Rent a Boyfriend - Gloria Chao Page 0,63

laughed into her hair, and our bodies shook together in relief, pain, and celebration.

When Esther and I separated, Xing’s eyes met mine, and we just stared at each other for what felt like forever. I could see the pain and weariness in his eyes, but there was no remorse. He placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing, and I nodded once to signal my love, my solidarity, and so much more I didn’t even comprehend yet. Somehow, the exchange felt even more intimate than a hug.

The moment broke when the swift nest hoarder pulled Xing away to congratulate him.

Darren and I loaded up on abalone in black bean sauce, stir-fried lobster, and pork fried rice—the safest options. Despite the mound of food on my plate and my Lu blood, I only stomached a few bites.

I swallowed hard, my fifth spoonful of rice catching in my dry throat. “Darren, I think I’m going to head home.”

“Right now? But we haven’t danced yet.”

I couldn’t dance here, in public, to celebratory music. I needed Mr. Porter. I needed to scream, punch, and stomp. Xing would understand.

I collected my things and stood. “Thanks for coming with me. I’m sorry it was such a disaster.”

“Mei, wait! Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take you home.”

I nodded, then scurried out the door, assuming he was close behind. The cab ride was silent—awkward this time—with Darren sneaking worried glances at me as I pretended not to notice.

As we neared campus, I finally spoke—to my lap, because I was unable to look at him. “I’m really sorry about today.”

He grabbed my limp hand. “I’m here for you, Mei. You’re not alone.”

“How can you even want to be in the same car as me after seeing my aunt?”

He puffed out a breath, the fog disappearing as quickly as my happiness had. But before he could say anything—I didn’t think I could take it, whatever it was—I slipped my palm from his, reluctant but determined.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” I forced my gaze to meet his. “I’m doing this for you, so you don’t have to go through what Esther did. I think it’d just be easier. For your sake. For both our sakes.”

“When are you going to stop fighting who are you? What you want?” He shook his head over and over. “Don’t do this.”

We pulled up to Burton Conner. “I’m really sorry.”

I exited the car before he could stop me, and before I could change my mind.

Voicemail from my mother

Mei? It’s your mǔqīn. Bǎbá doesn’t want you to come. I’m not the one who told you this, but . . . the Chuang Funeral Home. In Chinatown. Saturday at noon. Come late and sneak in so he doesn’t see you.

CHAPTER 23

GOOD-BYE

I TOOK MY MOTHER’S ADVICE and went to the funeral late so I could slip in with the crowd, hopefully unseen by my father and aunt. In what screwed-up world did the granddaughter have to sneak into her grandmother’s funeral to hide from her family? But today wasn’t about all that crap. It was about saying good-bye to Nǎinai.

“What are you?” the cabdriver asked me in an Eastern European accent. “Like, as in, ethnicity.”

“Chinese.”

“No, you can’t be. You much too big to be Chinese.”

“Well, you’re too rude to deserve a tip.” Why did everyone think anything above size zero was obese for Asians? I glared at him, hoping he would see in the rearview mirror.

Fifty dollars later, I arrived at the funeral home. I was too spent to argue with the jerk about driving ten miles out of the way. I threw cash in the front seat as I exited, no tip as promised.

Outside the funeral home, I paused. The pagoda-shaped entrance was from one of my two worlds, the one in which I didn’t belong.

I looked at the buildings across the street, outside Chinatown. Tufts Medical Center. The W Hotel. McDonald’s. I didn’t belong in that world, either.

Roommate number one’s harsh words echoed in my mind, reverberating louder and louder. Even my grandparents hadn’t belonged anywhere, driven out of China by the Communists, yet foreigners in Taiwan. Maybe I was destined to be lost, just like them.

My legs numbly carried me inside. The funeral home was dark and I relaxed slightly. The dimness matched my mood and masked my presence, almost as if I were a bystander, watching instead of partaking. I felt like an intruder.

The memorial service had begun, and the small space was filled with vaguely familiar faces. Despite the cold, the