“A high forehead means remarkable intelligence, like your daughter,” she explains, pointing at Ruby. “Sometimes, though, you need to use your heart and think about what’s right.”
“What do you mean?” Uncle Dai asks.
“Your family will not stay together if you don’t build a school,” she warns. “Bad things will happen to those you love.”
“More protestor?” he asks, looking serious.
“Sometimes our countries and hearts are more worth it than profit,” she says, and Uncle Dai doesn’t respond. He looks deeply lost in his thoughts. But his eyes water nonstop, and he pretends to check his phone, while asking Auntie Yingfei for allergy meds.
Madame Xing winks at me.
A professional photographer suddenly snaps our photo.
We gather for another shot, but this time, we pose formally and smile. I put my arms around my parents. I have honestly missed them while I have been away. No longer furious and frustrated at them, I’m just incredibly happy that they will be staying for a few weeks. In our WeChat group, we’ve already planned to visit Shanghai, Jiuzhaigou National Park, Zhangjiajie, and Baofeng Lake. While my mom and I shop, my dad, Uncle Dai, and my grandpa will spend some time getting to know each other and trying to forgive each other for the past.
Then Ruby and her mom will go on the Europe trip together.
Even though I would love to whirlwind across Paris, Italy, and Spain, I know Ruby wants this time with her mother. Just like I want one-on-one time with my parents. As I promised Uncle Dai, I will begin interning at the front desk at Feng Construction Corp and maybe learn about coffee making and email writing. Uncle Dai will pay me a minimum wage of 24 yuan/hour ($3.50 US). After talking with my initially stunned parents, we’ve agreed that I will slowly pay them back for my overdue credit card bill of $6,512.96.
I even spoke to Uncle Dai about allowing Ruby to continue participating in the Creative Dog Grooming Contest after her duties were finished at Feng Construction.
“She’s really good!” I insisted, and he promised to go to one of her shows.
“Where else should your father and I visit in China?” my mom asks me as a waiter offers us a drink. She watches me anxiously as I grab a glass of champagne and gulp it down. I take another and finish it. Normally, she’d say something about overdrinking, but she actually looks relieved.
“You’re really not pregnant?!” she asks again.
“No!” I say. “It was all a huge misunderstanding. A lost-in-translation moment.”
“Oh, Iris, just try to think more before you make any decision. Not everything in life is refundable. Some things are really a final sale.”
I throw my arms around my mom in a massive hug, agreeing with her for once. Finally, she is speaking my dialect of English. She embraces me tightly and then we take a step back in sync, smiling and staring tearfully at each other.
My mom is wearing a floor-length black Prada gown and gorgeous Tiffany chandelier earrings. I recognize them from the catalog that she sent my father from two Christmases back. She looks really pretty and relaxed on her holiday. I’m so pleased that I’ve inherited her fantastic style, even if I missed out on her extra-fast, unlimited GB brain.
“Where should we visit tomorrow?” my dad asks, joining the conversation.
“What about the hot springs of Chengdu?” I offer. “They’re pretty and romantic.”
Both my parents give me an uneasy look.
“What?” I say. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yes, we know,” my mother says.
“We saw your naked Instagram photos,” my dad says. “And we also see that the same boy is here.”
We all swivel our heads to watch the red-tuxedoed Frank/Paul chatting to a crowd of enthusiastic reporters.
My dad glares at Frank/Paul. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I admit, “but it’s sort of okay now because we aren’t together and he’s no longer my tutor. He did some shitty things and I guess he had a reason.…”
“That is not ‘sort of okay,’ ” my mom says, looking upset. “Remember, you are better than anyone who hurt you. A good person thinks about your feelings and doesn’t treat you like expired milk.”
“You are not rotten milk,” my dad adds indignantly. “You are a luxury sports car or a multimillion-dollar company. Always ask yourself: How many iPhones are you worth?”
I realize that my mom and dad are right. Shitty, selfish people treat you like grocery store items, to be consumed and thrown away. Kind and authentic individuals treasure you. They think about your feelings, your internal happiness, as well as your overall net worth.
They are willing to sacrifice everything they have to make you a better and more beautiful and more socially acceptable person.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I finally say to my parents. “I understand why you sent me to Beijing.”
“We’re really sorry too,” my dad quickly says. “It was a hard decision, but we didn’t know what else to do.”
“Your parents are human beings too,” my mom adds, squeezing my shoulder. “We were so shocked that you failed senior year. We thought we had failed as your parents. No mom or dad wants their child to do poorly.”
I nod slowly, understanding what sacrifice means when you love someone almost as much as yourself.
As my parents watch me converse with Uncle Dai and Auntie Yingfei and make polite chitchat with investors, I feel a sense of immense pride. Especially whenever someone compliments Ruby and me for our amazing, well-organized event. Whenever someone slips us an envelope with a check, a little thrill runs through me like a first kiss.
“Xiè xiè nín!” I say politely to everyone who praises me or hands me a check. Even though my pronunciation feels clumsy, I’m so enthusiastic when I shout “Gǎn xiè!!!” (“Thank you!!!”) at our guests, I doubt anyone will actually notice. I have been studying Mandarin dutifully with online audiobooks, and this is one of the dozen phrases that I have mastered so far. I am determined to keep going. If I manage to learn two dozen phrases or more, I might even enroll in beginner Mandarin at a language school.
After a fancy fifteen-course meal of braised sea cucumbers with scallion sauce, barley, and abalone, double-boiled fish maw broth with black garlic, spicy shark fin soup, and mango jellies over shaved ice and black seaweed, it’s my turn to do the work.
Nervously, I stand up at the podium to give a speech to thank our investors. I’ll be speaking in English, and then Ruby and Frank will translate after me. The easy part of collecting money and checking our guest list is over.
I stare at the bright, eager, or bored 4,508 faces, who are all looking expectantly at me.
I don’t even remember who’s who.
A new, irrational fear of public speaking floods my brain. How will I manage to make coherent talking sounds in front of so many people?
But at the front table, my mom, dad, uncle, aunt, grandpa, and grandma are all smiling at me, looking heartbreakingly hopeful. My parents look the most nervous. They don’t know what to expect from me. I don’t know what to expect from me either. But I tell myself that this is just like giving a valedictorian speech, the one that I had imagined but never got asked to do.