My Summer of Love and Misfortune

by Lindsay Wong

  My mind is blown. There’s a Chinese Tinder called TanTan?

  “I wish you had mentioned the dating app when I first arrived,” I exclaim. “It would have made things much more interesting than they already are!”

  Ruby laughs appreciatively.

  “Don’t worry, your boy problems seem to be genetic,” I reassure my cousin. “All the dudes I hook up with usually run away too.”

  To my own surprise, I tell her about Peter and Samira, Frank, and the hot springs. Ruby giggles. She can’t stop. It hurts to talk about my ex–best friend and ex-boyfriend, but somehow, I feel relieved too. Like there has been an enormous secret stored inside me. Like a bellyache, the hurt has been growing since I arrived in Beijing, even though I have done my best to ignore it.

  Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure Frank hasn’t run away from me too.

  “Then you accidentally backed your car through your own house?” Ruby asks, looking incredulous. “At your own party?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Not my best moment.”

  She starts laughing, and as I think about it, it seems pretty hilarious and ridiculous too. Who wouldn’t notice accidentally turning the car engine on? Only a flower-heart like me. Iris Weijun Wang, who is reckless and impulsive and formerly cursed. I’m lucky that no one was hurt. That I didn’t give myself permanent brain damage or kill myself while being in the driver’s seat, drunk and stoned.

  I laugh but inwardly, I grimace from embarrassment and shame.

  How do I even recover from the regret that is never going to leave me? It’s not just a feeling that can be cleansed away with a deep pore facial or zapped away with multiple laser treatments. It feels more than a superficial film on my skin. It’s a recurring blackhead, that creepy dude who follows you around the mall and won’t take no for an answer.

  The horrible remorse I feel for all the things I’ve done and did not do feels a lot like cystic acne on my insides. Shuddering, I can only imagine the damage done because I used to be a shakier earthquake of myself.

  While we enjoy our pampering, Ruby’s phone buzzes nonstop with TanTan messages. I try to read them, but they’re all in Chinese. Her active phone reminds me of my silent one. Speaking of Frank, I wonder if he’s okay?

  When everyone is relaxed and chatting and drinking icy cucumber water, I sneak to the bathroom and text Frank. I have not received a single text from him even though we’re supposed to have a tutoring session tomorrow. Did Uncle Dai already phone him? Did he threaten him and tell him to stay away from me forever? I need Frank to know that I’m going to fix everything. I send him a WeChat message. What are you up to? Everything okay?

  No response.

  I send him another message. Please text me ASAP. Things have been chaotic here.

  I email him two times.

  No answer.

  We haven’t been in contact since we arrived back in Beijing from the hot springs. It has practically been nine whole hours since we last spoke or touched each other. After we had an enthusiastic and fantastically long makeout session in the cab before dropping him off at his dorm at Tsinghua University. Frank promised solemnly that he would call me as soon as he got home. I expected at least one PG-13 if not R-rated text. We had solid romantic plans: a Chinese cinema movie, a Western-style pasta dinner, and lychee-ice dessert next weekend. He was going to take me market shopping for more jade jewelry. He promised that he knew all the vendors who sold the best, most expensive stones. We were also going to hang with his cool artist friends again.

  It all seemed too perfect.

  I told Frank that Uncle Dai could easily find me a new tutor or we could just continue to have fun together during our tutoring sessions, but he seemed absolutely horrified by the idea. He said that he would come up with an idea of what to tell Uncle Dai. Come to think of it, he turned toothpaste-green when I mentioned it, and looked a bit queasy.

  Is he still working out a plan on how to tell my uncle? Is that why he’s avoiding my texts and emails?

  Sighing deeply, I turn on the faucets and keep the shower running so no one will hear me when I call him. But all I get is Frank’s infuriatingly polite voice mail; no one is picking up.

  Anxiously, I leave a voice message.

  “Hey, it’s me, Iris. I’m in trouble for leaving and spending the weekend with you. My cousin saw our hot spring photos. My uncle is super angry and he doesn’t want you to see me anymore. Call me back when you get this.”

  I leave another voice mail. “Are you okay?”

  After six additional texts and three more voice mails, I join the rest of the nail party and try to enjoy a hot stone massage. But I can’t relax as the masseuse tries to work out the knots in my neck and back. It’s like I’ve turned into a piece of furniture.

  Although I am warm, well-fed, and surrounded by people who love me, I can’t help but think that something horrible is going to happen.

  I close my eyes and think of my red fortune-teller claws, and it only helps me relax a little.

  Before bed, I check my phone again and there are zero texts, emails, or missed calls from Frank. What if he was hit by a car? Is he having a personal emergency? Maybe he’s holed up studying somewhere?

  Isn’t he concerned that he’s going to miss our tutoring session tomorrow?

  Polite, overly serious, studious guys like my dad don’t just ghost you after you sleep with them, right?

  Jumping out of bed, I begin pacing in the humongous bathroom, careful not to wake Ruby in our shared hotel bedroom. As I tiptoe back and forth, my jade iris necklace from Frank gets tangled in my long, messy hair, so I quickly unclasp it. But in my hurry, it flies from my fingers, bounces off the marble floor, and shatters completely.

  “Shit!” I exclaim loudly.

  How could I break his beautiful gift of jade so soon? What would Frank think? Would he accuse me of being careless and spoiled? If the iris pendant was a test, I need to find superglue ASAP.

  My stomach flips with burning anxiety.

  Have I lost my chance to date a proper CPA boy???

  Before I go into panic must-fix-it mode, I get an inkling that something is not right. If I try to use my brain to think about the issue at hand, my panic eventually softens. Think, Iris, think, I tell myself. Wait, does jade, which is practically a cousin to the rock, actually break if you drop it?

  My mom once said that authentic jade stones last forever, which is why Chinese families always give them as gifts to loved ones at weddings and for when babies are born. According to my mom, jade stones are even inherited and passed down through multiple generations like ultra-coveted real estate.

  People who give you expensive jade jewelry are saying that they cherish you indefinitely.

  Confused, I examine the tiny green shards as I slowly clean up the mess in the bathroom. Did Frank know that he gave me a dud? But wouldn’t Frank, who grew up in Beijing, know the real difference between cheap glass and real jade? Did he just make an honest mistake? He wouldn’t be bullshitting me, would he?

  Or was my mom somehow wrong about the enduring meaning of jade?

  My brain hurts from overthinking.

  My insides somersault again, as if I’ve ingested a gallon of chocolate milk in one sitting. I feel bloated with gassy and indigestible confusion. Frank wouldn’t lie to me, right? He meant what he said about spending the summer together. The jade present and apology were supposed to show that he really, really liked me. I didn’t expect eternity, but I was hoping to post In a relationship for two months on social media.

  But then why does it feel a lot like I’m picking up broken beer glass the morning after one of my super-fun parties in Bradley Gardens, New Jersey?

  WECHAT GROUP (#1WangFamily!!!)

  Mom: Uncle Dai says you are pregnant! Your aunt sent us a photo of you in a magazine.

  IrisDaddy: Is this true?????

  Mom: We need to talk ASAP!

  IrisDaddy: Also, American Express called and said you forgot to pay. I ch
ecked and someone has been using your credit card. They spent approx $7,000!! They even bought round-trip tickets to Paris. I’ll talk to the company later. Be careful of fraud!

  IrisDaddy: How much yuan do you have left?

  IrisDaddy: Also, are you pregnant?!

  IrisDaddy: I just got off the phone with the credit card company. You spent $7,000 on a dress, makeup, and plane tickets?!!!!!!

  IrisDaddy: What is going on?

  IrisDaddy: Airline says tickets are registered under your name. Who are you taking to Paris???

  Mom: TEXT US BACK

  IrisDaddy: CALL US

  Iris: I’m okay!

  29

  Who Is Frank Liao?

  There are no messages from Frank the next morning, and I can barely eat my breakfast. Ruby has ordered in room service. American-style, egg whites and turkey scramble, in honor of our new alliance. My stomach rumbles, but it’s a different kind of uncomfortable. A sad, bitter-tasting kind.

  “What’s wrong?” Ruby demands, looking closely at me. “You usually eat more than everyone in my family combined.”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  I pick at a slice of overripe watermelon. I can’t even drink coffee today. It’s all too much, this uneasy feeling of not knowing and not understanding what’s going on. Why is Frank avoiding me? I wasn’t asking him to be my long-term boyfriend and I didn’t even want him to be my tutor. Didn’t we have fun at the hot springs?

  “Are you sick?” Ruby asks, looking at the bathroom. “What did you eat last night?”

  I mutter something and stare at my phone again.

  “I thought you said that you wanted to be friends,” she says, looking puzzled. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Slowly, I take a breath.

  “It’s Frank. He hasn’t messaged me back. The weird thing is, it says the WeChat account and phone number are no longer in service. I even sent him an email. Does that happen a lot in Beijing?” I say to Ruby.

  She shakes her head, looking concerned.

  She suggests that we look up his name in the university student directory online, but there is no student named Frank Liao.

  “Do you know his Chinese name?” she asks. “It’s probably easier to find him that way.”

  I shake my head NO.

  The uneasy feeling inside my stomach escalates.

  Ruby frowns. “I know a private investigator. It was Mr. Yee who found your dad in the States. He’s good but very expensive.”

  We don’t have our prepaid Visas anymore, but at least we have money from our grandparents. Ruby agrees to give me her share. She quickly dials a number and spends a good half hour on the phone.

  “He’s a poet and tutor from Tsinghua University,” I tell Ruby to translate to Mr. Yee. “That’s all I know about him.”

  Mr. Yee says to give him twenty-four hours. He’s confident that he can find a student called Frank Liao.

  His phone call comes right before dinner.

  When our bodyguard is in the bathroom, and Grandpa takes a nap and Grandma leaves for Bible study, Ruby flicks open a Swarovski-studded lighter and holds it under the hotel suite’s smoke alarm. It goes off instantly. RIIIIIING! I cover my ears and grimace.

  I’m seriously impressed by her quick-thinking skills. I had no idea that she carried around a bejeweled lighter as a fashion key chain just to accessorize her gold Hermès Birkin bag. Sneaking around seems to run in our family.

  Ruby grins at me as we race out the door.

  Through the back elevator stairs, we manage to meet Mr. Yee, who has an address for us. He’s a thin, no-nonsense man with spectacles and a professional photographer’s camera. He honestly looks like a tourist instead of a private investigator. It costs all the yuan we have for just a name and address. Ruby speaks to him urgently, and he offers us a ride in his car.

  “How did he get it?” I ask Ruby.

  “He pretended to be a cop and showed Frank’s photo to different students and instructors. Someone recognized him. But his name isn’t Frank Liao. It’s Zhou Zhifang.”

  “What?” I say. “That makes no sense! Why would he lie? Are you sure Mr. Yee found the right guy?”

  Ruby frowns. “Mr. Yee is the best in the business.”

  “Is he a real cop?” I ask Ruby.

  She nods. “Former Beijing secret police. My dad says he was ranked number one at torture.”

  Mr. Yee grins at us, revealing three fanged gold teeth. In the car, he smokes a cigar and to calm my fluttering nerves, I accept when he offers me a few puffs. I inhale gratefully because my stomach feels like a pulsating blender. I can’t seem to relax or focus on any conversation.

  We seem to be driving for hours in nervous silence until we get to a run-down part of the city, which Ruby says is the district of Daxing. Nodding solemnly, Mr. Yee wishes us luck and honks the horn before dropping us off. I’m horrified by the crooked assortment of decrepit buildings, and the mounds of garbage and plastic junk scattered everywhere.

  A woman is standing on the threshold of a doorway. She holds up her fingers, begging for yuan. We don’t have any left, and to my astonishment, Ruby apologizes profusely.

  We follow the directions to the address and enter a dingy apartment building.

  As we step into a hallway, I step on something brown and furry. Shrieking, I jump and nearly fall on it.

  “It’s just a rat,” Ruby says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “We had those all the time when we were growing up. My mom and I would roast them when there was nothing else to eat. They’re more filling than insects.”

  I stare at her, pity and astonishment rising in me. How can she talk so casually about seeing and then eating a rat the same size as a ladies’ size-eight Converse sneaker? It makes no sense. Ruby is the fussiest, most privileged person that I’ve ever met. Her regular clothes vs. dog show closets could seriously fund a small village in a developing nation.

  Ruby shrugs again. “We survived so we could have better. Those days are over now. I’m enjoying my life now.”

  We find apartment number 122. I rap three times. I wonder if anyone is actually home. As we wait, I plan whether or not to make a dramatic entry. I don’t know if it would make Frank apologize for lying to me, or if it would make him retreat further from me.

  But I don’t have enough time to decide.

  “You lied to me!” I shout as the apartment door finally swings open. I step forward, ready to confront the liar that is the impostor Frank Liao. Part of me hopes there was a humongous mistake and that it’s someone else entirely. Part of me hopes that this is all a terrible cultural or translated misunderstanding. I just hope the dude who opens the door is a complete stranger. I just hope that the private investigator is wrong.

  But an elderly woman, leaning on a stick, slowly opens the door. She looks shocked by my outburst. I’m instantly relieved. It’s the wrong address, thank god.

  “Sorry for bothering you,” I say, but Ruby cuts in and demands to know where Zhou Zhifang is.

  The older lady says something nervously in Chinese. I stare at her. Then I realize that she’s missing a leg. One of her pant legs drags to the floor, and there is nothing where her right leg should be. I try not to stare at her missing limb. What happened? I want to ask. Does it hurt? But I know it would be rude of me. Ruby doesn’t even look concerned. She just starts talking in her usual bossy way.

  “Zhifang?!” the older lady finally calls out.

  Immediately, Frank shows up. But it’s not Frank. I remember that he has a different name.

  The tutor who called himself Frank Liao looks genuinely horror-stricken and sheepish when he sees me. He tries to close the door. But Ruby is faster and jumps in the way. It’s like she’s used to dealing with unpleasant negotiations.

  “You are going to tell us everything,” she says coldly, staring down her nose at Frank.

  He looks at Ruby, but he doesn’t look at me.

  “Iris! How did you find me?” he says, still looking
at my cousin.

  Ruby glowers at him for me. “We hired a private investigator. We know you’re a liar.”

  Frank has turned a pasty gray color. His complexion matches the Beijing smog and the surrounding buildings. It doesn’t camouflage him, though. He hesitates and looks as if he wants to run away.

  “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” I say in my unfriendliest voice.

  Ruby barks something in Chinese.

  Finally, shoulders drooping, he relents and lets us into a small, decrepit studio apartment with two bamboo mats on the floor. The older lady hobbles to one of the mats and collapses on it, and then I realize it’s actually her chair and bed.

  There’s nowhere to sit, except for the unswept floor. There’s not even a toilet. Just an orange bucket. The window is boarded up with tape and black garbage bags. There are stacks of books and papers on the floor, which I assume are Frank’s. He introduces the one-legged woman as his mother.

  She smiles at me, and I realize that she has no teeth.

  “Who are you?” I say to him. “I know you’re not Frank Liao. He doesn’t exist.”

  “No lies!” Ruby warns Frank.

  “I’m Zhou Zhifang. My English name is Paul.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. Glancing around the tiny, dilapidated apartment, I’m so shocked that anyone, let alone two people, could live here. Something furry and brown touches my hand. I squeal again. Ruby expertly catches the rat by its back paws and puts it in a lidded pot. Frank/Paul’s mom smiles and thanks her.

  “Why would you lie?” I demand. “It makes NO sense.”

  Smiling sadly, Frank/Paul says that he wants to show us something.

  30

  Confession

  We follow Frank up fourteen flights of old creaky stairs, onto the roof of the falling-down building. As we climb, I huff and puff. Honestly, I can barely make it up the second set of stairs and neither can Ruby. We do not have the stamina to survive. It’s a perfectly genius plan if the former Frank wants to kill us. By the time we reach where we’re going, we will be too exhausted to defend ourselves.