Page 40 of The Boyfriend List
We make small talk about our families, jobs, and friends. I try to overlook his earlier rudeness. Maybe he’s nervous and that’s why he went on about his diet and fitness regimen. Maybe he doesn’t have many hobbies outside of the gym. I mean, that’s not theworstthing, right?
“So, what else do you do for fun?” I ask.
“I like to paint Warhammer miniatures,” he says.
I blink. So Rob is a geek. And a gym bro. I guess that combinationcouldexist in a man, but I had hoped that man wouldn’t be my date. “What’s Warhammer?”
He looks at me like I’ve just asked him who the President is or what the word ‘appalling’ means. “Are you serious? It’s only the best tabletop game ever.”
“Tabletop game? You mean, like, air hockey?” I twirl a strand of my hair. Of course I know what a tabletop game is—a classmate I knew in college used to play Dungeons and Dragons. Unfortunately, she always chose to play in my dorm’s common room, filling it with hexagonal dice and yelling about ork invasions.
“You’re joking, right?” Rob’s expression of disbelief could be framed next to the word ‘shock’ in the dictionary. Jaw dropped, eyes wider than the bulls-eye of the target, and he sets down his beer.
“So, miniature-painting? Is that like dressing up Barbies?” I purposely annoy him further. At this point, I should just end our date and put this poor man out of his misery.
“No,” he says, his voice filled with the sort of petulance and indignation I thought I would never hear in someone older than twelve. “You know what, I don’t think this is going to work out between us.”
“Agreed.” I finish my sparkling water. “Thanks for your time.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath likeI can’t believe she doesn’t know what Warhammer is.
We go our separate ways, and I lament the waste of an evening. Part of me wishes I’d never picked up my phone, so that I could still be dancing with London in my living room.
Except that wouldn’t be enough, either. Because he’ll never see me as anything more than a friend, and he’ll never dance with me for any other reason than practical ones.
Chapter Fourteen: London
Despite the fact that most of the Young family only speaks enough Chinese to order off a takeout menu, our parents insist on gathering us for Chinese holidays every year. This September, it’s the mid-autumn festival. Our annual Chinese version of Thanksgiving, where we gather to enjoy spherical foods that represent the moon, pretend we can actually seeChang’erliving up on the lunar surface, and embrace the importance of familial togetherness. At least, in theory.
Everyone’s here, from Savannah and her fiancé to Brooklyn and his wife and kids. Mooncakes—a lotus paste- and salted egg yolk-filled dessert—line the granite counter, next to pomelos in vibrant hues of red and pink and orange. They’re a popular Chinese fruit, similar to grapefruits but sweeter and juicier. Too bad the conversation I’m having with my dad leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“How’s work going?” he asks me. Our only topic.
“Fine,” I say, nibbling at a slice of mooncake. “There’s a promotion for senior associate coming up.”
“You’re in the running, then,” he says. A statement, not a question. Perhaps I should be glad he doesn’t doubt my abilities, but the pressure feels more like he thinks I have no choice but to be in the running. No choice but to live up to his legacy.
“Yep.” I leave out the fact that I don’t want it as I separate the salted egg yolk—meant to represent the fullest, brightest moon of the year—from the lotus seed paste, and pop it into my mouth. “Are your colleagues throwing you a retirement party soon?”
He stiffens slightly, and I wait for his verbal blow, to seize on something I misspoke carelessly and use it as a dagger. He doesn’t. Not this time, but that just means I have to wait for the next one. “I don’t want any fuss. Life goes on. People retire. What’s the big deal?”
“I guess so.” He’s been working as an attorney at his firm for thirty years now. Longer than I’ve been alive.
Dad continues. “Your mother doesn’t want to attend the retirement dinner that your grandparents are throwing. All because she doesn’t want to see your aunts and uncles.”
There’s always been tension between my mom and her in-laws. I think most of it stems from the fact that they think she’s too stuck-up for them, since she comes from a wealthier, upper middle-class family in Hong Kong and went to an exclusive Catholic girls’ school, while they were barely toeing the poverty line in Kowloon.
“You just said you didn’t want a retirement dinner,” I say with a frown.
“It’s not about celebrating me,” he says flippantly. “It’s about my family.Ourfamily.”
I wish he’d stop making such a big show about his family when most weeknights growing up, he didn’t get home until ten. On the weekends, he was too tired to do much of anything, so we were all put in different extracurriculars and shuttled around by Mom.
But of course, I can’t tell him that. Not when it would irritate him even more.
“Right.” I stuff the rest of the piece of mooncake in my mouth, its chewy, slightly tacky texture sticking to my teeth. At least I don’t have to speak with my mouth full, lest I say something I’ll regret later.
Brooklyn comes up to our dad and starts talking about his own job, so I let the two of them converse.
