Rent a Boyfriend - Gloria Chao Page 0,23
“Traditional,” I finished lamely. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” I added quickly.
“If I had to see my parents every weekend, I’d fake my own death.”
“That’s pretty extreme, don’t you think?”
“So is seeing your parents every weekend in college.”
My anger bubbled to the surface. She didn’t know anything about them, my situation, how hard it was to straddle two cultures. What gave her the right to Judge Judy my life?
Before I could come up with a conversation-ending retort, Nicolette rolled her back to me. “Just sayin’ . . . Maybe stop hanging out with them and go out a bit more.”
Easy for her to say.
I slammed the door on my way out, hoping it jolted her from her half slumber. That was for insulting my parents. And for the condom wrapper.
As the Dartmouth Coach chugged along the road, Helen Mirren’s The Queen played sans sound on all thirty or so TV monitors overhead. I couldn’t help but feel proud of my independence even though it was sad that this was such a big step for me and a regular day for everyone else on the bus.
This was the first time I’d ventured out on my own (not counting that time I had snuck to Walgreens to buy tampons despite my mother’s directive to “not deflower myself prematurely”). Thanks to the internet, I had figured out the subway, found the bus that ran from South Station to Hanover, New Hampshire, then crossed state lines—all without my parents. And once I’d done it, I wondered why I had never thought to do it before. Following directions? Super easy. Going unknown places by yourself ? A little scary, but also kind of exhilarating. Reason for leaving? After the crap-storm that was this weekend, my past, present, and future were broken and jumbled, pieces floating around and crashing into one another. So I was running away to Helen, the only high school classmate who’d been mother-approved (aka Taiwanese) and thus my only friend.
The mix of pride, excitement, and anxiety churned my stomach. Or maybe I was just carsick. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to bring a vomit bag. Hopefully on this day of firsts, it wouldn’t be my first time throwing up on a stranger, too.
At least we were getting close. According to the online schedule and my phone’s GPS, we were fifteen minutes away.
The bus bucked over a pothole, and I grabbed the seat in front of me as my stomach flipped. A tiny moan escaped from my lips (so embarrassing), and I desperately hoped my seatmate didn’t hear.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice sympathetic.
“Sorry. Yeah. I’m fine.” I took a second to calm my insides, then leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. “I get motion sickness. I probably shouldn’t have been watching the movie. It wasn’t even any good—I was just bored.” And trying to distract myself from the thought-tornado inside my head.
“I know, right?” She gestured to the screen. “It’s just Helen Mirren, in makeup, talking. I mean, yeah she earned an Academy Award for it, but it’s not like we get to experience any of that with the sound off.” She chuckled. “And you know what? They play that movie every trip. It’s my seventieth bus ride, I’ve changed majors three times, and yet that goddamn movie is still the same.”
“Wow, seventy bus rides?”
“My girlfriend goes to Dartmouth and I’m at MIT.”
“I’m at MIT too!” I felt an automatic bond form between us. Was this what my mother felt with other Asians?
“I’m Jenn,” she said. Luckily, she didn’t hold her hand out.
“Nice to meet you! I’m Mei.” I barreled on to fill the silence, just in case a handshake was still on the horizon. “So, seventy trips, that’s gotta add up.”
Her features darkened for a moment, and I could tell she was contemplating whether or not to show me a window into something important but private. I knew that look all too well—I struggled with it every day growing up, when I didn’t know how to explain my parents to my classmates. By junior high, I’d stopped trying. It only led to more questions and a bigger target on my back for being different.
She took a breath. “The price of bus tickets is worth the small sacrifices of drinking less coffee and using the library’s textbooks instead of buying my own.” Her eyes lowered to her lap. “Sarah’s my family. My parents didn’t handle my coming out well. They made me choose between them and being