by Lindsay Wong
“Where else should your father and I visit in China?” my mom asks me as a waiter offers us a drink. She watches me anxiously as I grab a glass of champagne and gulp it down. I take another and finish it. Normally, she’d say something about overdrinking, but she actually looks relieved.
“You’re really not pregnant?!” she asks again.
“No!” I say. “It was all a huge misunderstanding. A lost-in-translation moment.”
“Oh, Iris, just try to think more before you make any decision. Not everything in life is refundable. Some things are really a final sale.”
I throw my arms around my mom in a massive hug, agreeing with her for once. Finally, she is speaking my dialect of English. She embraces me tightly and then we take a step back in sync, smiling and staring tearfully at each other.
My mom is wearing a floor-length black Prada gown and gorgeous Tiffany chandelier earrings. I recognize them from the catalog that she sent my father from two Christmases back. She looks really pretty and relaxed on her holiday. I’m so pleased that I’ve inherited her fantastic style, even if I missed out on her extra-fast, unlimited GB brain.
“Where should we visit tomorrow?” my dad asks, joining the conversation.
“What about the hot springs of Chengdu?” I offer. “They’re pretty and romantic.”
Both my parents give me an uneasy look.
“What?” I say. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yes, we know,” my mother says.
“We saw your naked Instagram photos,” my dad says. “And we also see that the same boy is here.”
We all swivel our heads to watch the red-tuxedoed Frank/Paul chatting to a crowd of enthusiastic reporters.
My dad glares at Frank/Paul. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I admit, “but it’s sort of okay now because we aren’t together and he’s no longer my tutor. He did some shitty things and I guess he had a reason.…”
“That is not ‘sort of okay,’ ” my mom says, looking upset. “Remember, you are better than anyone who hurt you. A good person thinks about your feelings and doesn’t treat you like expired milk.”
“You are not rotten milk,” my dad adds indignantly. “You are a luxury sports car or a multimillion-dollar company. Always ask yourself: How many iPhones are you worth?”
I realize that my mom and dad are right. Shitty, selfish people treat you like grocery store items, to be consumed and thrown away. Kind and authentic individuals treasure you. They think about your feelings, your internal happiness, as well as your overall net worth.
They are willing to sacrifice everything they have to make you a better and more beautiful and more socially acceptable person.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I finally say to my parents. “I understand why you sent me to Beijing.”
“We’re really sorry too,” my dad quickly says. “It was a hard decision, but we didn’t know what else to do.”
“Your parents are human beings too,” my mom adds, squeezing my shoulder. “We were so shocked that you failed senior year. We thought we had failed as your parents. No mom or dad wants their child to do poorly.”
I nod slowly, understanding what sacrifice means when you love someone almost as much as yourself.
As my parents watch me converse with Uncle Dai and Auntie Yingfei and make polite chitchat with investors, I feel a sense of immense pride. Especially whenever someone compliments Ruby and me for our amazing, well-organized event. Whenever someone slips us an envelope with a check, a little thrill runs through me like a first kiss.
“Xiè xiè nín!” I say politely to everyone who praises me or hands me a check. Even though my pronunciation feels clumsy, I’m so enthusiastic when I shout “Gǎn xiè!!!” (“Thank you!!!”) at our guests, I doubt anyone will actually notice. I have been studying Mandarin dutifully with online audiobooks, and this is one of the dozen phrases that I have mastered so far. I am determined to keep going. If I manage to learn two dozen phrases or more, I might even enroll in beginner Mandarin at a language school.
After a fancy fifteen-course meal of braised sea cucumbers with scallion sauce, barley, and abalone, double-boiled fish maw broth with black garlic, spicy shark fin soup, and mango jellies over shaved ice and black seaweed, it’s my turn to do the work.
Nervously, I stand up at the podium to give a speech to thank our investors. I’ll be speaking in English, and then Ruby and Frank will translate after me. The easy part of collecting money and checking our guest list is over.
I stare at the bright, eager, or bored 4,508 faces, who are all looking expectantly at me.
I don’t even remember who’s who.
A new, irrational fear of public speaking floods my brain. How will I manage to make coherent talking sounds in front of so many people?
But at the front table, my mom, dad, uncle, aunt, grandpa, and grandma are all smiling at me, looking heartbreakingly hopeful. My parents look the most nervous. They don’t know what to expect from me. I don’t know what to expect from me either. But I tell myself that this is just like giving a valedictorian speech, the one that I had imagined but never got asked to do.
I open my mouth.
But not a single sound comes out. Not even a low embarrassing moan or a squeak.
Is it possible that I have forgotten how to speak?
But whether it’s because I’m sick of being considered a failure, a huge disaster, or just a formerly cursed flower-heart, I know that I cannot disappoint this time. So much is riding on our fundraising soiree. Not just for me, my badly bruised heart, my family, or even that liar Frank, but for so many people in Beijing who need a safe place to live and study.
For once, I am truly part of something bigger and so much more extraordinary than my messy thoughts. I’m part of a long legacy of proud flower-hearts, powerful Tigers, and persistent people who believe so much in me. Ancestors who originated from a small village and worked hard so their future offspring could live like C-list celebrities.
Beijing is essentially a weirdo part of me, like suddenly discovering that a hairy mole on my face is actually a supercute beauty mark.
Without my parents, Uncle Dai, Auntie Yingfei, Ruby, or my grandparents, I would have no history or family. I would have no countries or cultures to call home.
Family is what makes me the formidable Iris Weijun Wang.
I am an eight-appendage octopus of the Hudson River, the Atlantic Ocean, and more recently, the Yangtze River and the Bohai Sea.
I force myself to talk.
“Good evening, wǎn shàng hǎo. My name is Wang Weijun and I am Feng Dai’s niece. When I first came to Beijing from America, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I thought I was being punished. I thought there was no point to learning about my cultural heritage. I blamed my parents for sending me away.”
I hesitate.
My voice sounds scratchy, like I’ve been binge-smoking while eating way too many potato chips.
I glance at Ruby and she rolls her eyes at me to hurry up, but she nods in a somewhat encouraging manner.
“But my time in Beijing has taught me so much about family and love and sacrifice in all kinds of forms. I have learned that the city is important for everyone.… We have a tradition in Beijing of helping each other because we’re all family. Yī shì tóng rén. This is a Chinese saying that I’ve recently learned. We must treat everyone with kindness, even if it’s not convenient for us. Even if we don’t want to. There are so many people who are suffering in the city while we have so much. Migrant workers are not being treated fairly in China, and they need a place to live and they need a school for their kids. This is why Feng Construction Corp has generously offered to relocate our new hotel if we can raise 700,000 yuan. The money will also allow us to build a brand-new school with proper classrooms and books for the students. We ask you to help by donating as much money as you can.”
I pause.
I exhale in relief like an unathletic zebra who miraculously
outran a lion. Ruby points at her Apple Watch and nods, gesturing at me to finish up.
“As the niece and daughter of Feng Construction Corp, we will also be matching your gifts with donations of our time. For every 20,000 yuan, we will be spending an hour teaching migrant children the English language. Due to lack of funding, migrant children do not receive the same educational opportunities that children in the regular public system do. We want to remedy the situation and give them a chance to learn at Feng Corporation’s new school.”
Emotion, like quicksand, weighs on my voice.
I realize that I’m about to burst into noisy, ecstatic tears. I can’t believe that my own speech is making me cry! Last night, I had a realization that I could help collect money, but I could also give my time by teaching basic conversational English. We’ve already been spending a lot of our afternoons in the migrant workers’ district. Ruby agreed to teach intermediate reading and writing, and I could help the kindergartners with the alphabet and read aloud Dr. Seuss. When I told Ruby my idea, she looked both stunned and also impressed by my newfound ability to think of others.
“Iris Wang wants to teach English in her free time?!!” she had asked, sounding shocked.
“Yes, what’s wrong with that?” I said.
“You don’t seem like the tutoring type!” she said.
“How hard can it be?” I said. “You just show up and read books with lots of pictures, right? Little kids won’t know if I make a mistake.”
Ruby had stared at me until we both laughed. Then, collapsing on the couch, we giggled like a pair of hysterical chimpanzees until our stomachs hurt.
After my own speech, it suddenly hits me: the humongous personal importance of collecting money for societal causes. This must be how Mother Teresa, the Pope, and people who work for charities feel every day.
Honestly, I enjoy giving gifts, sharing equally with strangers and friends. Why not work hard to give away the disposable income of extremely rich people, like my uncle? It’s exactly like spending money at a high-end department store. But instead of owning a designer purse or a new pair of shoes, I’m using the money to let someone else buy a new building or food sources.
Also, by sharing my English language skills with elementary school children, I can share my internal happiness like a fifteen-course Chinese banquet, so I’m actually benefiting the world’s economy! I’m donating my abundant time, energy, and joy.
At this shocking realization, I sob even more loudly.
“Yes!!!” I shout at Ruby and Frank/Paul between tears. In fact, I’m practically wailing like an extra-large hungry cat now. Both of them seem pleased but slightly embarrassed for me.
Quickly, Frank/Paul and Ruby step in to repeat my speech in Chinese.
There’s a long standing ovation.
Loud applause that feels genuine and terrific. Everyone in the room is looking at us and smiling widely. Not the kind of social getting-to-meet-you clapping, but the real kind, where people actually seem proud that they are related to you.
I enjoy the moment for a while, but then I can’t help but clap enthusiastically back.
Scanning the banquet room, I look for my parents, who are both staring at me with looks of admiration and shock. I touch my upper lip to check if any stress-induced Tiger hairs have appeared. But nothing has sprouted. Am I cured? No longer cursed?
Was Madame Xing right? Was the Tiger curse all in my head?
Afterward, my mom and dad run up to me on the stage and hug me. They don’t let go for the longest time.
“We love you so much,” my dad says. “We’re so proud of you.”
“We just don’t care anymore,” my mom says. “You can come home and go to community college.”
“We just never thought you were capable of helping other people,” my dad exclaims.
“We never thought you could be so selfless,” my mom adds. “What happened to our daughter?”
“Too many things,” I admit, thinking of all the lying, the secrets, and the deception that I have stumbled upon this summer. How I have found five additional family members (practically a whole new wardrobe of my extended self) and another country with multiple luxury homes in four-star-plus hotels. I have discovered people, besides my parents, who love me for myself, as hokey as it sounds. I’m not even afraid of strangers not liking me anymore, because it’s honestly enough that I actually really like who I am. Not a joke. I have a humongous crush on myself.
“I’m just so happy to see you guys,” I gush, and my parents hug me again.
My dad starts crying.
As a flower-heart, he just can’t stop.
33
Happy Ending
A week later, I meet Frank/Paul outside the hotel and we walk to the Wind Flower for coffee and pastries. I have been putting off talking to him, until Ruby became incensed by my moping and arranged a meeting. “Go see that Diǎo sī before I strangle you to death for talking so much about him!” she shouted. “You’re always telling me not to be afraid of talking to boys in real life!”
Mostly avoiding eye contact, we find a seat by the window and wait for the barista to bring us our order. Taro-lychee sponge cake for me with an extra-large foamy cappuccino, as well as a black coffee and Japanese matcha cheesecake for Frank/Paul.
“It worked,” he says. “Your uncle is finding another location for his hotel and he’s helping to build a brand-new school.”
“I know,” I say.
“Because of the success of the event, more businesses are pledging money to our neighborhood,” he says.
“That’s great,” I say. “We were featured in the social pages of Vogue China!”
Silence.
Frank/Paul doesn’t care about Vogue China.
I wish the barista would hurry up with our order.
“Teaching English is going great,” I babble nervously. “I have a class of twenty five-year-old kids. I can repeat the alphabet backward now and I know the difference between an adverb and an adjective—”
“Iris … ,” Frank/Paul interrupts. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
“I know,” I say.
“Can we please start over?” he says, looking hopeful.
The question makes me incredibly sad.
Because some part of me actually imagines us together, holding each other in the hot springs with the cherry blossoms unfurling in spring. Like some gorgeous sequel of a modern-day retelling of Romeo and Juliet without all the drama and lying, but most importantly, no death. Being together doesn’t necessarily mean that Frank/Paul has to talk about SATs anymore. If he’s no longer my tutor, he won’t insist on making me study unnecessary facts and lessons. We could actually talk about movies, and the most important subject of all, ourselves.
I have so many questions for Frank/Paul. What does he like to do for fun? What are his top three (favorite) gassiest foods and most embarrassing moments? If he could be any animal, what would he be?
But the harsh reality is that Frank/Paul lied to me.
I still feel betrayed and deeply hurt.
The old Iris would immediately find reasons to forgive him, but this new me, Iris Weijun Wang of the Tiger, is stronger and more confident and takes longer to make important life-altering decisions.
What if there are other good-looking boys in Beijing who don’t lie and break your heart? Even better-looking boys who don’t have ulterior agendas?
What if I’m not supposed to be with anyone for a while?
What if my path has been staring at me this whole time in the mirror? What if my destiny, instead of just online dating, is collecting money from wealthy people and spending it on a variety of important causes?
I jump out of my seat in excitement.
My life purpose could be as a professional fundraiser, which is essentially a bank teller and party planner all in one.
“Iris, are you listening?” Frank asks.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I really mean it. “Bào qiàn.” I try to a
pologize in Mandarin.
Frank looks a bit stricken.
“My pronunciation wasn’t that shitty!” I say, trying to defuse the tension. “I just need more practice. I bought a Rosetta Stone last week, and I have been practicing. I can say nǎlǐ yǒu xǐshǒujiān very well now.”
“Iris—”
“It’s such a useful phrase: Where is the bathroom?” I say quickly, finally sitting back down. “I’ve used it so many times in Beijing.”
“Iris, can you please give me another chance? Even just as friends?”
Frank/Paul’s eyes are still hopeful. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
“I need to be alone so I know what I want,” I say. “I’ve never, you know, really been without a boyfriend. Even if the dudes weren’t very nice to me.”
“What I did was inexcusable,” Frank/Paul says. His expression looks extremely sorry.
I think I should forgive him because it’s the right thing to do, but I honestly don’t want to.
“I know,” I agree. “But the fact is, you really hurt me. You lied to me, used me, and then you fell for me. It’s too late.”
The barista brings our order. Taking a sip of my warm cappuccino, I look out the window at the bustling downtown district. I eat my soft, delicious cake in three giant mouthfuls, and I notice that Frank/Paul has not touched his coffee or his cheesecake. I help myself to his piece. He doesn’t look like he’ll notice or say anything.
People seem to be hurrying faster despite the easiness of the afternoon.
Or maybe because Frank/Paul and I are sitting so still and quiet.
I feel like we can hear each other’s thoughts. For a second, I wonder if I could be psychic. Is Madame Xing rubbing off on me?
Too much silence.
The grinding of coffee beans suddenly cuts through the room.
“Paul,” I say, “what zodiac animal are you?”
He looks confused. “I’m an Ox.”
“That makes sense. You’re hardworking and stubborn.”
“What about you?”
“I was born in the Year of the Tiger,” I say proudly. “We’re brave and passionate and loyal.”
