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  “I understand,” I forced myself to say.

  He gave me a curt dip of the chin. “Good. So… I know yesterday may have been a bit awkward for you”—a bit?—“but if you care for Jing-Jing, then you should want her to consider all her options. We don’t want her to miss out on something great, you understand?”

  Something great? Was he serious?

  I was about to nod (what the hell else could I do?), but then I heard Hey-o, boys and girls, and my belly flamed. The idea of someone like Jing-Jing having to deal with that…

  I sat up even straighter. “Shǔshú, I hear you, but I’m completely confident that Jing-Jing shouldn’t be considering Hongbo.” I dared to say his name even though Mr. Wang weirdly hadn’t. “I’m not sure I’m the best for her—I’ll certainly try to be good enough—but she deserves so much better than that spoiled jerk who knows nothing about her despite them growing up together. I don’t care how much money he has; Jing-Jing deserves respect and someone who truly sees and cares for her. That, at the very least, I can do.”

  Mr. Wang’s head slid back in shock, but he had an approving frown on his face that implied he’d underestimated me. I hadn’t been thinking about types and categories when that came out, but of course Category 1 Mr. Wang would love how I was defending Jing-Jing and talking her up.

  He nodded once, twice, thinking, and then he leaned forward. “Well, answer me this, Andrew: Have you ever shadowed your parents?”

  I didn’t know where he was going with this, and thus I didn’t know what my answer should be. To stall, I tilted my head to the side, throwing him a questioning look.

  “It’s just that,” he continued, “I was surprised at how hard a time you had today.” Shit. “I don’t know if you’re cut out for medicine.” Shit shit shit.

  I hung my head slightly; acting defeated was all I could come up with in the moment, my mind churning much too fast with too many maybes and what-ifs and Type C this, Category 1 that.

  He then said, “I understand if you want to follow in your parents’ footsteps to make them proud, but… not all careers are good matches for everyone.”

  Well, that was extremely progressive of him, and surprising, given everything else. Maybe it was different when it wasn’t his own kid?

  “So, Andrew, my question to you is this: If not medicine, then what? You have to understand—yes, I’m concerned about you, but my daughter comes first, and if you can’t support her as a doctor, what will you do?”

  Man, had this roller coaster turned multiple times in the past couple of minutes. But at least I was caught up now.

  I confidently answered, “Jing-Jing doesn’t need anyone to support her, not with her abilities. But as for me, I’m loving—and excelling in—my biology classes, so even if it turns out surgery isn’t my thing, I still think I’d make a wonderful generalist or researcher or teacher.”

  Mr. Wang crossed his arms in doubt. Ignoring the first part of what I’d said, he replied, “Generalist? I’m skeptical. Researcher or teacher? Do you think you would make enough money with that?”

  Was this guy serious? Jeez. “Yes, I think that would provide a generous salary to live a relaxed life on.” You pretentious dick. “I also believe that college majors don’t determine your entire future, and with a degree from a place like the University of Chicago, I’m not worried.” Oof. That one had been a little hard for college-dropout Drew to get out, even as Andrew.

  “Well, maybe you would be worried if you knew a little more about how the world works.” He turned back to his computer.

  I took the hint and stood. “Thanks for letting me tag along today, Shǔshú. I learned a lot.” Like how you’re kind of an ass.

  He nodded absentmindedly. “Thanks for the help and for saving me from having to call my assistant in. If you do stay on this path, you’ll need a gentler touch with the suction, though, eh?”

  Given that I had barely touched the patient out of disgust, I was pretty sure he was talking down to me to make me feel small.

  “Should we grab some food?” I suggested. “Maybe ask Jing-Jing and Wang Ǎyí to join us?”

  He checked his watch. “It’s late; I’m sure the girls have eaten.” What about me? He’d whisked me out the door before I could grab something. “Why don’t you text Jing-Jing and see where they are?”

 

  Help

  I mean, where are you?

  We just finished up here

 

  You need to help ME

  My mother and I are bra shopping

  And we have very different priorities

  Let’s just say I want comfortable and she… does not care about that

  TMI?

  “They’re bra shopping,” I told Mr. Wang.

  His face flushed bright red. “Okay. We’ll just go home. Tell her to… uh, actually, no. Just stop texting her.”

  As I trailed him out of the office, I discreetly texted:

 

  Nothing’s TMI with me

  We’re heading back

  Need me to fake an emergency of some sort?

 

  No because I’m my own knight in shining armor

  See you soon, Dr. Huang

  I’d forgotten she didn’t know my actual last name. I shoved the phone back in my pocket.

  Chloe CHAPTER 13

  FREE WILLY

  “How about this one?” My mother held up a sheer, lacy black bra with a matching thong that screamed both UTI and yeast infection.

  “Remember how just a couple of years ago you wouldn’t let me date?” I said, pushing her hand and its uncomfortable contents away. “I prefer that to this, please.”

  “Just to be clear, there still shouldn’t be hanky-panky. But if your bra strap or underwear… strap ever peeks out, it should be something like this, not the boring skin-colored ones with holes you insist on wearing.”

  My mother wanted me to have a sexy whale tail.

  “Mǎmá, I wear the same bras I got from Taiwan years ago because they’re all that fit me. I don’t conform to any of these”—I waved my hands around me—“body shapes. My rib cage is too big and my boobs too small, so…” I shrugged.

  My phone buzzed. Thank God.

  I found a nearby seat and took a breather from Mǎmá Free Willy.

  I thought she’d still be off replenishing her embarrass-Jing-Jing ammo when I heard, “What are you smiling about?”

  I looked up from texting Andrew to see my mother standing before me, a sly curve to her lips, an actual corset in her hand. Who made those nowadays?

  “Nothing,” I said, sending off my last text. “We should go soon.”

  “Why? We haven’t found anything yet because you’re so stubborn. You haven’t even tried anything on!” She thrust the pink corset at me.

  Time to end this. Like I’d just told Andrew, I was my own knight in shining armor. I gestured to my phone. “Bǎbá says he misses you.” She glared at me. “Just kidding. He said through Andrew that he wanted to know what was for dinner—are you cooking?”

  “Tiān āh! I don’t know!” She hooked the corset on the nearest rack. “We have to figure out dinner! Will you help me?”

  Even though I had known this was coming, I felt terrible for exploiting a sad, sexist part of her life. She was an equal partner in Wang Dental Palace, yet it had always been her job to have food ready on the table and take care of anything involving me.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s order takeout. We can bring it home.”

  She opened her mouth, but I filled in the words for her. “From a Chinese place, for Bǎbá, and on our way home so it doesn’t take too long.”

  She nodded, rewarded me with a small smile, then hurried to the register.

  “I don’t want anything!” I called after her.

  She pulled three extra-large granny panties out of the store’s mesh shopping bag. “I need new underwear; some of us don’t like holes!”

  I thoug
ht about asking why she wore underwear three times her size—she weighed about a hundred pounds—but I decided I didn’t want to know. Would her beauty standards change for me once I got married, or was there just some weird double standard between her and me I didn’t understand? Like, did she believe I had so many other flaws I had to make up for it in ways she didn’t have to worry about?

  I swatted the corset on my way out. Even the smelly mall corridor adjacent to the busiest bathroom was better than this.

  Drew CHAPTER 14

  QUIZ

  The car ride from the dental office back to the house was silent, as expected. Only a few more hours, then a sleep, then this job would come to a close.

  Then Jing-Jing would be a memory.

  I found myself wondering what her plan was in regard to me (Andrew) after this, but, not your prerogative. Either I’d get rebooked in the future or I’d never have to think about her or the Wangs again. I laughed to myself that, just like Dr. Wang, I took notes on my jobs too, except mine were to keep things straight in case of rebookings.

  After Mr. Wang and I arrived home, I was hoping to have a moment to catch my breath, but he took a seat on the couch—the one space in this house that could be considered temporarily mine—and it was no accident.

  Now what?

  I thought he might pat the cushion beside him, but he folded his hands in his lap instead, as if waiting to see what I’d do.

  So, with a half-hearted smile, I settled in next to him, my left ankle on my knee and my right arm resting across the back of the couch—relaxed, poised, in command.

  “You think you know my Jing-Jing?” he asked, his words suspicious but his demeanor cool.

  “Of course I do.” Probably better than you… though I guess I cheated.

  The all-too-familiar glint in his eye alerted me it was quiz time. Not my first.

  “So you know her favorite food?” he asked.

  Kimchi nachos from that Korean fusion place near campus, tied with hot pot. “Her mother’s dumplings.”

  “Movie?”

  “The Butterfly Lovers,” I answered, when it was actually Monsters, Inc.

  It went on for a bit (and yes, most of the questions had two answers).

  “None of these things are important,” I finally said after enough time had passed to show that I knew the answers and was saying this because I meant it, not as a way out. “Even a stranger who saw these facts on paper could parrot them back.”

  Treading in dangerous waters here, but I knew it would pay off.

  “So how do I know you’re more than a stranger who has memorized these facts?” he asked.

  “Because I see her. How she’s nervous being home, having me here, and how much she wants to please you. I can’t prove it, but I think it’s obvious even to you that I know her better than Hongbo does—both superficially and in the deeper ways that matter.”

  The door opened (perfect timing), so I nodded at Mr. Wang, then hurried to greet Jing-Jing and her mother.

  “Hey,” I said, helping Jing-Jing with the delicious-smelling bags in her hands. She smiled her thanks.

  I hurried to deposit the bags so I could help Mrs. Wang with hers. And as soon as her hands were free, they were on her hips.

  “Eh! Did you see that, Lǎo Gōng?” she yelled to her old man. “That’s a proper gentleman!”

  Mr. Wang stayed where he was. “When Andrew’s my age, he’ll stay seated too.” He clutched his back dramatically, then chuckled.

  When her mother left the kitchen to ask Mr. Wang about the appointments, Jing-Jing raised her eyebrows in my direction, and with a tilt of her head she asked me how things had gone today with her father.

  I didn’t want her to know how close I’d gotten to blowing it (I was normally a much better operative than this, I swear), so I focused on the conversation after Fangli’s part–root canal.

  “I didn’t know your dad was older than your mom.”

  She unknotted the plastic bags carefully (so they could be reused). “Why did he tell you that?”

  “He was trying to explain why Hongbo. He said that at this point in his life he wanted to make sure you would be okay.”

  She stopped unpacking the food. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

  I shrugged, then reached over to take over food duty. “He seemed really concerned about my earning potential—it seems consistent with your theories about why they love Hongbo.”

  She nodded absentmindedly, and for the first time I couldn’t read what was turning her brain gears.

  I took a guess and said, “Don’t worry. I think I managed to move us a step or two closer to our goal today.” When I stretched past her to put the largest box on the emptier part of the counter, my arm grazed hers.

  She stared at her elbow where our skin had touched. “Are we past whatever weirdness that was last night?” she asked quietly, still looking down.

  “I wasn’t being weird,” I lied. But somehow my acting skills were less effective with her (maybe because she knew I’d been acting this whole time).

  She brought one of the Styrofoam boxes to her face, sniffed, then hovered it in front of my nose. Soup dumplings. Heavenly.

  “Look,” she said, “I was just playing my part last night, and since I don’t have training like you, I have to rely on trial and error. Sorry if it was too strong. But whatever that was after—can you pull it together? My parents notice more than they let on, especially when it comes to us. They want Hongbo so bad they’re looking for things.”

  Obviously I knew that. It was just that after the poke and all those swarming thoughts, I’d been so flustered that the best I could do was pretend she wasn’t there. But since my job clearly depended on me being more doting than not, well, I had a free pass, right? That was more important in the moment than some arbitrary line. Besides, I of course knew where the line was at all times. This was part of it, getting a little swept up, even if it had never happened before.

  Right?

  “You have nothing to worry about,” I lied.

  Chloe CHAPTER 15

  THE LAST HURRAH

  With the takeout placed in the center of the table, we settled in and my parents gestured to Andrew to start—a good sign. “We” had an early morning flight tomorrow, so this was kind of the last hurrah.

  Andrew grabbed the nearest box and served both my mother, who was sitting on his left, and me, on his right, before serving himself and passing the box along.

  My mom harrumphed at my dad, who laughed and served her some garlic green beans—a first.

  My mother winked at Andrew, and my heart sank at how this was all so real and so fake. At the start of this, I never could’ve guessed a successful outcome would make me feel so many contrasting emotions.

  Remember Hongbo… and suddenly, I could hear his half-assed proposal, feel his unwelcome hand on my arm, and see the fucking ring box I had thrown under my bed after he wouldn’t take it back.

  Thinking of non-Dreamboat always succeeded in pushing away my guilt about lying, at least temporarily. Too bad anger took its place.

  My father reached for the soup dumplings, but a shaky hand knocked over his tiny dish of black vinegar. All three of us hurried to help, and instead of sitting back and enjoying his position as the head of the household, my father leaned down too, his face flushed with embarrassment. In the process, his shirt rode up, revealing a deep purple bruise on his lower back in the shape of a perfect circle.

  “Bā,” I said, alarmed. “Are you okay? How’d you get that bruise?” I wanted to reach out and pull his shirt aside for a better look, but I obviously didn’t.

  My father groaned as he sat back up. “It’s nothing.” He hastily yanked his shirt down, unintentionally exposing a matching bruise on his upper back, just below his neck.

  “Oh my God!” This time I did reach out, but he pulled away.

  My mother stood, leaving Andrew to finish wiping up the mess on the floor. “Aiyah, Jing-Jing, it’s just cupping.
How do you know so little about your own culture?” The problem wasn’t how much I knew—it was that my opinion on it differed from hers.

  “Bǎbá’s never done that before.” And he’s acting so shady right now. Case in point, he turned back to the table, ignoring all of us and uncharacteristically straightening the plate and chopsticks in front of him.

  My mother tsked. “What, so he can never do it just because he’s never done it before?”

  “Are you feeling okay?” I asked him, because that was the only thing I could think of. He had never been opposed to the practice, but he hadn’t been a patient before, and had even previously laughed with me when I’d made jokes comparing it to bloodletting—which, coincidentally, had been done together with cupping once upon a time. “You know there’s no scientific evidence that it does any good but there is evidence of negative side effects, right?”

  My father sighed. “Please, Jing-Jing. Can we have a nice meal before you leave tomorrow and for once not make it about the latest study you’ve read?”

  “Yes, and respect your culture a little more,” my mother added with a sniff.

  Since that argument never ended in my favor, my mother’s comment shut me up and put me back in my seat.

  By now the floor was clean—thanks to Andrew, which neither of my parents acknowledged—and we were all back at the table, a vinegar-scented discomfort enveloping us.

  “Thank you for hosting me these few days,” Andrew said in an attempt to dispel the heavy air. “It’s been such a pleasure, Wang Ǎyí, Shǔshú, and you’ve been much too kind to me. Such gracious hosts.”

  “Aiyah, Andrew, it was our pleasure,” my mother said, blushing. Blushing! Her! “So you will join us for Christmas, right?”

  He looked at me, hesitant, and I jumped in. “He wishes he could, but he can’t. His parents expect him to be home, especially since he spent Thanksgiving here—”