My dad starts crying.
As a flower-heart, he just can’t stop.
33
Happy Ending
A week later, I meet Frank/Paul outside the hotel and we walk to the Wind Flower for coffee and pastries. I have been putting off talking to him, until Ruby became incensed by my moping and arranged a meeting. “Go see that Diǎo sī before I strangle you to death for talking so much about him!” she shouted. “You’re always telling me not to be afraid of talking to boys in real life!”
Mostly avoiding eye contact, we find a seat by the window and wait for the barista to bring us our order. Taro-lychee sponge cake for me with an extra-large foamy cappuccino, as well as a black coffee and Japanese matcha cheesecake for Frank/Paul.
“It worked,” he says. “Your uncle is finding another location for his hotel and he’s helping to build a brand-new school.”
“I know,” I say.
“Because of the success of the event, more businesses are pledging money to our neighborhood,” he says.
“That’s great,” I say. “We were featured in the social pages of Vogue China!”
Silence.
Frank/Paul doesn’t care about Vogue China.
I wish the barista would hurry up with our order.
“Teaching English is going great,” I babble nervously. “I have a class of twenty five-year-old kids. I can repeat the alphabet backward now and I know the difference between an adverb and an adjective—”
“Iris … ,” Frank/Paul interrupts. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
“I know,” I say.
“Can we please start over?” he says, looking hopeful.
The question makes me incredibly sad.
Because some part of me actually imagines us together, holding each other in the hot springs with the cherry blossoms unfurling in spring. Like some gorgeous sequel of a modern-day retelling of Romeo and Juliet without all the drama and lying, but most importantly, no death. Being together doesn’t necessarily mean that Frank/Paul has to talk about SATs anymore. If he’s no longer my tutor, he won’t insist on making me study unnecessary facts and lessons. We could actually talk about movies, and the most important subject of all, ourselves.
I have so many questions for Frank/Paul. What does he like to do for fun? What are his top three (favorite) gassiest foods and most embarrassing moments? If he could be any animal, what would he be?
But the harsh reality is that Frank/Paul lied to me.
I still feel betrayed and deeply hurt.
The old Iris would immediately find reasons to forgive him, but this new me, Iris Weijun Wang of the Tiger, is stronger and more confident and takes longer to make important life-altering decisions.
What if there are other good-looking boys in Beijing who don’t lie and break your heart? Even better-looking boys who don’t have ulterior agendas?
What if I’m not supposed to be with anyone for a while?
What if my path has been staring at me this whole time in the mirror? What if my destiny, instead of just online dating, is collecting money from wealthy people and spending it on a variety of important causes?
I jump out of my seat in excitement.
My life purpose could be as a professional fundraiser, which is essentially a bank teller and party planner all in one.
“Iris, are you listening?” Frank asks.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I really mean it. “Bào qiàn.” I try to apologize in Mandarin.
Frank looks a bit stricken.
“My pronunciation wasn’t that shitty!” I say, trying to defuse the tension. “I just need more practice. I bought a Rosetta Stone last week, and I have been practicing. I can say nǎlǐ yǒu xǐshǒujiān very well now.”
“Iris—”
“It’s such a useful phrase: Where is the bathroom?” I say quickly, finally sitting back down. “I’ve used it so many times in Beijing.”
“Iris, can you please give me another chance? Even just as friends?”
Frank/Paul’s eyes are still hopeful. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
“I need to be alone so I know what I want,” I say. “I’ve never, you know, really been without a boyfriend. Even if the dudes weren’t very nice to me.”
“What I did was inexcusable,” Frank/Paul says. His expression looks extremely sorry.
I think I should forgive him because it’s the right thing to do, but I honestly don’t want to.
“I know,” I agree. “But the fact is, you really hurt me. You lied to me, used me, and then you fell for me. It’s too late.”
The barista brings our order. Taking a sip of my warm cappuccino, I look out the window at the bustling downtown district. I eat my soft, delicious cake in three giant mouthfuls, and I notice that Frank/Paul has not touched his coffee or his cheesecake. I help myself to his piece. He doesn’t look like he’ll notice or say anything.
People seem to be hurrying faster despite the easiness of the afternoon.
Or maybe because Frank/Paul and I are sitting so still and quiet.
I feel like we can hear each other’s thoughts. For a second, I wonder if I could be psychic. Is Madame Xing rubbing off on me?
Too much silence.
The grinding of coffee beans suddenly cuts through the room.
“Paul,” I say, “what zodiac animal are you?”
He looks confused. “I’m an Ox.”
“That makes sense. You’re hardworking and stubborn.”
“What about you?”
“I was born in the Year of the Tiger,” I say proudly. “We’re brave and passionate and loyal.”
I finish off his cheesecake and when it doesn’t look like he’s ever going to drink his coffee, I add four packets of sugar and begin to sip it thoughtfully.
“Iris Weijun Wang, you’re the most unique, most fascinating person that I have ever met,” Frank/Paul says, looking intensely at me. “There is a reason why your uncle chose me to be your tutor. There is a reason why you’re in Beijing. We were supposed to meet. Have you thought about what we could accomplish together?”
The question completely throws me off. Not to mention, I’m a huge sucker for flattery.
Is Frank/Paul asking me to be his long-term girlfriend/business partner?!!!
For a moment, I can’t help but stare at his too-perfect profile. His chiseled statue jawline. Full lips forming a too-bright, too-dazzling, I-want-you-right-now-Iris-Wang smile. His furrowed forehead makes him look genuinely wise and remorseful. He catches me looking, and then for a second, his entire being lights up like he’s starring in his own off-Broadway musical.
Despite my own misgivings, my stomach flips over like a stack of warm, gooey chocolate chip pancakes. As ridiculous and impossible as it sounds, I suddenly feel like I’m the only girl that he could ever want on this side of the Pacific Ocean.
Frank/Paul is even wearing Frank Liao’s infamous blue grandpa-cardigan. But Paul isn’t Frank. And Frank isn’t Paul. There was never even a boy called Frank Liao who said that he liked me in a hotel room at Chengdu Hot Springs and said that I was “special.”
Blinking, I break his vampire X-ray eye contact. His nerdy lying poet bad-boy spell.
I force myself to breathe. I inhale deeply. Exhale. And ignore my fast, thumping flower-heart.