I pause.
“I’m totally fine,” I say, hoping that he doesn’t hear how upset I am. “I just got back to the hotel.”
“You are home?” he says, sounding a bit incredulous but also relieved. “Ruby with you?”
“I’m here, but Ruby isn’t.”
“Okay, please stay in hotel until Mr. Chen back.”
He hangs up the phone. I wonder what to do with this humongous mess. None of my clothes are salvageable unless I want to sew together a giant soggy past-life Iris quilt.
I start raiding Ruby’s closet.
Normally, I would never dare aggravate someone who is already so upset with me. As an only child, I’ve never fought a family member my age before. Even Samira and I, while growing up, have never had a horrible fight, only minor petty disagreements about crushes and clothing styles. I once spilled soy sauce on her white cotton knit sweater, and she once lost my favorite polka-dotted Kate Spade bag when I asked her to hold it for me while I went to the bathroom at Pinkberry. For twenty minutes, I was angry, and then I instantly forgave her. My mom was fifty times more angry than me. “I bought you that bag for Christmas!” she shouted. “Iris, how can you be so irresponsible? It cost two hundred fifty dollars on sale.”
But I don’t care anymore.
I am so furious that I almost don’t care anymore if Ruby will ever like me.
Angrily, I respond to my parents’ texts as I haphazardly throw piles of beautiful designer clothes on the bed, sorting them into outfits that I could possibly wear. Then I feel super, super guilty and put all the clothing items back on their hangers and in plastic bags and fold them neatly in the drawers and pray that Ruby will think that the maids moved her stuff. It takes me at least two hours to tidy up.
I don’t belong in Beijing.
I just want to go to my boring, familiar home in New Jersey.
WECHAT GROUP (#1WangFamily!!!)
Mom: How is Beijing?
IrisDaddy: How is everyone? Are you getting along with your cousin?
Iris: Fine …
IrisDaddy: Uncle D is taking care of you? You give him back the money, okay?
Iris: Uncle D is a fricking billionaire.
Mom: What are you talking about?
Iris: He’s super rich. Like movie star rich.
Mom: Huh?
Iris: Like crazy, crazy Asian rich. They’re CRAs (CRAZY RICH ASIANS)!!!
IrisDaddy: How do you know???
Iris: He lives at the Shangri-La. The hotel …
Mom: That’s probably why he just sent a message about not wanting any money for Iris’s expenses.
IrisDaddy: Tell him that we cannot accept. Give the money back.
Iris: I spent most of it already …
IrisDaddy: Okay, I’ll call him and pay him back. How much did you spend?
Iris: Don’t know.
Mom: ?
Iris: A cab driver scammed me and I lost all my things.
Mom: WHAT?!! Did no one teach you about strangers?
IrisDaddy: Are you okay??
Iris: Fine …
15
Job Interview
Deciding that I need to relax ASAP, I find a fluffy neon-pink Hello Kitty house robe and matching bedroom slippers in the bathroom. There’s a mouse-colored clay horsehair face mask in the cabinet, so I smear it on my skin and wait for it to settle.
The air is suffocating in Beijing, and I need all the help I can get for my clogged-up pores.
I find a notepad that belongs to the hotel. Despite being furious earlier, I don’t want to make a permanent enemy of someone who lives with me. It’s not in my easygoing, fun-loving nature. Because what if I never make a friend again?
Does everyone hate me?
I don’t know how to backtrack to Day 1 in Beijing and not touch Ruby’s dress. If I had sat there in the living room and pretended to be furniture, I wouldn’t be in the mess that I’m in now. It’s my nonsensical lack of control that has led to all of my current apocalyptic life disasters. How can I stop stuffing down the fifth scoop of double-fudge gelato when I’m ridiculously full? How do I stop myself from becoming a popping champagne bottle of nervous energy and making really shitty, regrettable decisions?
I tell myself—if I can befriend Ruby, I can befriend anyone, and I’m not, after all, a social pariah.
I’m sooo sorry about your dress. Can we please talk?
xoxo.
Iris
Sighing, I slip the note under Ruby’s door in the guest bedroom. I don’t know if she’ll respond, but it’s worth a try. I don’t know how to remedy this situation of a botched-up, unwearable dress. How can I make this better?
With Samira or Peter, it would be one ounce of sorry-weed, a gallon of Rocky Road ice cream with marshmallows, or even a sixteen-inch vegetarian pizza with extra cheese—but how do teenagers in China show remorse? Is this a cultural faux pas dropping a note under someone’s door? Apparently, I’m just not Chinese enough. How can I be both eccentric and trophy-winning to gain Ruby’s approval? In Beijing, being below average is not in vogue.
Flopping on the couch in the living room, feeling miserable, I try to watch TV, but all the channels are in Chinese. I finally settle on the Shopping Channel because at least I can look at the models wearing tons of purple jade jewelry and holding leather handbags like survival kits.
Thank god Shopping is a universal language, something I at least understand.
Normally, watching a clothing catalog would soothe me, but there’s a funny, deeply unsettling feeling inside me, which I attribute first to homesickness and second to culture shock. I just don’t understand how Ruby could hate me, especially when we are related. I have never had a sister before, let alone a cousin. Why won’t Ruby accept my sincere apology? How long do people in China hold grudges for? What’s the proper etiquette?
Even though my aunt and uncle are kind and everyone looks exactly like me, I don’t fit in. Beijing is just like watching the Shopping Channel; you can touch the beautiful sale items on the television screen, but you are separated by four inches of glass and colored pixels.
I stare at the flashing images on the big-screen TV: sandals, a silver crystal-studded watch, an orange infinity scarf, dangling beaded hippie bracelets. I know that this could be an opportunity for self-betterment, but I honestly don’t know how to start. I have no idea what to do with myself when left alone. I try a search engine: how to make friends in China, but there’s nothing helpful.
But that’s when I see it: a model holding a bright new red handbag to make me feel better about myself. It’s only 20,000 yuan, and it could replace all the ones that I lost in the taxi. I could buy one for my mom, my aunt, and even Ruby.
With a sharp spasm of relief, I’m just incredibly glad that I put her belongings back in her Doggy-Pageant Closet ASAP. On the screen, I can feel the shiny bags calling to me. Gifts are tokens of friendship, and isn’t fire-hazard red supposed to be a lucky color?
What if I offer to help Ruby with her professional hobby? Maybe she needs an assistant? I know nothing about dog grooming, but how hard can it be to wash and cut hair?
The telephone number keeps flashing across the screen like a benevolent call-alert reminder.
The narrator is reading out the numbers in Chinese.
What is the purpose of having a Visa card and not using it? Then I remember that the card is not actually mine. But the voice nagging me is saying that at least I’m being an asset to China’s expanding economy. How can I not want to participate when the TV seems to be calling specifically to me?