Rent a Boyfriend - Gloria Chao Page 0,9

like part of the family so quickly, Wang Ǎyí, Shǔshú.”

Ha. My parents were faking as much as he was. And nowhere near as well. I poked my misshapen ball of fried dough and cheese wrapped in a white fluffy bāo.

As Frankenbāo neared my reluctant mouth, our doorbell rang.

Saved by the bell. I dropped the monster, which, for the record, smelled exactly how I expected it would: not Chinatown sidewalk garbage on a hot day, but not edible, either.

Andrew, my father, and I all stood in hopes of using the doorbell to delay more bites, but my father held up a palm to insist he have the honor.

Andrew coughed a few times into his napkin, having stood too fast.

“Did you choke on a raisin?” I asked, rubbing his back like I guessed a good girlfriend would. I lowered my voice. “Because that’s a perfectly normal thing to find in your scrambled egg–honey sandwich.”

He let out a sudden cough-laugh, which made me jump.

“Hmm? Some inside joke?” my mother asked.

I nodded. Andrew and I shared a smile, but mine promptly fell when my father reentered the kitchen with a visitor in tow.

“Look who so kindly decided to drop by, Jing-Jing!” exclaimed my dad—now Vanna White—as he waved his hands up and down the visitor’s body to present him to the table. My father’s face was lit up like a Chinese New Year lantern, his previous hump-adjacent excitement over Andrew now forgotten.

My mother ran over and shoved an empty chair between Andrew and me.

For Hongbo.

Drew

This was most certainly Hongbo.

Slightly raised chin and half-concealed, half-on-display smug expression? He might as well have been wearing a name tag.

“Hey-o, boys and girls!” Hongbo said too loudly, followed by a chuckle.

Despite the obvious fact that I was here with Jing-Jing, like with with her, Hongbo marched right up to us and stuck a bouquet of bloodred roses under her nose.

“Roses for my rose,” he said, nudging her with the plastic wrapping in an effort to force her to accept. “You look… rosy… as always.”

He couldn’t even sell the compliment, choking on the words as they came out. Amateur. He should’ve just pretended he was talking to his beloved Sheila, to which Jing-Jing had devoted an entire paragraph on her form. And, sadly, Hongbo didn’t know Jing-Jing well enough to know her hatred of flowers, especially roses. They’re cliché, a waste of money, and a half-assed effort from someone who barely knows you, she had written. Nailed that square on the head, hadn’t she?

Jing-Jing sat there, frozen, her eyes downcast, so Hongbo threw the bouquet on the table, smashing my sandwich in the process. As classy as the Lamborghini T-shirt beneath his freshly pressed blazer. Yikes.

Hongbo was holding back whatever was on his mind, and not very well; his teeth were clenched so tight his jawline fluttered like a hummingbird.

What the hell was going on here? Hongbo obviously had no interest in Jing-Jing (I’d seen better liars kicked out of Rent for Your ’Rents on day one), yet something was driving this pathetic courting (if it could even be called that). Why bother, when this was all their parents’ idea? He should be on our side, not theirs.

“Thank you so much for the flowers, Hongbo,” Jing-Jing said, her voice small. This was not the girl from the application who had angrily typed (in the sixth paragraph) about the misogynistic, philandering, sorry ass of a human who was necessitating my paycheck. “They’re lovely,” she continued, “but I can’t accept them. It would be rude to my—”

Before she could finish, her mother rushed over and scooped up the roses. “Aiyah, you shouldn’t have, Hongbo. So generous you are, just like your parents. Such fee-lan-therapists.”

With disgust, Hongbo corrected her: “Philanthropists.”

Mrs. Wang flushed all shades of red but recovered quickly. “I just heard about your parents’ latest donation to the church, which was larger than any other donation ever given, a record they also previously held. Amazing! They’ve donated so much that everything should be named after them, but they’re so humble and always refuse the recognition.”

Right. Jing-Jing had mentioned in her application that the church was the pillar of their community, and Hongbo’s family, as the biggest financial supporters, were like gods (but second to the real God, of course).

“Number One donors and Number One bachelor here,” Mrs. Wang finished with enthusiasm.

Mr. Wang clapped Hongbo on the back. “We just invested a large chunk of our savings into Number One stocks. Do us proud, yes?”

Jing-Jing’s raised eyebrows told me this was unexpected.

Even