Rent a Boyfriend Page 14

  I pressed my palm to my abdomen. Andrew, who had been staring at me in shock a second ago, pulled it together and came over to put his hands on my shoulders, a united front.

  My father looked like he was about to pass out. My mother’s head turned in a circle, looking from one person to another, and, realizing that they believed me, she lost it.

  “I’m going to go get a pregnancy test right now and prove it to you all! Come on, Jing-Jing.” She started pushing me toward the front door, but I held my ground.

  “How will I know it’s actually Jing-Jing’s pee on the stick?” Hongbo’s mother exclaimed to mine, also clearly having lost it. “You could pee on it or something—we wouldn’t know!”

  “She’ll do it in front of you, okay?” my mother screeched.

  “That still doesn’t prove she’s a virgin,” Mrs. Kuo fired back.

  “We’ll have a gynecologist confirm her hymee—hymen?—is still intact. Isn’t Tsai An here?” My mother’s head turned frantically, searching for Dr. Tsai in the crowd.

  “Everyone shut the hell up!” I yelled, the words erupting from my lips. “No one is looking at my private parts. Jesus! What is wrong with all of you? Does no one else see how fucked up this all is?”

  The older generation gasped when I swore, but I charged on, a wild bull finally loose in the China house. “I’m not an object, I’m not anyone’s property, and I’m just done with all this. I don’t care what any of you think of me anymore—for the first time, and much too long overdue.”

  “It’s off,” Hongbo’s mother said icily to mine. “Hongbo is too good for your Jing-Jing.”

  Andrew and I laughed, but everyone else remained frozen in place.

  “Do you really want me to comment on that?” I asked. “On how we all got here?” I would spill their secret with pleasure.

  Mid-laugh, I felt a rush of wind, heard a loud thud, and felt Andrew’s warmth disappear.

  People around us shrieked. Everything felt slow and fuzzy and my head buzzed and swirled, dizziness overtaking me. Arms and other limbs surrounded me. I fell to the floor. It wasn’t until I blinked a few times that I put two and two together: Hongbo had thrown a punch at Andrew.

  I was shrieking his name before I’d fully processed everything. At the Kuos’ instructions, servants grabbed Andrew and the rest of my family and deposited us on the lawn. The front door opened and closed and someone threw a bag of frozen wontons at us, which Andrew scooped up and placed over his eye.

  I tried to ask if he was okay, but my mother was screaming at me.

  “Jing-Jing, how could you?! Our miànzi! Tiān āh! What were you thinking?!”

  My dad clutched his chest, and my mother rushed over to him.

  “Are you guys okay?” I asked, staying by Andrew but also worried about my dad now.

  “I’m fine,” Andrew said quickly.

  “No one cares!” my mother yelled.

  “Lǎo Pó, I don’t feel well,” my father said, his voice shaky.

  “Bā, are you sick? Is something wrong?” I hurried to his side.

  “Let’s get him home,” my mother said softly, and the fact that she stopped yelling and completely focused on my father confirmed my worst fears: he was sick.

  But now wasn’t the time to ask questions.

  * * *

  At home, my mother settled my father in bed, and I tried to make Andrew comfortable on the couch as he sprawled out, an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel against his eye. He kept insisting he was fine, but I felt awful.

  I sat on the edge of the cushion near his waist.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him for the eleventy-fifth time. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

  “I’m not. You were brilliant!” He let out a mini whoop, then grimaced in pain.

  The consequences of what I’d done were still sinking in, slowly, in waves. “My parents are going to be so pissed at me.” I’d escaped their wrath thus far only because of my father’s health, which sent a different wave of panic through me. “And I got you punched in the face,” I added apologetically, reaching a hesitant hand up to hover near his injury.

  “So many firsts with you,” he joked. “Seriously, though, you were inspiring tonight. Going after what you want, fighting—it was fucking amazing.”

  Then why didn’t it feel amazing?

  “I know I told everyone I don’t care what they think, but…” I couldn’t quite find the words. It wasn’t the actual lie that bothered me but the fact that I’d had to lie at all. And that I needed to use prejudices I despised to manipulate the situation. “I just hate that it’s always judgment with that group, you know?”

  “I get it. It’s especially unfair that you had to take the hit when you were the victim, but that’s who you are. You could’ve thrown the Kuos under the bus or torn into everyone there, but you sacrificed yourself.”

  “I’m not the only one who took the hit,” I said quietly, the guilt shifting front and center.

  “You took the path of less destruction.”

  Maybe I wanted to hurt my parents in the moment too, I thought with shame.

  “I hope it was worth it? Now that Hongbo’s gone?”

  What.

  Holy Mother of God.

  Hongbo was gone.

  I’d been so focused on the guilt, the worry, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, that this very crucial piece of information hadn’t fully registered yet.

  But I’d done it. I successfully burned the Kuo bridge down with a spectacular show of fireworks set to the background music of Tang dynasty performers.

  “We did it. Hongbo’s out,” I said, because I needed to hear it. Because for one freaking second I wanted to focus on that and not on how I’d also burned down my reputation and my relationship with my parents—which now, in the aftermath’s rubble, felt like a much bigger deal than it had at the time of the explosion.

  Andrew looked at me expectantly, waiting to see what I would do next.

  Except I didn’t quite know. I’d been so obsessed with the virus infecting my life that I’d forgotten how to function without it.

  “I’m thrilled for you. You deserve to be happy, Jing-Jing.”

  I hesitated. “It’s Chloe,” I told him. Finally.

  “Chloe.” He said my name slowly, like his tongue and mouth were trying on the new syllables and sounds.

  “And you are…?” I asked because it felt uneven otherwise. “I mean, only if you want to tell me.”

  He beamed. “I’m Drew. Drew Chan. Nice to meet you.”

  “That’s, like, the same name as Andrew!”

  He chuckled. “Not to me.”

  I gave him a come on look, and we laughed together, partly because it was funny, partly because I didn’t know how else to react to this momentous step, and mostly because I had too many emotions fighting for attention and this was a form of release.

  My mother’s voice cut both of us off immediately. “How can you two be laughing at a time like this?”

  I turned my torso toward her, instinctively inching my butt farther from Drew out of guilt.

  “Can we talk?” she asked, not meeting my eye. Without waiting for my answer, she made her way upstairs.

  Drew squeezed my knee, and I told myself I wasn’t facing my mother alone. Many firsts, indeed.

  Chloe CHAPTER 33

  MIÀNZI

  We were sitting in my bedroom, which felt too sterile and too not mine to bring me any comfort. I was curled up on my wooden desk chair and my mother was sitting on my bed, back straight, hands folded in her lap, completely prim and proper.

  “Is Bā okay?”

  “He’s just old,” she lied, brushing it off with her words and a careless hand wave.

  “Please,” I whispered, trying to convey with my voice how much I needed to know.

  “That shouldn’t be your main concern right now.” How could it not be? “You should be taking a good hard look at yourself and your recent behavior. What happened to yo
u?”

  “I’m not pregnant, Mǎmá.” It was all I could think to say.

  “But you told everyone you were,” she shot back, as if it were the same thing.

  The words carved my heart out. Made me regret down to my empty chest cavity that I hadn’t done the very thing that had made me feel empowered, proud, and free back at the mansion.

  She continued, “How could you do this to us after I worked so hard to do the impossible and get you in with the most desirable bachelor?”

  “How could you go along with this after you knew their motivation?” Why else would they want you? I heard her say in my head, and I wanted to crawl into a hole.

  My mother rolled her eyes. “Aiyah, boys will be boys—just be glad he got that out of his system before you. Who doesn’t make mistakes? At least the Kuos are rich enough to make that baby go away.” My God. “The DUIs will be harder, but they have good connections.”

  “DUIs?” Jesus, what else was there?

  She barreled on. “Jing-Jing, you hurt not just yourself but Bǎbá and me tonight. Don’t you know that because of your outburst, our family has no liǎn now? Do you know what that means, to have no face? How are we supposed to be a part of the community after what you did? We’re ostriched, Jing-Jing!”

  “Ostracized,” I said quietly.

  “No, ostriched! So shamed we have to stick our heads in the sand! We’re the embarrassment of the town! You clearly don’t understand how deep miànzi goes. Even though it’s the same words, it’s not like what you Americans say about ‘saving face.’ It’s many layers beyond that. It’s how our community functions—”

  “How can you say I don’t understand?” I interrupted. Especially when she had shoved miànzi down my throat to the point where it took an engagement to Hongbo to make me stand up to it. “I grew up in this community too. Maybe it’s not as… intense for me as it is for you and Bǎbá, but I feel those same pressures.” So much so that miànzi had dictated my life for nineteen years.

  My mother shook her head. “If you understand it like you say, you wouldn’t have thrown our reputation in the toilet for no reason. Jing-Jing, do you remember the story about the emperor who overthrew a kingdom with the help of two generals? Then he worried about the generals killing and overthrowing him, so his solution was to give one general three awards and the other two. The one who received fewer was so ashamed—had no face—that he killed the three-award general. Then the emperor ordered the two-award general to be executed as punishment for committing murder, which, ta-da, secured his throne. See how important miànzi is?”

  “See how dangerous it is?” I threw back. How was that story supposed to be enlightening? “And do you remember the story about Moses getting the tablets and one of the commandments being no murder?”

  She made a spitting noise at me; I couldn’t be sure whether it was because I’d insulted her by joking she didn’t know the Ten Commandments, or because of how I’d interpreted her emperor story.

  “Well, do you remember the phrase, ‘pō chūqù de shuǐ’?” she retorted. “Well, that’s you! Once you ruin your reputation, you become poured-out water I can’t take back.”

  I’d rather be poured-out water than Hongbo’s girlfriend.

  I wasn’t getting through. And I didn’t have much fight left.

  I wanted to reach into my chest and hand her my heart so she could finally understand what made me tick. Maybe then she would also see how each of her words perpetuated the crack she and my father had put there months ago.

  But since that wasn’t an option, I turned and grabbed the Band-Aid that was dangling in front of me. It wouldn’t solve the situation long-term, but had I really expected anything to change? Wasn’t that part of the reason I’d brought in Andrew to begin with? “Well, now that I’m a pariah in the community, you better be nice to Andrew. You made such a scene I’m not sure if he’ll stay around.”

  “You made the scene, Jing-Jing, not me!”

  “Well, regardless, Hongbo’s out. Andrew’s your last hope.” And I stopped there, not able to say the other words that had popped into my head—words my mother had said to me three months ago after I’d told her I didn’t want Hongbo, words I hadn’t been able to tell Drew this morning. You won’t be able to find someone else. Who will want you, with your flat chest, plain face, and worrying personality? She’d certainly proved today just how deep this fear extended, so why not use it against her even if it did strike me through the heart?

  Her face registered first surprise, then horror as she realized I was right. And then, slowly, the horror morphed into panic. So much panic.

  I tried to ignore that her stricken face only emphasized how unlovable she truly believed me to be. Pushing aside the pain, I drove the nail in as deep as it could go. “And Andrew is everything you’ve ever wanted: he comes from a great family, he has so many opportunities ahead of him, and he’s incredibly kind—even you must see that. He’s the first person to like me for me,” I said, that last sentence completely true and warming my insides. And even though she didn’t care about the following things, I kept going, mostly for me. “He’s thoughtful, and creative, and so intelligent—more perceptive than anyone I’ve ever met.” Then my final blow. “Maybe you ruined it with him by continually trying to kick him out the door since he arrived.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, no, no, no,” she repeated in time with her head shakes. “I can’t have ruined it.”

  “Well, then, you’ll drop Hongbo for good?” She nodded, so I took it and ran, hoping to cover my bases for when Andrew wouldn’t be coming around in the future. “And you’ll be nice to him, never making him give up another holiday with his family because you’re still evaluating him? In fact, he’s so upset about this he may not visit for a while.”

  My mother kept nodding her head. “Yes, yes, whatever it takes.”

  And even though it had gone my way and she had agreed to things I hadn’t even dared dream, my heart sank into my pelvic floor. Because the bottom line of all this was: my mother didn’t think anyone else could want me, and her only goal in life was to marry me off to the shiniest bidder.

  “I’m still angry at you for what you did,” she said.

  Right back at you. But unlike her, I didn’t express my feelings aloud.

  And then, worse, she said, “But I’m so glad you’re not pregnant, Jing-Jing. And I’m even more glad that, in all the lies, Andrew is real.”

  Like I said, it was a Band-Aid. But, my God, had we taken a gigantic step forward.

  Drew CHAPTER 34

  UTERUS IN

  While Chloe was upstairs talking to her mother, I paced the living room so many times I left a giant oval in the carpet.

  I used to pretend I was a balls-in kind of guy, chasing after my art dream. But in real life, I’d been floating in purgatory for years, refusing to break that final tie to my parents.

  Chloe had gone for it. Balls (uterus?) in, pregnancy gun blazing. She was continually going after what she wanted—first by hiring me, then by finding another solution when that wasn’t working.

  When I’d told her earlier on the couch that she’d been inspiring, I’d meant it. In the aftermath of her declaration, I was rethinking my life decisions, wondering why I hadn’t at least done something to get my art out there. Before, it had seemed bet-everything-on-red scary, but now it felt reckless not to have tried.

  As I shuffled my feet to erase the oval path, I vowed to do better. To at least try. Baby steps were okay, but I didn’t want to be treading water anymore, not when there was no one coming to rescue me. Like Chloe, I needed to be my own knight in shining armor.

  Chloe CHAPTER 35

  WONTONS

  When my mother and I came downstairs, Drew had made dinner for us.

  “Aiyah, Andrew!” my mother yelled at full volume. “You are the nicest person in the world.” Then she gave me a pointed look that seemed to say, See? I can do what you asked.

  It was so much I had to sti
fle a laugh. As I said before, she had two extremes. And I guess this—so polite it was fake—was technically better than so honest you wished she’d lie.

  I pointed to the closest bowl of wonton soup. “Are these…?” I trailed off, not wanting to bring up Hongbo in front of my mother. But Drew knew that I was asking if these were the very wontons that had been thrown at him earlier.

  “Why waste them?” he said with a shrug and a smirk.

  This time I failed to stifle my laugh, but my mother was too busy preparing a tray to notice.

  “Jing-Jing, will you bring dinner up to Bǎbá?” she asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll continue to be nice to Andrew.”

  Even though I knew this was a ploy to get me to talk to my father, even though I was dreading it for multiple reasons—seeing him sick, not getting answers to my questions, accepting the consequences of the grenade I’d set off at the party—I steeled my shoulders and ripped the Band-Aid off.

  * * *

  I rap-rap-rapped on my parents’ bedroom door with my elbow, my hands grasping the tray of soup tightly so it wouldn’t spill as I knocked.

  “Jìn lái,” my father’s voice said through the door. And since he used the less polite “come in” rather than “qǐng jìn” for “please enter,” I knew I was in for a salty chat.

  “I brought you dinner.” I placed the tray on the empty side of the bed, then sat beside it with care.

  “Bā…,” I started, then stopped, not because I was scared of him, but because I was scared to know. “Are you okay? I mean, are you sick? With more than just a cold?”

  “I’m not as young as I once was, that’s all,” he said with a smile. But it was hollow. “I just get more run-down than I used to.”

  “You can tell me the truth,” I said. “I want to be here for you.”

  He held a hand up, silencing me. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. If I say I’m fine, I’m fine.” He took a few sips of soup; then his eyes grew wide when he put everything together. “These are from earlier?” he asked, pointing at the wontons.