Rent a Boyfriend - Gloria Chao Page 0,70
one race that selected on obedience, not looks.”
While the audience laughed, my girl crush on her grew. I hoped my confidence could be as high as hers one day.
“So anyways, this guy, my date, tells me he’s going to give me an education in Chinese food because he’s a quote-on-quote ‘expert.’ ” She made air quotes with her free hand. “Well, of course, he took me for chow mein, General Gao’s chicken, and moo goo gai pan.”
No one else laughed, which amplified mine. I stopped short, embarrassed. Wait, why weren’t the other Asians laughing? Were their families not as judgy as Lu Pàng about Americanized Chinese food?
Ying-Na gestured to me. “Thank you, jiějie! My Asian sister!”
She smiled, and I wondered if she could make out my features from stage. Would she remember me?
“For the rest of you, that’s not Chinese food. And for the record, I’m also not related to every other Chu out there.”
She sipped her water as we laughed. I thought of how in high school, everyone had assumed Ping Lu was my cousin, but no one assumed Ally Jones and Mike Jones were related.
“So halfway through our date, this guy tells me he has ESP. He thought he was part of a government experiment.” She paused to push her lips into a straight line and stared at us with wary eyes. “This is a true story, guys. He told me that he exclusively dates Asians because we’re the only ones who can understand since we also have superpowers—math, obedience, and DDR, of course. Naturally, I stayed. I only have two check boxes on my list.” She held up one finger. “Not chosen by my mother and”—another finger—“doesn’t like my mother.”
Pause. “Just kidding. I actually chucked five rolls at him, then yelled, ‘Use your fucking ESP’ when they all hit him in the face.”
The audience cheered. Some whistled, some woo-ed, and others chanted “Chu! Chu! Chu!” which blended with the woos concordantly.
“Now, after my date with Racist Man, Boston’s newest superhero, my checklist also includes no yellow fever . . . which means I will be single forever. Unless I let my mother help me. The last time she tried to set me up, she brought three brothers over and told me to choose one. I started haggling with them, thinking she’d be impressed by how much I’d learned during our last trip to China.”
In a Chinese accent, she mimicked, “Two dollar, how about two dollar for you to leave me alone?”
She reverted to her American accent. “By the end of it, I was out fifty bucks and my mother was probably out another hundred bucks just to get them there in the first place.”
She smiled while the crowd chuckled. The mic still in her hand, she grabbed the stand with the other and froze for a second, thinking.
“You know, that’s a lucrative business there—matchmaker for the mothers, bouncer for the daughters. Anyone out there interested in investing?”
She placed a hand over her eyes to shield the spotlight and looked left, then right. Several hands went in the air.
“Two dollar?” she asked in a Chinese accent. “Two dollar going once, twice . . .”
Everyone roared. I glanced around at the bodies rocking back and forth, the knee slaps, the clapping hands. Closing my eyes, I focused on the laughter wrapping around me, basking in Ying-Na’s hard-earned success. She hadn’t just survived; she was on her way up, and all by herself.
“So for those of you who aren’t familiar—and to those, I ask, what Big Dig rubble have you been living under?—boys are the desired babies in Chinese culture. When my brother was born, my parents snapped hundreds of photos of him daily, get this—with no pants. They got their firstborn son, and damn it, the world had better see the teeny-tiny proof. Good thing they didn’t have Instagram in those days. His penis would have been immortalized, the Confucius of penises.”
Ying-Na’s aura was on fire. She was so clearly meant for this. If only her parents could see her now. If only the entire community could see her. Although then she’d lose her source material. I chuckled, thinking about how she had won. She had turned their punishment into her success, the ultimate revenge.
“Have any of you noticed how a lot of Chinese proverbs revolve around bathroom humor? Anyone got one for me?” Ying-Na held a hand up to her ear and waved encouragement with the other.
“Búyào tuō kùzi fàngpì! ” I bellowed.
Ying-Na clapped her hands, the sound amplified by