turned it sideways. He pulled his arm back and tried to shake it off, but he was the one who was shook.

  Good.

  As I (finally) neared her, I heard Jing-Jing say calmly to Hongbo, “Please don’t touch me.”

  A shadow crossed the parents’ faces at the same moment Hongbo stalked off.

  And headed straight for me. I instinctively backed up, not wanting whatever was coming to happen in front of the parents since it was a wild card.

  Hongbo followed, catching up to me in a mostly empty hallway I’d turned down.

  “You’re the reason she hasn’t said yes,” he said, his eyes narrowed in frustration. He pressed a finger to my chest, one push per sentence. “You’re the obstacle here. You’re the thorn in my ass I have to remove.” The spot hurt where his index finger had dug in.

  “That’s not true at all,” I answered quickly. “Even if I weren’t in the picture, it wouldn’t change how she felt about you.” I wished there were a way to fully show him that, but I couldn’t tell him the truth of how I knew Jing-Jing’s counterfactual (which was really her factual).

  “You need to break up with her,” Hongbo declared like the spoiled, privileged ass he was, so used to demanding things of others, even strangers. A diaspora version of Little Emperor syndrome at its finest.

  “Do I get a say in this?” a voice said from behind us. A voice that made my knees a little weak.

  I turned to watch Jing-Jing approach, her steps confident and an exasperated but take-no-shit look on her face.

  Chloe

  “Why do you even care this much? Is it just about the money?” I asked Hongbo. An image of him begging his mother for three thousand dollars popped into my head. “Are your parents threatening to cut you off if I don’t marry you or something?”

  He scoffed, a spit-spraying pfft. “You think they would do that? Even your vagina isn’t shriveled enough for that.”

  Andrew’s fists clenched, but he let me lead.

  “Well, if it’s not the money, then what? You clearly don’t have feelings for me.”

  Hongbo
cringed. “Ew. No shit.”

  “We’re missing something,” I said, half thinking out loud, half to Andrew. Definitely not to Hongbo, but he responded anyway.

  “Maybe if you’d gone to Stanford like me, you’d have figured it out.”

  I snapped my fingers. “You must have done something! And it must’ve been really horrible, even for you.”

  Hongbo wore his usual smug expression, but I saw the hint of panic in the lines around his eyes. So I kept ruminating, because if he and his parents were hiding something, maybe we could use it against them once we figured out what it was. “Well, given that you wanted me for my reputation—” I started, but before I could finish, he turned to leave.

  Time for drastic measures. Even if I guessed it, he wouldn’t admit it, so I had to change tactics. And what was Hongbo’s biggest downfall? His behemoth, blown-out-of-proportion ego.

  I hurried around him so he’d have to face me. “Maybe you’re going along with all this because you’re having a really hard time finding a girlfriend and need Mommy and Daddy to do it for you. Why would you need to marry me, someone you supposedly can’t stand—though maybe you’re lying about that, too—if you could get anyone else? Maybe you’re all talk and no game. If someone as ‘inexperienced’ as me doesn’t even want you, maybe no one else does either. Maybe you talk about all your ‘exploits’ to cover up that you’ve had none.” Then I used his own prejudices against him: “Maybe you’re still a virgin.”

  “I am not a virgin,” he said with a laugh.

  I shrugged. “That’s what you say. You brag about Prime Strip and supersperm because you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Throughout my volleys, he had slowly been steaming, a kettle about to boil, and with that last comment he exploded. “I’ve had so much sex it would blow your shriveled mind!” Hongbo yelled at me. “And I do have supersperm! I got someone pregnant! She’s due on New Year’s!”

  My mouth dropped open. So did Andrew’s. And Hongbo’s.

  “That’s not true,” he backtracked. But he knew it was too late. “You can’t tell anyone. No one would believe you. I’ll—I’ll hunt you both down if this gets out. I know people!”

  I was still processing. “Your parents wanted me to be with you to, what, fix your reputation with mine? As proof that you’ve changed? To distract people with engagement news so they don’t notice the baby news?” He didn’t answer. “And that’s why you were cut off, as punishment,” I realized. “So this is about the money for you.”

  A hopeful look crossed Hongbo’s face. “Well, now that you know, maybe you can help an old friend out?”

  I gave him my own pfft—a spit-spraying one.

  Andrew spoke to just me. “You should tell your parents about this. Then it’ll be over; they’ll stop pressuring you.”

  Hongbo scoffed. “What makes you think they don’t already know?”

  My vision blurred. He was lying. He had to be. He was trying to get back at me. Trying to make me angry.

  But then his next words rang in my ears. “Your mom told us they’d be honored to help. ‘Jing-Jing is the purest of them all!’ ” he finished, mimicking my mother’s voice saying the catchphrase she only used with me in private—well, I guess, not anymore.

  Bloodred shame and red-hot anger exploded into existence simultaneously. The lava coursing through my veins was so overwhelming that my mind blanked for a moment. But when I came to, I knew exactly who to take everything out on.

  Chloe CHAPTER 32

  SHATTERED

  I stormed right up to my parents, who were hovering behind the Kuos near the entrance of the ballroom like sad, desperate puppies waiting for their owners to give them attention again.

  “You knew this was because of an unwanted pregnancy and you supported it?” I asked as soon as they were within earshot.

  “Shh,” my mother hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. Everyone was pretending to look elsewhere, but I could tell from their collective leaning in that they hadn’t made out my words and were now trying to.

  God, I hated this community.

  I lowered my voice to stick it to the eavesdroppers, even though another part of me wanted them to hear, as punishment for my parents. And the Kuos. “Tell me it’s not true.”

  My parents led me away, into a less-crowded foyer that housed a row of towering porcelain vases. “Why does that matter?” my father asked.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  My mother put her hands on her hips. “Well, really, Jing-Jing, what did you expect? Why else would Hongbo—would the Kuos, the Kuos—want you?”

  If my mother had reached into my chest and dug her nails into my heart, would that hurt less than right now?

  She continued, “We’re just being honest. Realistic. Because we love you. We tell you the truth when no one else will.”

  The truth. There were no truths here anymore. Except for the fact that my own mother believed my sole redeeming quality was my untouched vagina.

  I didn’t know how long I stood there, on the precipice, so angry and hurt and sad that nothing came out, not even a tear. I just knew that when I started to come back to my body, my parents had stopped talking. And Andrew was hovering beside me worriedly. And then, in my peripheral vision, I saw Hongbo and his parents separate themselves from some clingy guests to join us.

  Blurred remarks were exchanged, barely audible in my haze. But I snapped to when I heard Mrs. Kuo snarl, “Who is this?” while glaring at Andrew, who was standing very close to me.

  “A classmate,” my mother answered calmly.

  “This is my boyfriend, Andrew,” a voice—my voice—said.

  “Kuo Ǎyí, Shǔshú, nice to meet you,” Andrew said politely, shooting them his professional-charmer smile and then bowing his head slightly.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Mr. Kuo growled to my parents, whose faces were flushed. “We’ve been telling everyone that Hongbo and Jing-Jing are together. You realize how this looks?”

  “How long has this been going on?” Mrs. Kuo asked my parents.

  Much too long. I’ve been ignoring my own happiness as long as I can remember.

  “They’ve been friends for a few months—just friends,” my mother answered frantically. “I mean classmates! They’re classmates! Studying together. In groups!”

  Loudly, my father added, “There’s nothing going on here. Really.”

  The Kuos shot them doubtful frowns.

  A beat passed where they stared each other down.

  Hongbo broke the silence. “I told you none of this was my fault. I did everything you asked.”

  “Be quiet!” his father reprimanded.

  Hongbo ignored him. “Maybe we should call this off. Since, you know, she probably isn’t as pure as we thought.”

  Mrs. Kuo sniffed disdainfully. “That’s a great point.”

  Andrew looked ready to tear this place down. He kept looking at me, waiting for a signal, but I was too angry, too overwhelmed, and still processing from ten steps ago, because how could my parents have known and still pressured me?

  “Jing-Jing’s pure, I promise. The purest!” my mother piped up. Of course.

  Mr. Kuo coughed once, on purpose. “I’m uncomfortable. We should call this off.”

  And my mother panicked. “Jing-Jing accepts your proposal, Hongbo!” she declared, yelling it to everyone in the vicinity. “We came here tonight just to share this good news with you all!”

  The guests who were hovering in the background pretending not to eavesdrop gave up the charade and broke into applause. People started yelling congratulations, a champagne bottle popped nearby, and a small group started approaching us to celebrate.

  No! my mind screamed. No! No! No!

  Everything was happening too fast. I couldn’t think.

  Hongbo was coming over to me. The Kuos, wary just moments ago, were suddenly accepting handshakes and exclaiming how wonderful it was that Hongbo would be
settling down with a girl so innocent she didn’t realize the male friend she’d brought to the party was actually interested in her. Someone pulled Andrew away from me and too many hands were clapping me on the back, touching my arm, invading my space.

  My parents didn’t see me as human. Didn’t care how I felt, what I wanted, how much I was suffering to try to make them happy.

  If I allowed this engagement to happen, that would be it. I’d be letting them win and consigning myself to a future where I’d slowly fade into nothing. It was already happening. And my parents didn’t even notice. I could feel my spirit dying, slowly choking on the lies, the pain, the sacrifices.

  I felt comforting fingers encircle my wrist briefly before they were pulled away again.

  For the record, I like the version of you from the application, the one who stands up to gross Lamborghini-loving douchebags, not the one who feels like she has to be nice and smile for the world just because they said so.

  Inside, a momentary burst of strength shouted at me to snap out of it. To fucking fix it before it was too late.

  So I did.

  “I’m pregnant,” I announced, shattering my virginal reputation just as someone in the room dropped and shattered a glass—probably a crystal Waterford champagne flute or whatever the fanciest one was.

  The entire room froze. Completely. Not a single muscle twitched.

  “She’s just kidding!” my mother said with a laugh, throwing her head back in exaggeration, but not before her eyes met mine with a question in them.

  Mrs. Kuo’s gaze dropped to my stomach, which, as always, did have a little protrusion because, well, I’m human, but obviously it was not a full-blown preggers belly.

  “It’s still early,” I said, letting my fiery red shine bright. I considered adding that it wasn’t Hongbo’s, but then I realized it didn’t matter whose it was. Maybe it would be better if people did think it was Hongbo’s, just to punish the Kuos more.

  My mother started waving her arms. “She’s not pregnant! Tiān āh, you have to believe me!” She grabbed my elbow and shook it frantically. “Tell them, Jing-Jing! The truth!”