But it turns out that fried scorpion is a lot like devouring a small piece of extra-crispy, battered fish. Full of nutrients and protein.
“It just needs some tartar sauce, lemon, and French fries,” I say.
Frank looks slightly confused. But he laughs loudly when I buy another round of deep-fried insects on sticks: crunchy tarantulas, oversize beetles, silkworms, scorpions, and buttery-tasting caterpillars.
Frank even looks majorly impressed.
“Are all Americans as spontaneous as you?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging coyly. “Maybe? But I’m definitely up for anything involving food, drugs, sex, and fun.”
Frank is gaping openly at me.
I take that as an invitation to lean in and kiss him firmly on the mouth. No tongue.
He doesn’t kiss me back because his mouth is still hanging wide open from surprise when I finally pull away.
“You’re pretty okay yourself, Frank Liao,” I tease, popping a silkworm into his mouth.
And I don’t let him say anything else, but now it’s an all-out bug-eating competition, and I bet Frank that I can chow down more grubs than him!
I take a photo of us eating our dessert insects and upload it on Instagram. Forty instant likes.
“How is your family doing?” he says, suddenly looking serious. “Do you like living with your uncle Dai?”
“He’s really … um … great,” I say. My voice falters as I think about the huge wad of yuan in my wallet. Somehow, like a guilty conscience, the money seems to weigh my bag down whenever I think about it.
“Family is always complicated,” Frank says knowingly. He sighs, as if he has a lot of personal experience.
“Oh my god, tell me about it,” I say, picking a bit of tarantula from between my teeth. “My family has more layers and legs and wings than all these bugs combined. I mean, I honestly love all of them, but some more than others. Like I think these caterpillars are so much better-tasting than these worms, but I guess they all belong to the same family.”
As I say this, I can’t help but keep thinking of Uncle Dai’s horror-stricken face and my grandmother’s noisy tears from a few nights ago. I keep remembering her scary-strong old-lady grip and how desperate and heart-aching she looked when she saw me. My poor undead grandma who was so happy to hold me. I wonder if silkworms and caterpillars have secrets. Tarantulas and scorpions definitely do.
Smirking, Frank suddenly leans over and I think he’s going to kiss me, but he just feeds me a mouthwatering beetle. Slightly disappointed, I chew and swallow extra slowly.
“Speaking of family, we should hurry back and work on some formal vocabulary for addressing aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents,” Frank says, giving me one of his worried, sympathetic smiles. “Have you met all of your family yet in Beijing? Is Ruby your only cousin? Do you generally get along?”
“Listen, I actually need to do something important today,” I say, not answering his questions. “I thought about what you said last night about not trying, and I honestly want to do better.”
If I have the guts to eat a bunch of potentially poisonous bugs, why can’t I disobey Uncle Dai? Why can’t I meet my grandmother? It’s not like my uncle ever has to know. Since my dad lives in another time zone, when would he find out? Who would tell him? Admittedly, curiosity did kill the cat, but I’m a Tiger. It’s not a betrayal of family loyalty if my insatiable need for the truth will reunite my dad with his parents. I want a full family tree, not one with missing limbs and leaves.
Visiting my grandparents will be like Ruby practicing for her creative dog grooming show.
Just another family secret.
Frank waves his fingers in my face. I barely notice.
“What’s going on in there?” he asks, sounding confused. “Is everything okay?”
“Tell you later!” I say, smooching him on the cheek.
Before he can react, I race off and leave him with the tray of crispy leftover bugs.
* * *
Scanning the bustling street, I try to hail a taxi, but then I see the same old skinny dude, who grins and insists on giving me a ride on the rickshaw for free.
He wheezes asthmatically, and I feel so scared that his job is going to end his life.
“Do you need a break?” I yell as he pedals, but he doesn’t understand English.
We finally stop at the Red Mandarin Hotel outside a Western-looking neighborhood called Sanlitun. I still insist on giving him a small pile of yuan, since he seemed to have risked his health to help me. Outside the hotel, I buy a bouquet of fresh-cut daisies and purple rhododendrons for my grandmother.
Pretending that I am a guest in the hotel, I take the key card and ride the elevator to room 33245. It’s on the thirty-third floor. I knock firmly but there’s no answer. I try the key, and the door clicks open, and I’m suddenly inside a large luxury suite with classical Chinese paintings and fine gold furnishings. It looks very fancy, even more upscale and modern than our penthouse in the Shangri-La.
“Hello?” I say. “Grandma?”
“Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo ma?” I decide to add, in case she doesn’t respond to English. What if she thinks I’m a foreign thief? I keep chorusing the greeting for a good full minute, and then I think she might actually be hard of hearing. I knock loudly on each door of the suite and then enter the room when no one responds. As I fling open each door (three bedrooms, two point five bathrooms), I call out “Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo ma,” which is the only Chinese I can remember.
But no one is home.
I didn’t expect the penthouse suite to be empty. I had a vision of me giving my grandmother the flowers and embracing her. I just imagined old people stayed home all day. For some reason, I thought she would be sitting on a couch, knitting a scarf, and maybe enjoying a cup of oolong tea. What else would she do?
Where would an old person go?
I wait.
I check my phone for English-Mandarin phrases that I can quickly learn. “Sorry, I don’t understand,” bù hǎo yì si, wǒ tīng bù dǒng, could be a very useful phrase, and so could “Wait a moment,” děng yī xià, when I’m googling the English translations. I practice each one at least one hundred times. Due to the extreme stress of learning, I eventually fall asleep on the couch. My eyes are slowly lulled to sleep by a language that I should know, and one that I’m hopefully improving in.
Someone yelps in surprise.
I jolt awake.
It takes me a while to remember where I am.
“Grandma! Grandma! It’s me, Weijun!” I say, still groggy. “I’m your granddaughter!”
I force myself to open my eyes.
But it’s just a hotel maid carrying groceries. Stunned, she drops the bag and milk leaks from a plastic carton. Apologizing in half-Chinese, half-English, she immediately grabs a towel and begins wiping the floor. But there is a well-dressed and good-looking elderly couple trailing slowly behind her. The man is skeleton-thin and carrying a walking stick. He leans on the elderly lady for support.
In case they don’t remember me, I say, “Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo ma,” in a loud, extra-friendly tone so they will not feel threatened by an intruder in their home.
“Weijun!” my grandmother gasps. Then she starts speaking to me in rapid Chinese. Of course, I don’t understand anything.