My Summer of Love and Misfortune

by Lindsay Wong

  “How many hotels?” I finally say, trying to hide my disappointment.

  “Twenty-five in Asia,” Uncle Dai says proudly. “This one in Beijing will be biggest one. Seven-star.”

  They have seven-star hotels? Are seven stars for real? Then why are we staying in a lowly four-star Shangri-La? Math might be my worst subject, but even I know three stars is a staggering difference.

  As if reading my mind, Uncle Dai says, “Shangri-La owned by friend. He give us big discount.”

  “Oh!” I say.

  Billionaires like discounts too?

  I don’t know how to respond to that.

  Uncle Dai and Aunt Yingfei smile warmly at me.

  “Weijun is taking interest in our company, Ruby,” Uncle Dai announces, nudging his daughter. “Maybe now you will pay attention too.”

  In response, Ruby says nothing as we are escorted to a private dining room at the restaurant. She still hasn’t said anything since I offered to help pick up her borrowed mastiff. I smile at her encouragingly, but she doesn’t look me in the eye. What just happened? I thought we were starting to become friends. Before we left for dinner, since my clothes were still sopping wet, Ruby lent me an ankle-lenth dress made out of orange bath mat material with swaths of pink organza sewn onto it. The dress was supposed to mimic a romantic Caribbean sunset. Ruby assured me that the garment was supposed to make me feel “like modern art,” but my skin seems to be allergic. Inadvertently, I scratch myself. Rather than chat with me, Ruby sighs and keeps texting someone on her phone.

  To be honest, no one warned me about lukewarm, standoffish girls in China, but I just assumed my cousin, like everyone else, would automatically gravitate toward my Type B, cheerleading persona. Compared to America, China has a long, unbelievable history of fighting wars, and Ruby could certainly be an expert in making my life as difficult as possible. Isn’t it enough to offer to help her pick up a dog?

  I scoot closer to her, but she moves away. As if she’s afraid to get too close to me.

  It’s like she doesn’t even want to be casual acquaintances, and yet there are moments when she seems okay.

  In America, everyone used to run at me, but I don’t know what happened after Samira and Peter. It’s like I have suddenly developed horrible, eye-watering, nose-stinging BO. People in Beijing are now running away!

  Panicking slightly at the thought of smelling like fermented tofu and aged cheese, I lift and sniff my armpits to check for odors. Ruby, Uncle Dai, and Auntie Yingfei stare at me, looking shocked.

  Scowling, Ruby says something in Chinese and her dad quickly replies, “America is opposite of China.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Ruby turns to ask me when her dad and mom seem to be busy chatting with each other.

  “Why are you so angry?” I ask her quietly.

  Ruby looks uncomfortable for a moment. Her brows knit together and she makes a series of small choking sounds, like she has swallowed too many bubble-tea tapioca pearls at once. Like she doesn’t even know how to respond. Like she’s not used to talking about her feelings.

  What exactly am I doing wrong?

  “You are okay, Weijun?” Uncle Dai asks, interrupting our conversation.

  “I’m fabulous,” I say.

  Ruby doesn’t say anything. She just avoids looking at me.

  Honestly, my stomach has been hurting a lot since I shoveled down two plates of xiāo long bao. Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk that strawberry bubble tea too. For once, I’m glad that I did not indulge in any of those fancy desserts after the group interview. At dinner, I politely sample a tiny bit of focaccia bread, a bird-size portion of spaghetti Bolognese with veal cutlets, which is absolutely delicious, and then a teaspoon of double-chocolate gelato.

  More paparazzi after dessert. Ruby strikes a ridiculous pose outside the restaurant, but Uncle Dai and Mr. Chen yell at her. A security guard jumps in front of her, as if to protect her from a camera lens. Another guard ushers her away. I suppress a snicker. Although I do want to pose with her. I just feel incredibly queasy.

  In the car, Uncle Dai announces his “good news surprise for me.” I expect that it’s more textbooks or tutors, but he shocks me by asking if I would like to “work travel” with Auntie Yingfei to Europe at the end of the summer.

  “Auntie go to Paris, then Italy, and Spain for work but need good helper. Weijun, you want to go?”

  I stare at him. Is he serious?

  “I want to go to all these places!” I say, gasping loudly. Uncle Dai has no idea how I spent my entire senior year plotting and dreaming about Paris. Trip planning had been essentially my full-time job.

  “It is lots of work, all day long, you helping Auntie,” he warns. “You must go to meeting and answer phone and talk English all day and take many note.”

  “I can do all these things!” I say with excitement.

  Auntie Yingfei smiles and starts applauding at me like an enthusiastic seal at Sea World. Her hands are absurdly close to my face. Remembering what Uncle Dai taught me about Chinese etiquette, I imitate her and applaud back energetically in her face. Soon we are all clapping (Uncle Dai and Auntie Yingfei, at least), as if competing with one another on who can be the noisiest in the back of the chauffeured vehicle. I can’t help but giggle at the absurdity. For a moment, I forget that being sent to China wasn’t even my choice. For a moment, I forget that I was even homesick for an entire afternoon. As I applaud, I remember that these kind and generous people are my recently found family. I’m so pleased and ecstatic. It’s almost like being around my parents again, pre–college admission disaster, and feeling exactly like I belong. My aunt and uncle are beaming at me like I’m a newborn kitten.

  Suddenly, Ruby bursts out, “But Máma, I was supposed to go with you!”

  The clapping in the Mercedes-Benz SUV stops.

  I quickly put my hands in my lap.

  Ruby’s features have turned the color of rotten milk.

  Quickly, Auntie Yingfei shushes her, and Uncle Dai says, “Ruby, we talk about this many time already! Your cousin probably never go Europe before. You go Paris shopping many time. Beside I need you to help me at work. You are old enough for summer internship at Feng Corp.”

  “Bàba!” she whines like a small child, her expression looking puzzled and hurt. She looks different than the surly, eye-rolling girl from yesterday. And way more different than the confident girl who was prancing a few hours ago as Kermit the Frog. It’s like I’m seeing the real Ruby for the first time.

  “Enough!” Uncle Dai says. “Every business student in China want my internship, and you don’t want? Why?”

  “I …”

  “You must grow up,” he says sternly to Ruby. “Life very hard outside of China. Not just all about grooming dog. You ask Weijun. Everyone, including college graduate, cannot find job inside the America. So many of them have no life purpose after Harvard.”

  Uncle Dai looks at me, as if expecting me to agree. He taps his fingers on his leg impatiently. A nervous tic disguised to emphasize a boardroom order. To be honest, he sounds exactly like my mom: a CEO parent who has no time for inefficiency. They both run their households like they’re head Olympic coaches.

  “Um, yes,” I stammer, not looking at Ruby. “It’s very hard to have no life purpose.”

  And I mean it.

  Uncle Dai doesn’t know how absolutely right he is. I have no clue what to do with myself or my future. All I know is that I could be treading water in a shark-infested lake. I don’t know who I am or where I belong. Because when I find these small, beautiful moments with family, they quickly evaporate. And when my feelings of being accepted are released into Beijing’s pollution, all I have left is triple the anxiety that I’m trying to slurp down like a bowl of hearty beef noodle soup.

  Ruby stares at me, her lips upturned. She hisses something harsh and undecipherable in Chinese, but she doesn’t speak for the rest of the ride home. Is this sibling rivalry? I have no clue, but her behavior stings
me personally.

  I can’t help but think that she’ll never forgive me for replacing her at the end-of-summer trip with her mom. Can’t we both just go to Europe? She can take my place if she’s bull-angry. A summer internship at Feng Corp doesn’t sound horrible. We could swap.

  As expected, I don’t receive a reply to my note left under her door.

  17

  Grooming Practice

  I should be delirious with joy about escorting Auntie Yingfei to Europe, but all night, I sweat and toss with stomach-churning insomnia. I think it’s just heartburn or the stress of not automatically becoming BFFs with my cousin. I have no stomach for breakfast, even though it consists of delicious-smelling rice porridge with heaping piles of pickles, boiled eggs, dried fermented meat, and roasted peanuts. There’s also a side dish of deep-fried doughnut sticks and puffy sheets of steamed bread to be dipped in super-hot steaming soy milk.

  Also, my eyes and nose have been watering constantly. It seems to get worse every time I go outside. I don’t know if I’m having seasonal allergies or if I’m coming down with a red-eyed flu. I sip my coffee hesitantly. Somehow, even black coffee with my double dose of four packets of sugar feels nauseating today.

  The ache in my stomach won’t subside. Nausea backwashes even when I try drinking water. Gross.

  Since the dress from last night makes me itchy and I have no wearable clothes, I decide to wake up early to see if I can borrow a maid’s uniform from the hotel. But my alarm doesn’t go off, and Mr. Chen is already waiting for us. Nervously I grab one of Ruby’s cotton-ball jumpsuits. I know she’ll undoubtedly be upset, but maybe I can convince her to let me wear it until we get to the mall.

  It’s not like her parents are home and I can ask to borrow one of Auntie Yingfei’s Hermès business suits. I assume both Uncle Dai and Auntie Yingfei are at work because whenever I wake up, they aren’t home.

  “What are you doing?” Ruby demands when she sees me dressed in her garb from her regular day-to-day closet. I was hoping that she’d remember that we sort of bonded before her parents told her that I would be going to Europe with her mom. I’ve put on one of her jumpsuits that looks and feels exactly like a dramatic poof of pink cotton candy, and I look and feel fantastic. I can see why Ruby wears this garment as her everyday costume. Even though my stomach is cramping nonstop, new clothes can make me feel better. The jumpsuit is exceptionally tight around the waistline, but it doesn’t matter. At least I can half squeeze into Ruby’s baggiest outfit.

  I am too exhausted to respond. Instead, I stir more sugar into my coffee.

  My phone buzzes. A WeChat message pops up.

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: You’re wearing my dress! wtfff

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Take it off

  Iris: I don’t have any wearable clothes

  Iris: Can I wear it until we get to the mall?

  Iris: You wrecked mine, remember?

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Just stop!

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Isn’t it enough that both my parents are taking care of you and sending you to Europe?

  Iris: ?

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: I was supposed to go with my mom

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: We go every year

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: This was supposed to be our summer

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: They are using you to punish me, can’t you see? They never think i’m good enough

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: You’re not better than me

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: My parents just feel sorry for you. They can’t see that you just take everything for granted. You actually don’t care about anything. I actually try really hard.

  Iris: What are you talking about???

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: That’s what i mean. You just don’t get it. I can’t believe you’re so dense.

  Iris: Get what?

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Everything. just go home!!!

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: No one wants you here

  Iris: Ruby, I’m so sorry

  Iris: I’ll talk to your mom and dad

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Like you care

  Across the kitchen table, I glance up from my phone. Ruby’s face reddens to the color of a sour Caesar—my least favorite cocktail but my dad’s favorite drink. Ruby’s messages make me feel more nauseous and angry. How is any of this my fault? Why does she think that I’m deliberately ruining her life? I feel humiliated for repeating the words “I’m sorry” so many times in a week. “Sorry” isn’t resonating with Ruby at all. “Sorry” to Ruby is like trying to teach me how to find x in an algebra equation. It won’t work.

  Then, to make matters worse, I sneeze unexpectedly. A wad of snail-gray snot lands on my borrowed dress.

  Ruby’s mouth drops and for once she doesn’t roll her eyes. My cousin makes a choking sound as I scrub at the stain frantically with a napkin. My allergies have been getting worse, and my nose, throat, and ears feel congested. The morning smog is particularly overbearing. I sneeze violently again. More gray snot. What is happening to me? In America, my snot was white or yellow, but in Beijing, it has become the same prison color of all this sprawling concrete. Like a mutant, is China somehow changing me biologically on the inside, as well as on the outside?

  Mr. Chen escorts us to the car, barely looking up from a video of a meowing kitten on his iPad.

  I expect that we’re going shopping again and I’m all prepared to buy a new outfit, but Mr. Chen drops us off at a hideous oyster-colored skyscraper building. It doesn’t look like a mall, but I’m instantly intrigued. Is this an illegal warehouse for cheap designer purses and shoes?

  “Where are we?” I ask Ruby, who doesn’t even look at me. She seems nervous, even preoccupied.

  Then I see a sign: HANYUAN LANGUAGE SCHOOL. Why are we even here? Does Ruby take English lessons? Are we picking something up?

  Real slasher-movie fear overcomes me.

  Since kindergarten, learning has always made me extremely nervous. I have never done well in a classroom setting, and I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to absorb so much knowledge inside my brain. If you think about it, the brain already has to be responsible for eating, sleeping, talking, and muscle memory, so how can I absorb various facts and multiple equations? These numbers are not applicable to real life. Languages are impossible to learn. Plus, I have a C-plus average in Spanish and French, and even though my parents tried to teach me Chinese all these years, I could never understand it.

  I once told my guidance counselor at school that the SATs have way too many different sections, which expect one to be able to multitask efficiently. Afterward, she looked at me funny and asked me to list my hobbies and any alternate career paths.

  “Sephora isn’t a hobby and Yale isn’t a job,” she told me, but of course, I wasn’t listening. I was too busy planning my valedictorian speech and searching for inspirational quotes on the internet. I was going to pretend that I was Mindy Kaling giving her brilliant commencement speech at Harvard.

  Confused, I follow Ruby into the building and we walk into a long gray hallway. I start hyperventilating because we’re in an actual school. With classrooms, desks, lockers, and very few decent-looking male students.

  “Ruby, Ruby, Ruby,” I whisper, trying to get her to stop walking. Sweat begins sliding off my fingers, and I can feel my Tiger whiskers start to sprout on cue. Just by being inside a school, my body is beginning its change for the worse. I could actually be turning into a mutant feline.

  Still furious, Ruby ignores me until I grab her chicken-leg arm. She sees my panic-stricken face and pauses for just a millisecond.

  “I honestly can’t be here,” I panic-whisper. “You won’t understand because you like learning, but I’m seriously terrified right now.”

  The shock of failing senior year is suddenly raw, fresh, and real. I shoved the bad news into the back of my brain like an overdue credit card bill. I never wanted to deal with it again
. In real life, failing high school actually means that I could be a permanent adult failure for the remainder of my jobless, friendless, boyless, no-fun, no-luxury-shopping life. The fear is too unmanageable, like the time that I accidentally used nail polish remover instead of eye makeup remover and burned my own cornea. At the emergency room, the doctor looked at my red swollen eyeball and said, “You need to be careful, young lady! You could have permanently blinded yourself!” That has always been my metaphor for my life: mixing up makeup removers and never wanting to deal with the terrible, unfixable consequences.

  “What are you saying?” Ruby says, seeming distracted. “Iris, I never understand you! Speak English, please!”

  Her Apple Watch beeps.

  She’s apparently in a hurry to go somewhere.

  “Please,” I say, clinging to her arm like an annoying child.

  I can’t help it. I feel so useless in this sprawling LEGO city. I never understood Peter’s fascination with his models, and I somehow suddenly feel claustrophobic and queasier in this dense landscape than I was at breakfast. I feel like I’m inside a gigantic, rocking spaceship in Star Wars.

  “Fine,” Ruby hisses. “You can come with me.”

  She beckons at me and says that she isn’t planning to attend private summer school. The teachers don’t care, she says. Apparently, they don’t get paid enough to take attendance or teach students.

  Eagerly, I nod.

  Anything sounds better than being stuck in a scary classroom that looks like a spaceship.

  This time, we get into another car, a DidiChuxing (Uber) hired privately by Ruby, then another Didi, and this one drives us in the opposite direction. It’s all very mysterious and a bit alarming when we transfer cars and seem to be driving in circles. What sort of illegal business is my cousin into? Finally, we go under a concrete bridge, passing more ugly smog-colored skyscrapers and hordes of busy-running people in fashionable business suits who seem to be going to the office. Street vendors selling fresh durian juice, brown curry fish balls, and sautéed chicken skewers fill the chaotic streets.

  I’m relieved that this time we seem to be heading to a heavily populated area. After what feels like eternity, we’re in the bustling heart of Beijing, and there’s another warehouselike prison building and a sign that says SOHO XU-RHEN DOGGY SPA AND HOTEL PAMPER. Suddenly, I’m incredibly relieved. Are we just having a nice visit with some pampered pooches?