My Summer of Love and Misfortune

by Lindsay Wong

  “I’m not asking you a hard question,” I say.

  “I’m your tutor, Iris. And I don’t think your uncle would approve.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have kissed me,” I say, thoroughly annoyed. “Why did you invite me to that party? Why did you take me to eat bugs? Do you take every girl you know to sample deep-fried tarantulas?”

  “I like you, Iris, I really do, but—”

  His features crumple like a fortune cookie. He looks so vulnerable and earnest. Nothing like that sneaky rat-faced Peter Hayes. We watch each other for a while, and I can’t stop tracing his face with my pupils. There’s a nervousness in Frank’s gaze. Somehow, his extreme uneasiness about being with me makes me feel like I can trust him completely. If he is worried about the repercussions of being my tutor and fooling around with me, it clearly shows that he’s one responsible dude.

  For once, I’m using my brain to logic out romance.

  But it’s hard to do because we’re standing only inches away. Barely separated by some invisible but sizzling Great Wall of China. Whatever little self-control I ever had evaporates right through my pores. Poof. Gone.

  I don’t care anymore.

  I just know that I’m the only gourmet meal that Frank needs.

  “Don’t think about anything,” I plead. “Just think about how you feel now. Overthinking ruins fun.”

  He relents and approaches me.

  Eagerly, I grip his hair and pull his face toward mine, and his lips are warm and soft. He reminds me of toffee and molten lava cakes from the oven. Because Frank is literally melting into my mouth at 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Like a chocolate buffet, I just want to devour him completely. His body instinctively leans into me, all of him, and I know he feels this strange delicious attraction too. It’s like I’m at a five-star restaurant, and Frank is the weird, exquisite delicacy on the tasting menu that only makes sense on this side of the world. Something that I would never try unless I was shipped to Beijing.

  “I really can’t do this,” he finally says quietly, pulling away.

  Confused, I stop touching him, and he makes a sound like deep, unfiltered regret and stares at the floor.

  Abruptly, Frank exits the room, claiming that he needs to make an important phone call.

  His second rejection within moments of his last one is like whiplash. Almost as painful and confusing as not getting into a single college.

  Stunned, I sit down on the bed and think it would be easier if he had turned me down based on having bird shit in my hair. Honestly, I just don’t understand his erratic behavior. One minute it seems that he really likes me, and the next, he’s acting repulsed and running away.

  Are all boys in China like Frank Liao?

  Are they all like hot and sour soup?

  What am I doing wrong?

  I’m puzzled and really hurt by Frank’s unfathomable behavior. Honestly, I thought he was really into me. But I refuse to let another boy wound me. Peter Hayes was enough. My heart is already smashed up and deeply broken. If it was taken out of me, I swear it would resemble a sloppy joe in America. In China, though, it would probably look more like a deep-fried cockroach. Shriveled on a stick but nutritious.

  Hours later, when Frank finally comes back to the room, he avoids talking for the rest of the night. Desperately, I wonder if he was calling another girl. Was he even on a phone call? But he doesn’t answer my questions. He doesn’t even look at me. I could be the hotel furniture, for all I know.

  WECHAT GROUP (#1WangFamily!!!)

  25 missed phone calls.

  68 undelivered texts.

  IrisDaddy: WHERE ARE YOU?! Uncle Dai says you are not picking up.

  Mom: You expect us to pick up your phone call in the middle of the night and you can’t answer one text?

  Mom: Did you lose your phone again?

  Mom: Better question, how did you break your phone?

  IrisDaddy: Uncle Dai is going to hire a private investigator if you don’t pick up!!!!

  Mom: Everyone is looking for you.

  Mom: Call us back!!!

  Mom: IRIS!!!!!!!

  WECHAT

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Did you get my email?

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Hey, message me when you get my email

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Okay, I’m just getting on a flight to Milan, so I won’t have signal for a while

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: Can you call me?

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: The dog is waiting at the airport for you, but the monks can’t seem to reach you

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: The spa owner has been calling you nonstop

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: IRIS! You promised to pick up and look after the dog!

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: PICK up your phone

  SuperPrincessQueenRuby8421: You know how important the show is to me

  25

  Madame Xing

  “Your baby will be a Rooster,” Madame Xing says, gazing intensely at me. Her assistant, whose name is Hollie, takes a photo of me for publicity.

  I stare at the fortune-teller, a little flabbergasted. I didn’t know I’d be having a Rooster baby.

  “Yes,” she says, placing her hand on my stomach. She squeezes my belly and I wince. I think she pushed a little too hard on my bladder. Thankfully, I only had a small cup of coffee this morning. Even though Madame Xing has a heavy accent, she speaks English fluently.

  “Your features show unusual strength. Are you a Tiger?” she says.

  “Yes!” I exclaim. “How did you know?! Is it my mustache?”

  Madame Xing slowly winks at me.

  I can see why my dad has been obsessed with her for seventeen-plus years. She is a magnificent woman wearing an oversize fur coat and long fake red acrylic nails. She’s also wearing the highest gold stiletto shoes that I have ever seen. Are those Jimmy Choos? She looks absolutely fantastic. Madame Xing should be performing in Las Vegas or on a five-star cruise ship. If anything, I want to be her when I grow up, except that I don’t have any fortune-telling talent.

  I really want to hear more about my Rooster baby, but I realize I just need to find out more about myself.

  As she places both hands on my stomach again and squeezes, I’m unable to play along anymore and blurt out, “There’s no baby.”

  She pauses, looking shocked.

  “My dad says that I have a curse on me because I threw up on you when I was a baby. I am a flower-heart with no college acceptances, no boyfriend, or any friends. My dad and grandpa have been fighting for many years, and I need you to tell my dad to forgive him. He worships you.”

  No response.

  “Please, Madame Xing, I just want my dad to be happy, and the only way is if he can have his family back together. My dad is a really proud Goat. I love my dad and even though he sent me away to China, I am starting to understand why. Sometimes people do shitty things because they think it will help the other person. Can you please help me fix my family?”

  I am babbling anxiously and I don’t know how to stop.

  Finally, Madame Xing stares at me and then pulls hard on my nose.

  “Ouch,” I say, wondering if she’s putting another curse on me.

  There’s a long, awkward pause.

  Fidgeting, I don’t know what to say or do.

  I don’t know if I should look ashamed or make up an excuse.

  “You lied about a baby to see me?” Madame Xing finally says, sounding incensed.

  At first, I think she’s going to yell at me or throw me out of the conference room, but she starts laughing hysterically. It’s a loud, booming, echoing sound. Like a gorilla. Honestly, I’m impressed by her huge auditorium laugh. Finally, she slaps her knee twice and calls her assistant to bring her a bottle of baijiu.

  “You are very brave, persistent, and creative, aren’t you?’ she says, taking a swig of alcohol.

  Surprised, I look at her. No one has ever said these kind things to me before. It sounds like three aut
hentic compliments. The nicest words that anyone, including my parents, has ever said about my personality.

  She laughs and eventually, I laugh too. But she doesn’t offer me a drink of baijiu. Just a glass of water.

  Humphing like some kind of farm animal, Madame Xing checks my face for unlucky moles and finds nothing. The spacing between my eyes is very symmetrical and she makes me open my mouth and checks for wide gaps between my teeth. I have many, which means, according to Buddha and Confucius, that I’ll be very lucky in the wealth and fame department. She clucks a few times and then makes mysterious oohing and aahing noises.

  “What?” I gasp. “What’s wrong?”

  Then she makes me spit into a cup and she examines it.

  What kind of fortune-telling is this?

  Why does my dad believe in Madame Xing so much?

  It’s literally like going to the dentist.

  “Is there something wrong?” I practically scream as she makes her hundredth oohing and aahing sound.

  “Your heart is broken because you care too much about what people think about you,” she finally declares. “You have a lot of energy, qi, that is all over the place. You’re like a storm that can’t decide its direction. Pick one way and just focus, otherwise you will never get anywhere. Flower-hearts are sensitive, but they are not hopeless. You have Tiger in you to make you strong.”

  “But what about my dad, who is a Goat?” I say. “How can I get him to forgive his father?”

  “Goats are very stubborn, yes, but they are pack animals, right? They will always need to find their family to be happy. You need to talk to your dad. You can tell him that I told you that he needs to go to Beijing and speak to his parents. Misunderstandings always happen when people live too far away from family. He can call me if he wants to talk.”

  She hands me her card.

  “You are doing a very good thing to help your dad, Weijun. If you keep thinking of other people, you can also find out what you want.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” I say, suddenly sniffling. “I don’t know how to make myself happy.”

  “You make your dad happy and then you can choose to be either a happy Tiger or a sad Tiger,” she says. “It’s all up to you.”

  “I’ve honestly messed up my life,” I say. “Everyone back home thinks I’m a giant failure.”

  “Why do you always worry about what people think of you?” she says, looking me in the eye. “Who are you, Wang Weijun?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” I admit.

  She makes another loud animal-like humphing sound. It sounds like she has an excess of phlegm. “Why are you trying to be what they want you to be? Does the tiger care what the other animals in the jungle think of her?”

  And I realize she’s completely right.

  All my life I have been one of those sad combo pizzas from Domino’s, trying to be what other people want me to be. I’ve been pepperoni on one side and zesty ham and pineapple on the other. Sometimes I’ve been vegetarian or a meat lover’s combo for $12.99. I’ve always been whatever anyone decided to order.

  I’m trying to be my dad’s, Uncle Dai’s, and Frank’s different versions of Chinese.

  I’ve never just been my own pizza. I’ve never thought I could choose my own toppings. That I could be my own flavor. My own authentic brand of Chinese American pizza with lots of spicy cheeses, onions, gassy anchovies, and a few deep-fried tarantulas for extra crunch.

  I’ve never had a strong opinion about myself. And even then, I’m only 75 percent sure. My mom always says that if I knew myself like I knew a department store, my life choices would be so much better.

  “There won’t be any curse if you don’t believe there is,” Madame Xing insists. “But you have a very good heart, Weijun.”

  * * *

  Walking back to my hotel room, I feel buoyant. I don’t have any answers, but I think that I’ve been put on some newfound path. Is this how Jesus and Moses and Buddha felt 24/7? Did they feel simultaneously confused but inspired? Do all wise beings feel enlightened but extraordinary?

  Whatever the solution is, I need a super-fun distraction.

  As if on cue, Frank is waiting for me in the room, perched on the edge of the bed. He’s staring at his hands and fidgeting. He looks nervous and way younger. More vulnerable and more like a human being. Weirdly enough, though, this makes him look unbelievably, two-dimensionally handsome at the same time. Like a cardboard cutout of the actual Frank Liao. It’s like there are two conflicting personas inside him. Studious, nerdy, and serious vs. teasing, willing, and fun. Is he even a real person?

  “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he begins with uncertainty.

  I pause, unsure whether or not I should leave the room.

  This is the first boy who has ever seriously apologized to me. Not once but multiple times in the days that we have known each other. Come to mention it, he’s the only person under twenty years old who has ever said a genuine “Sorry” to my face for being a little mean or rude. Is this what self-respect is? Accepting an honest and uncomfortable apology? Feeling that you deserve one at any given time, not just on major holidays like Christmas and your birthday?

  As if sensing my hesitation, Frank astonishes me by pulling out a small burgundy velvet box with a swirly gold Asian floral pattern on it. I gasp. Is he asking me to be his girlfriend for the summer? Has Madame Xing already taken away my curse? Frank opens the box and I’m stunned when he takes out a very pretty purple jade pendant carved in the shape of an iris flower. It’s attached to a thin silver chain.

  “I got this for you at the Panjiayuan Antique Market,” he says anxiously. “The flower obviously reminded me of you.”

  I stare at him, oddly touched.

  Selfish Peter Hayes never bought me a present the whole two years we were dating. In fact, I was the one always buying all the gifts in our relationship.

  “Do you like it?” Frank asks in a quiet, barely-there voice. “It’s real jade, which was revered by emperors in ancient China. It signifies benevolence, honesty, wisdom, integrity, and bravery. You’re one of the most courageous people I have met. You always say and do what you are thinking and feeling. I’ve been saving up my tutoring money so I could give this to you.”

  Unable to speak for once, I nod, and I allow Frank to clasp his gift around my neck. It feels smooth and cool and surprisingly light. Unlike a mall purchase, it feels like there is so much emotional value and meaning behind his super-generous and thoughtful gift.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I say admiringly. “No one, except my parents, has ever given me jewelry before.”

  Frank grins shyly at me, and I smile widely back.

  “I keep thinking about you all the time,” he says. “I was going to wait until the end of summer to surprise you, but I honestly think you should know exactly how I feel now.…”

  Madame Xing said to trust my own instincts, and I tell myself that I’m over Peter Hayes and horrendous boys who are liars, cheaters, and losers. I’m a better and worthier version of the old no-standards Iris Wang. I’m ready for Chinese Parent Approved boys who buy you expensive jade and apologize within twenty-four hours.

  I’m not cursed anymore, I tell myself. I have improved my self-esteem by at least 30 percent.

  Despite my fragile flower-heart, I might actually be okay.

  Quietly, I sit beside Frank on the bed. My mom has a pair of earthy-green jade hoop earrings that her mother gave her when she married my dad. Her relatives all gave her brown, lavender, and mint-colored jade pendants, earrings, and rings during her wedding ceremony. Apparently, jade is a huge deal in Chinese culture. It symbolizes commitment, ferocious loyalty, and unconditional love because jade can never age or break. My mom never wears her jade jewelry but keeps it in a safety deposit box at the bank. “They’re worth everything,” she once told me when I was little, and she let me try them on once. By giving me a jade iris necklace, is Frank saying that he really, truly, definitely likes me?<
br />
  Is there a possibility for a serious, authentic Beijing summer fling?

  But Frank keeps staring at his hands for the longest time. For once, I decide to listen instead of talk. I let him make the first move.

  “You are surprising,” he eventually admits. “You are funny, unpredictable, and extremely beautiful—”

  “Did you just say I was beautiful?” I say, a little shocked. Beautiful Frank Liao thinks I’m good-looking? Peter used to tell me I was “just okay.”

  I notice the veins pulsing in his neck. Frank’s sad-somber Jack Russell terrier expression. And all I want to do is take off his clothes and touch him everywhere. I just want to push him down on the bed and lick every square inch of him like a $7.99 three-scoop Nutella waffle cone from Baskin-Robbins. How do I tell Frank all this without scaring him away?

  “It’s really not that simple,” Frank says, turning to face me. He tucks a loose strand of hair around my ear and slowly traces the silhouette of my collarbone with his fingers. It feels wonderful. Frank feels excitingly wonderful.

  “Stop making it complicated,” I breathe. “Let’s just have fun this summer. Forget about my uncle. Forget about tutoring me.”

  “Do you even know who your uncle is?” Frank asks suddenly. “Do you know who he is in Beijing?”

  He glances away from me, and I wonder if my armpits actually smell. Maybe international travel can change a girl’s romantic scent for attracting a prospective boyfriend? In America, maybe I smelled like McDonald’s cheeseburgers and Sephora’s top-of-the-line beauty products, but in China, I could smell like leftover soybean noodles and rotten durian fruit. What if I still smell like the interior of an airplane after a 15.5-hour flight?

  What do girls in Beijing usually smell like? Exotic flowers? Tropical melons with unpronounceable names?

  I sniff myself in a panic, and Frank gives me a puzzled look.

  Quickly, I pretend that I’m examining the jade necklace.

  I’m worried that I’ve just ruined the romantic mood.

  What would Madame Xing say about Frank and me? What would Buddha do? These are the two questions that will fundamentally rule my decision-making from now on. Honestly, I don’t know what will happen to us outside this hotel room. I don’t even know what will happen tomorrow or next week. All I know is that my urgent, desperate wanting of Frank in this exact moment outweighs my intense desire for a bowl of ice-cold coconut jellies and perfectly cooked hand-cut noodles.