Also, both Ruby and I don’t want to converse with each other.
I don’t know exactly how I feel about her, but I understand why she resents me. To Ruby and Frank, they must think that I’m a rich American who grew up in relative comfort and luxury. They’re actually right. I have never gone without heat or electricity or food. My parents have given me everything that I have ever wanted.
I have never even had a summer job.
I always just received a weekly allowance for being their daughter. It was like I was being paid for waking up in the morning, showing up for meals, and being a friendly, easy-to-talk-to seventeen-year-old girl. I could complain and moan about my mom’s cooking and cleaning skills, and I would still get my allowance.
I just assumed that they loved me as much as I loved them. I never asked them what they wanted or if I was doing anything wrong.
Whether that makes me spoiled or entitled or annoying doesn’t matter. Madame Xing was right. It’s really up to me to choose the direction of Hurricane Iris and pick what kind of beautiful, powerful storm I want to be. Isn’t the tiger, if not an empress, some kind of jungle VIP?
Suddenly, I have an idea.
Instead of cooking for hours, I think that we should pamper ourselves, especially after a very stressful day of death threats and moving. I excuse myself and go downstairs to speak with the concierge to order some in-room pedicures, manicures, and hot stone massages. After all, we are in a seven-star hotel with an award-winning spa.
I smile enthusiastically at the young woman at the front desk lobby and manage to befriend her. Soon, we are chatting nonstop and she’s showing me photos on her phone. Her fiancé works in the hotel as a fitness center trainer, and they are getting married in a few months. He’s a lean, muscular man with a big head and an even bigger smile. I explain my situation to her and say that I want to do something extra-extra-nice for my grandma, who I never met until this year.
“No problem,” she says, grinning at me. “We give you complimentary spa service. The Red Mandarin Hotel always value its long-term guests.”
She half bows at me. I half curtsy back, beaming.
SUCCESS!
* * *
“A spa evening is less work!” I say to my grandparents when I return to the penthouse apartment, and explain my idea. Surely everyone will be receptive to services that cause relaxation and family bonding during difficult times? I still wonder why anyone would find it enjoyable to spend hours folding and puckering dumpling dough. I love eating, but I don’t want to make my own food. I love clothes, too, but I don’t want to learn how to sew.
Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Ruby translates my suggestion. Grandma and Grandpa look horrified by my extravagance until I explain that it’s all free. Anyway, I continue, my plan is way better for relaxing. It seems a shame not to use the spa in a seven-star hotel. Besides, who knows how many days or months my grandparents have left? Honestly, why would Grandma want to waste what could possibly be the last years of her life cooking? She should be calling in room service every night in her old age. She should be enjoying hot massages by good-looking dudes three times a day.
When Uncle Dai and Auntie Yingfei stop by, they seem a bit shocked, but even they smile when they are offered a massage and pedicure.
“We are taking a break from studying,” I say, and Ruby nods quickly. We gesture at the textbooks that we have stacked on the floor. Ruby left the top one open, so it looks like I have done some work. In fact, at my grandparents’, I have already learned three new phrases, in addition to I love you. I’m getting used to hearing “Nǐ chī fàn le ma” (“Have you eaten?”) and then replying, mouth full, “Wǒ zài chī!” (“I’m eating right now!”) and when I’m sweating like a rhinoceros and my stomach is clenching with pain: “Wǒ bǎo le!!!” (“I’m too full!!!”) I’ve even managed to read two more chapters of my textbook, and I’m furiously parroting all the phrases at least a hundred times each. Somehow, learning Mandarin in real-life situations makes it easier to remember and understand.
Like overeating, wanting to be pampered runs in our family.
As the nail technicians work on my grandpa’s long bony feet, even he relaxes. He smiles, then starts tearing up with what looks like happiness. Not tears of pain, I hope. My grandma excitedly chooses a burgundy polish for her hands and feet. Ruby tells me that our grandmother has never had a manicure before, and I’m shocked.
“But she lives in a seven-star hotel!” I say.
“Yes, but my dad pays for it all,” Ruby says. “Until five years ago, we were all quite poor. She’s not accustomed to this lifestyle.”
On the spur of the moment, I decide to get bright red acrylic claws like Madame Xing. The fortune-teller has amazing, world-class taste.
Even Ruby smiles and looks like she’s enjoying herself. Astonishingly, she even chats with me (shyly looking away) while she has her deluxe reflexology massage and intensive callus filing. I stare at her short wide feet. They look exactly like mine. No one has my size-five badminton-racket feet, not even my dad.
“Honestly, I really admire how you just say what you think even if it doesn’t make sense,” she says hesitantly.
Her defenses are down. My dad says that nothing brings people together like having their toenails trimmed and dead skin cleaned. He says that if you send Stalin and Genghis Khan and Napoleon to a nail salon, they’ll come out as BFFs. I don’t know who these people are, but I assume that he’s talking about his high school clique.
I shrug, like it’s no big deal. I never expected a compliment from Ruby!
“That’s easy,” I say. “I open my mouth and words just come out.”
“That’s a really useful skill,” my cousin says, looking impressed. “You should go into business. You’d have no trouble with the networking part. Beijing success is all about who you know.”
Her phone buzzes. She flushes and ignores it.
“Who are you always texting?” I ask, genuinely curious. Hesitating, I add, “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
She blushes again. “I’m on this app called TanTan for online dating, where you swipe right or left depending if you like a guy. It’s all good until I finally meet them. I’ve had thousands of matches and they all seem to run away when we meet. It’s like I have bad breath or something. Is it my personality? I don’t know how to talk to people, especially guys in person. It’s so much easier when it’s online.”
My mind is blown. There’s a Chinese Tinder called TanTan?
“I wish you had mentioned the dating app when I first arrived,” I exclaim. “It would have made things much more interesting than they already are!”
Ruby laughs appreciatively.
“Don’t worry, your boy problems seem to be genetic,” I reassure my cousin. “All the dudes I hook up with usually run away too.”
To my own surprise, I tell her about Peter and Samira, Frank, and the hot springs. Ruby giggles. She can’t stop. It hurts to talk about my ex–best friend and ex-boyfriend, but somehow, I feel relieved too. Like there has been an enormous secret stored inside me. Like a bellyache, the hurt has been growing since I arrived in Beijing, even though I have done my best to ignore it.