Rent a Boyfriend - Gloria Chao Page 0,4

that, Hongbo. Your family may be rich, but Andrew just checked the money and prestige boxes, sucker. And yes, we might have been playing into the fact that my parents wished they had gone into medicine instead of dentistry after hearing too many “couldn’t get into medical school?” jokes. I was not above cheap shots.

“What specialty?” My father’s voice was only a smidge louder than a whisper.

“Surgery.” A lauded field with a department large enough that my parents wouldn’t bother learning how to google just to confirm. And my dad might have once hinted at wanting to be an oral surgeon, but he hadn’t been accepted into any programs—if I was going to take a cheap shot, might as well go all out, right?

“Wow, surgeons at the University of Chicago,” my father repeated, like he was trying to make the information sink in. My parents called the university by its full name, as if that somehow made it more prestigious.

“So you went to the University of Chicago because your parents guaranteed you a spot?” my mother asked Andrew with one eyebrow raised.

“I did briefly consider Harvard and Stanford, but I couldn’t turn down a top biology program down the street from my family. Now, UChicago’s biology may not be as good as its economics”—he nudged me with an elbow—“but not all of us can handle a major that rigorous.”

Jackpot, on so many levels.

My father said, “You turned down Stanford?” at the same time my mother said, “You think economics is a good field?”

Yes, they were digs at me, but I would take the hit to remind them that UChicago was not a schlub school and that economics was not a “cop-out,” “easy-A” major. Might as well get my money’s worth and kill several birds, right? And the unexpected turkey on the table was a bonus dead bird.

I was smiling into my gravy, a little smug and a lot relieved, when my mother asked the last question I would’ve guessed. I mean, it wasn’t even on the list I’d curated for Andrew, and that was the most comprehensive form I’d ever filled out, more probing than my college apps.

“What drew you to Jing-Jing?” she asked. Her eyes were dreamy, but I saw the malice beneath. How she was just waiting for him to admit he didn’t know, or that, like her, he thought my smile was too wide, my hips and chest too small, my personality too anxious.

Andrew had flinched at the start of my mother’s question as if the word “drew” had clued him in to what was coming next. He must have prepared for this—I mean, come on, this was the most obvious question a mother would ask, and even though I hadn’t thought to put it on the list, surely the company had?

“That…,” Andrew began slowly, “is a difficult question, because there are too many answers to choose from.”

Barf. Please.

He turned to me and put a hand on mine briefly, so purposefully it felt timed, which it probably was. It took all my concentration not to pull away and to instead look at him as if I were gooey inside. It didn’t work.

He chuckled, which startled me, and then said, “That’s a perfect example right there. I love how she’s so strong and independent she can’t just take my compliment or enjoy when I graze her hand affectionately. So endearing, isn’t it?”

My mother’s raised eyebrows said no, but the way she was gazing at Andrew said, Please marry my daughter.

“But the very first thing that drew me to her? Was how her life is so neatly stacked into little boxes. I admire it, that kind of structure and discipline. I’m sure her success in life—being at UChicago and thriving—is due in no small part to this. And to you both, of course. I also love how passionate she is. I’ve never seen anyone fill out a mundane form with as much exuberance as her.”

I almost burst out laughing. He winked at me, and a tiny frozen piece of my insides indeed melted into gooeyness.

My parents beamed at each other and at him (but not me), and we finished that restaurant-made turkey with gusto.

* * *

There was something about my parents wanting to impress Andrew that churned the guilt in my stomach. Except… they were the reason I was engaging in this convoluted charade. And yes, I was aware of the absurdity, in case anyone thought otherwise.

After chrysanthemum tea and pumpkin pie from a box with a hastily scratched-at