I’ve never had a strong opinion about myself. And even then, I’m only 75 percent sure. My mom always says that if I knew myself like I knew a department store, my life choices would be so much better.
“There won’t be any curse if you don’t believe there is,” Madame Xing insists. “But you have a very good heart, Weijun.”
* * *
Walking back to my hotel room, I feel buoyant. I don’t have any answers, but I think that I’ve been put on some newfound path. Is this how Jesus and Moses and Buddha felt 24/7? Did they feel simultaneously confused but inspired? Do all wise beings feel enlightened but extraordinary?
Whatever the solution is, I need a super-fun distraction.
As if on cue, Frank is waiting for me in the room, perched on the edge of the bed. He’s staring at his hands and fidgeting. He looks nervous and way younger. More vulnerable and more like a human being. Weirdly enough, though, this makes him look unbelievably, two-dimensionally handsome at the same time. Like a cardboard cutout of the actual Frank Liao. It’s like there are two conflicting personas inside him. Studious, nerdy, and serious vs. teasing, willing, and fun. Is he even a real person?
“I’m sorry for yesterday,” he begins with uncertainty.
I pause, unsure whether or not I should leave the room.
This is the first boy who has ever seriously apologized to me. Not once but multiple times in the days that we have known each other. Come to mention it, he’s the only person under twenty years old who has ever said a genuine “Sorry” to my face for being a little mean or rude. Is this what self-respect is? Accepting an honest and uncomfortable apology? Feeling that you deserve one at any given time, not just on major holidays like Christmas and your birthday?
As if sensing my hesitation, Frank astonishes me by pulling out a small burgundy velvet box with a swirly gold Asian floral pattern on it. I gasp. Is he asking me to be his girlfriend for the summer? Has Madame Xing already taken away my curse? Frank opens the box and I’m stunned when he takes out a very pretty purple jade pendant carved in the shape of an iris flower. It’s attached to a thin silver chain.
“I got this for you at the Panjiayuan Antique Market,” he says anxiously. “The flower obviously reminded me of you.”
I stare at him, oddly touched.
Selfish Peter Hayes never bought me a present the whole two years we were dating. In fact, I was the one always buying all the gifts in our relationship.
“Do you like it?” Frank asks in a quiet, barely-there voice. “It’s real jade, which was revered by emperors in ancient China. It signifies benevolence, honesty, wisdom, integrity, and bravery. You’re one of the most courageous people I have met. You always say and do what you are thinking and feeling. I’ve been saving up my tutoring money so I could give this to you.”
Unable to speak for once, I nod, and I allow Frank to clasp his gift around my neck. It feels smooth and cool and surprisingly light. Unlike a mall purchase, it feels like there is so much emotional value and meaning behind his super-generous and thoughtful gift.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say admiringly. “No one, except my parents, has ever given me jewelry before.”
Frank grins shyly at me, and I smile widely back.
“I keep thinking about you all the time,” he says. “I was going to wait until the end of summer to surprise you, but I honestly think you should know exactly how I feel now.…”
Madame Xing said to trust my own instincts, and I tell myself that I’m over Peter Hayes and horrendous boys who are liars, cheaters, and losers. I’m a better and worthier version of the old no-standards Iris Wang. I’m ready for Chinese Parent Approved boys who buy you expensive jade and apologize within twenty-four hours.
I’m not cursed anymore, I tell myself. I have improved my self-esteem by at least 30 percent.
Despite my fragile flower-heart, I might actually be okay.
Quietly, I sit beside Frank on the bed. My mom has a pair of earthy-green jade hoop earrings that her mother gave her when she married my dad. Her relatives all gave her brown, lavender, and mint-colored jade pendants, earrings, and rings during her wedding ceremony. Apparently, jade is a huge deal in Chinese culture. It symbolizes commitment, ferocious loyalty, and unconditional love because jade can never age or break. My mom never wears her jade jewelry but keeps it in a safety deposit box at the bank. “They’re worth everything,” she once told me when I was little, and she let me try them on once. By giving me a jade iris necklace, is Frank saying that he really, truly, definitely likes me?
Is there a possibility for a serious, authentic Beijing summer fling?
But Frank keeps staring at his hands for the longest time. For once, I decide to listen instead of talk. I let him make the first move.
“You are surprising,” he eventually admits. “You are funny, unpredictable, and extremely beautiful—”
“Did you just say I was beautiful?” I say, a little shocked. Beautiful Frank Liao thinks I’m good-looking? Peter used to tell me I was “just okay.”
I notice the veins pulsing in his neck. Frank’s sad-somber Jack Russell terrier expression. And all I want to do is take off his clothes and touch him everywhere. I just want to push him down on the bed and lick every square inch of him like a $7.99 three-scoop Nutella waffle cone from Baskin-Robbins. How do I tell Frank all this without scaring him away?
“It’s really not that simple,” Frank says, turning to face me. He tucks a loose strand of hair around my ear and slowly traces the silhouette of my collarbone with his fingers. It feels wonderful. Frank feels excitingly wonderful.
“Stop making it complicated,” I breathe. “Let’s just have fun this summer. Forget about my uncle. Forget about tutoring me.”
“Do you even know who your uncle is?” Frank asks suddenly. “Do you know who he is in Beijing?”
He glances away from me, and I wonder if my armpits actually smell. Maybe international travel can change a girl’s romantic scent for attracting a prospective boyfriend? In America, maybe I smelled like McDonald’s cheeseburgers and Sephora’s top-of-the-line beauty products, but in China, I could smell like leftover soybean noodles and rotten durian fruit. What if I still smell like the interior of an airplane after a 15.5-hour flight?
What do girls in Beijing usually smell like? Exotic flowers? Tropical melons with unpronounceable names?
I sniff myself in a panic, and Frank gives me a puzzled look.
Quickly, I pretend that I’m examining the jade necklace.
I’m worried that I’ve just ruined the romantic mood.
What would Madame Xing say about Frank and me? What would Buddha do? These are the two questions that will fundamentally rule my decision-making from now on. Honestly, I don’t know what will happen to us outside this hotel room. I don’t even know what will happen tomorrow or next week. All I know is that my urgent, desperate wanting of Frank in this exact moment outweighs my intense desire for a bowl of ice-cold coconut jellies and perfectly cooked hand-cut noodles.
Frank studies me, as if deciding what to do.
I wiggle out of my top.
I unhook my bra.
Off go my pants and matching underwear. Shit. I’ve accidentally thrown them so far across the room that I don’t know where they landed.