by Lindsay Wong
“You’re not drinking?” I ask her, and Ruby shrugs and resumes texting like it’s a global emergency. What could possibly be happening in her world? Is that why my mom is always complaining when I text at the dinner table? I’m physically there but not really present.
Honestly, it feels so strange to be excluded. Even if I don’t know what exactly I’m missing out on.
Wanting my new family to like if not love me, I grin excitedly and swig down another glass down in less than twenty seconds. Ruby is so strange. Doesn’t she care about downing a delicious glass of bubbly? After all, it’s not every day that you get to drink champagne while meeting missing family.
“I’m so incredibly happy!” I gush to Uncle Dai and Auntie Yingfei, who nod and beam back. Uncle Dai starts crying full-on, and I start tearing up too.
After a dessert of warm coconut jellies and chewy tapioca pearls in a cold, clear soup, Uncle Dai calls for the check. Then, as we head out the private back entrance, a photographer snaps a photo. Another person follows suit. Someone rushes up to Uncle Dai and asks him questions, but then the restaurant’s manager steps in. Uncle Dai’s three security guards quickly usher us away.
Who is my uncle, really?
Why are people taking photos of him exiting the restaurant? I want to pose for an impromptu photo shoot, but I have no time. Mr. Chen has pulled up and we’re all piling into the backseat of the car and we’re speeding back to the Shangri-La. The security guards are following us in three separate vehicles.
As we drive through the downtown district, I can’t help but grin at the bright, smoggy city. I keep pinching myself to make sure I’m not hallucinating.
It’s a billion times better than what I had imagined prom night to be.
“You have good time in Beijing, okay?” my uncle says. “You make Ruby good at English, okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” I babble, not fully listening.
“Most important I want Ruby to have big sister,” he says. “I don’t have brother growing up and I wish I had. You only understand how important family is when you are older. When lawyer tell me that my brother want to be family, I was very happy. So Weijun, we are all so happy you are here.”
“Uncle very happy he cry,” Auntie Yingfei says, smiling. “He more happy when he hear he has niece.”
I nod, tearing up despite myself.
Looking serious, Uncle Dai reaches into his wallet and hands me a black prepaid Visa card. Ruby scowls and mutters something in Chinese. Auntie Yingfei quickly shushes her, glancing at me furtively.
I ignore the deep flush rushing across my cheeks.
“She can’t understand Chinese,” Ruby says in English, and pouting, she crosses her arms across her chest.
Uncle Dai says something scolding to Ruby. Then he and Auntie Yingfei smile apologetically at me.
“She just grumpy,” he says, smiling widely.
“She broke my dress for my dog show,” she says, scowling.
“Weijun just make easy mistake,” Uncle Dai says, sighing. “Beside, you have one hundred dress. If you have ninety-nine, no different.”
“I have one hundred and six,” Ruby says.
“I’m so sorry, Ruby,” I say. “It was an accident.”
I genuinely mean it.
“Weijun already apologize,” Uncle Dai insists. “No more talk of dress now. It is very silly to cut dog hair. Why don’t you practice violin for big concert?”
“She broke it,” Ruby hisses.
“Iris is your cousin,” Uncle Dai says again. “In America, economy is bad and maybe they have shortage of nice dress.”
He looks at me expectantly.
“Um … yes,” I say, thinking of my own wrecked Vera Wang gown. “It’s very possible there is a dress shortage. For instance, I only have one nice dress.”
“See!” Uncle Dai says, nodding at Ruby, who glowers at me. She mutters something in Chinese at her dad, which actually sounds like a small lizard hissing. He shushes her again. Auntie Yingfei lightly pinches her arm and whispers back something in Chinese.
“Be friend with cousin,” Uncle Dai scolds her while checking his phone. “I found you sister, Ruby. You can help each other be better. That is what family do. We always help each other.”
Ruby gives me the stink eye.
It’s worse than my mom’s.
My stomach feels heavy, and it’s not from eating third and fifth and seventh helpings of all the amazing, melt-in-your-mouth Beijing food. It’s not the champagne that is giving me a slight migraine. It’s Ruby’s disdain and her constant eye-rolling that makes me uncomfortable. Older sister? I’m an only child. I always thank my parents that they didn’t give me the additional burden of a younger person to shape and inspire.
“We were given you, and then we decided that we couldn’t handle more,” my mom said when I asked her why she didn’t have a second kid.
“You’re just too exciting for a first baby,” my dad said.
I stare out the window to avoid eye contact with my smiling aunt and uncle, and scowling cousin, focusing on the few glass skyscrapers and the sprawling concrete buildings. They remind me of the gray LEGO spaceship structures that Peter kept as models in his room. I tell myself a hundred times that I’m not in a prison.
As we drive, I decide to distract myself with this amazing gift of a prepaid Visa card. I wonder how much money is on it. Is there a special Chinese etiquette for spending your relations’ money? Are you supposed to spend 60 percent on yourself and 40 percent on presents? And is there a limit at all, if your uncle is super China-rich?
Feeling homesick, despite being still furious and hurt at my parents, I decide to send them a quick message. It can’t hurt to check in, right?
WECHAT GROUP (#1WangFamily!!!)
Iris: If Uncle D gives me money, is it okay to spend it?
Mom: How much money?
IrisDaddy: Thank him and give it back.
Mom: Are we talking like 20 bucks or 200?
Iris: I don’t know.
Mom: What do you mean you don’t know?
IrisDaddy: They could be very poor and might just be giving you money to save face. Make sure you give it back.
Iris: They’re not poor.
IrisDaddy: Your uncle never brought up money in our conversations, which means that money could be an issue for them. You should thank him nicely and give it all back. Besides, we gave you the equivalent of $6,000 US for the whole summer. I’ll wire your uncle some money later for food and housing. How much do you have left??
14
Belonging
Even though Ruby and I both say NO, Uncle Dai insists that I take Ruby’s gorgeous store-display bedroom.
“Where will Ruby sleep?” I say, worried that we’d have to share a room. What if we have to share a bed? Shouldn’t this penthouse suite have a guest bedroom? I’ll happily take the couch in the living room if it means not sharing with someone who hates me more than I detest Algebra II.
I’m honestly disappointed that Ruby seems to have graduated from strongly disliking me to showing me open disdain. It stings that she thinks I’m such an international loser. Is this how an adored Bernese mountain puppy feels when she grows up and her family no longer lets her sleep on their stomachs anymore?
“I’m not sleeping in the maid’s room!” Ruby says. “Iris is a spoiled American. Make her do it. She has never even had a real job.”
“She is guest, Ruby!” Uncle Dai admonishes her. He looks flustered, as if embarrassed by his daughter’s outburst. He smiles at me apologetically.
They argue heatedly in Chinese for a while.
Spoiled? What on earth is Ruby talking about? She lives at the Shangri-La and has a personal driver! The nicest hotel that I’ve ever stayed at is the Marriott Suites in Miami with my parents, who had a corporate discount through my mom’s company.
The thought of sleeping in the maid’s quarters causes Ruby to turn the same color as the expensive washed-out wallpaper. She loo
ks scandalized.
“I can sleep in the maid’s room,” I offer quickly. “It’s totally fine. I don’t mind. Besides, this is Ruby’s room.”
My cousin nods, agreeing emphatically with me.
She points at me like I’m a ginormous insect.
Feeling flustered but also annoyed, I roll my eyes.
She rolls hers in reply.
I feel like we could bond over our synchronized eye-rolling, but my cousin doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor.
And here I thought that humor was supposed to be inherited. Not something that people agree on.
My dad and I frequently laugh like hyperactive monkeys at the same jokes; even my mom can giggle with me.
What’s wrong with Ruby?
Then an anxious thought slithers across my mind. “Where will I sleep?” I ask, concerned.
“No maid,” Uncle Dai replies. “We have many hotel staff already. Twenty-four-hour desk help. I promise your daddy I take care of you, Weijun.” Then he adds, sounding slightly anxious, “Do you need maid? We can get one for you.”
“No,” I say quickly, feeling shell-shocked.
“You want to bring from America?”
“Twenty-four-hour desk help is enough.”
Despite our protesting, my uncle insists that Ruby move to the empty maid’s room, which is a medium-size room with its own marble bathroom and decent-size porcelain tub. It’s as immaculate and fairy-tale-like as the rest of the luxury rooms in the penthouse. Just smaller. Shocked, I don’t understand what my cousin is complaining about. I’d be perfectly happy here.
When Uncle Dai and Auntie Yingfei say good night and go to the master bedroom, I help Ruby move her clothes into the smaller room, while she mutters nonstop under her breath. I have no idea what she’s saying, but it all seems very angry and directed at me. Like she’s passive-aggressively silent-tweeting me.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I say.
I am genuinely sorry, but Ruby doesn’t seem to care.
I read in the autumn issue of Cosmopolitan that you’re supposed to communicate sorry-ness with your eyes by widening your pupils and making sure that your arms aren’t folded across your chest, to convey authentic intentions. You’re also supposed to show people your palms. I make sure to open my eyes as wide as possible and roll my shoulders backward like a baby gorilla. Then I show Ruby the backs of my unmoisturized hands.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ruby asks. Then she slams the door, causing me to jump and blink. I hear her mutter insults in Chinese and English as I turn to leave. “Horrible … spoiled … ChineseChineseChinese … spoiled brat!”
“I’m sorry!” I shout again through the door. I have no idea what to do.
“Spoiled American!” she yells back. “What was my dad thinking, letting you live here?”
“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I say again, but Ruby doesn’t respond.
I glance anxiously at the closed door. Why does she blame me for being American? I have never felt so confused about someone not liking or at least tolerating me before. How do I make Ruby understand that I’m not a supremely shitty person? I’m sure really amazing, well-meaning people, like Ellen DeGeneres and Lady Gaga, made one or two medium-size mistakes when they were teenagers too. Anxiously I try to knock on her door again. If I knew Morse code, maybe it would make it easier to apologize.
No response.
Finally, I retreat to Ruby’s bedroom, determined to show my cousin during the next twenty-four hours that I’m a fabulous and extra-generous person.
* * *
After passing out facedown with my clothes still on the next morning, I find a basketful of flaky doughnut sticks and sweetened soy milk, shrimp wontons, bean juice, gloopy wheat porridge, and breadlike buns stuffed with pork and veggies laid out on the kitchen counter. There’s also strong-brew coffee and sliced tropical fruit. My whole head, unfortunately, is slightly throbbing, but I tell myself that I’m just not used to being spoiled with rich-people food and drink.
I wonder if everyone left the apartment already. I dump four packets of sugar into a mug of hot, delicious coffee and begin stuffing my face. It’s like I’m at a Cinnabon buffet at the mall and can’t stop myself. I shove an entire bun in my mouth and feel light-headed. Everything is freshly made and intensely delicious-smelling.
“Why are you late?” a voice asks, in a disbelieving way.
I look up, my cheeks full of soft, juicy chicken. It’s Ruby again, dressed in the same identical pajama-looking jumpsuit, but it’s a slightly different color than yesterday. Pale yellow like rotten milk. Yesterday I thought her couture suit looked like expensive poultry, but today I think she looks like an unripe banana. Is this a costume in our family? Do I get one too?
“Are we going somewhere?” I say, confused.
I thought my cousin was still angry at me, but we’re hanging out? Did Uncle Dai plan a family outing that I forgot about?
She ignores me as she texts nonstop on her phone.
When I continue eating, she looks at me with an incredulous expression. “Let’s go?”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
No answer.
I tap her on the shoulder. It’s like touching furniture. She doesn’t even move. Is my cousin a store mannequin?
“Where are we going?” I ask again.
“Store,” she says without looking up. “Time to go.”
Sighing, I grab a couple of savory pork buns in a cloth napkin and follow her out the door. Never mind that I’m still wearing the same clothes from lat night’s dinner. Groaning, I sniff myself. Eau de leftover stir-fry noodles with an undertone of spicy Peking duck. Not bad for an American-Born Chinese (ABC) in high-society China.
Mr. Chen drops us off at the Oriental Plaza, and immediately I feel myself tense with adrenaline. I’m so excited to use this beautiful piece of plastic from Uncle Dai! But then I remember what my parents said about returning it.
But my problem has always been that I just want to accumulate as many items as possible. It’s like a weird itch in your armpit that you shouldn’t scratch in public but you always do. Also, I don’t know what they sell in China’s malls, but I do know that everything is made in this country and then shipped to America. This could possibly be the most thrilling discovery of my shopping career. China is like the flagship store of the United States.
I follow Ruby, who is still text-walking on her phone, and then as if by magic, a gaggle of three chauffeured girls are dropped off individually. Are these her friends? They all look like identical chickens with matching dyed hair and gold Fendi purses and five-inch platform sneakers. If I want to fit in, do I need to buy a uniform too?
I try to introduce myself, but none of the girls acknowledge me. In fact, they look at me for a brief, revolted second, then resume their animated conversation. Has Ruby told them that I’m her non-Chinese-speaking cousin with zero awards and zero talents? Are these her champion-doggy-pageant friends? By now, I’m almost getting used to being ignored and belittled. I sigh and follow them to the mall’s ultra-modern entrance. There are so many people rushing around—it’s like Black Friday at Nordstrom.
Inside the mall, I realize that I’m in the motherland of high-end fashion.
I can feel all my senses light up, like I’ve developed ESP. Each nerve is electric, and I feel this wonderful, warm tingle running from my head to my toes. Then it occurs to me it’s because I have to pee, so I shout at Ruby that I need to use the bathroom. Of course she doesn’t hear me, but I can’t wait. I rush toward the yellow toilet signs, like I’m winning a year-end sales race.
After I hand the man a wad of yuan to use the toilet, I squeeze into the tiny bathroom stall and at first, I think there’s something wrong with the bathroom because it’s missing a toilet. I rub my eyes hard and then I see that it’s located on the ground and I don’t know how to use it. I wish I could ask someone how to use the toilet. Isn’t there an instructional video around?
Wincin
g, I decide that I really need to pee anyway, so I pull down my pants and it’s honestly an awful mess. Wrapping my gray cardigan around my waist, I slowly panic. My vision gets blurry and I wonder if I should try to call Mr. Chen for a ride home. I feel like I’m seven years old again when I wet the bed at Samira’s sleepover and I was so embarrassed that I covered it up with a fur rug and never told anyone.
Leaving the bathroom and slinking self-consciously through the mall, I’m thrilled when I see Esprit. I rush inside and quickly find myself a new pair of underwear and jeans. I end up buying several pairs of ripped jeans because the shop people are so enthusiastic that I cannot bear to leave without buying five. After I make the first purchase, it’s like something flips off inside my brain and my metaphorical underarm itch returns with intensity. I just can’t help myself. A voice in the back of my head keeps saying, Enough, Iris, enough, but I ignore it. It’s like a strict Asian mom saying that you can’t have the third slice of greasy pepperoni pizza or smoke that fifth joint. It’s the same nagging, scolding voice-over that told me to study for the SATs, and not to party the night before the exam. Oh shut up, I tell my conscience.
When I see a salon, all self-control dissolves. I decide that I must have a seaweed facial, a full-body massage, and a new sparkly leprechaun-green gel manicure and pedicure. Never mind that Ruby has ditched me on my first full day in a foreign country. Who cares if I’m lost?
Somehow I manage to convince myself that my parents have sent me to Beijing to enjoy the finer privileges in life.
It hits me later on that I’ve spent quite a bit of money at the mall, in total, and bought a lot of really nice leather handbags and shoes. I stopped counting after the twentieth time the cashier swiped the prepaid Visa card. Guilt-ridden, I plop down on a bench to think. The horrible sick feeling crashes down on me again, and I feel as if I’m on the tiniest plane plummeting to the ground. Actually, I don’t really need four pink purses, do I? But I guess I can give one to my mom, and the rest save as presents, whenever someone has a birthday, so I don’t have to continue shopping. I’m actually being economical and saving a lot of time by thinking ahead. Maybe I should have kept the money for emergencies or travel, but I can’t think about that now.
