When the food was ready, I gave them the Zhōngguó jié and put the red envelopes on the table for after dinner. They gave me a curt thank-you before setting the Zhōngguó jié behind a pile of religious books so it couldn’t be seen.

Chloe shrugged at me. I guessed she was saving her strength for what was to come, and she proved me right not two minutes later.

We had just sat down and started passing food around when Mrs. Wang said, “So how many Chinese New Year dinners have you crashed, Andrew? Or, I guess it’s Drew.”

At least they’re here and this dinner is happening, I reminded myself. (Except I was digging through three layers of crap to find that silver lining.)

“He didn’t crash them, Mǎmá; he was invited,” Chloe said, exasperated.

“Under false pretenses,” Mr. Wang argued.

Maybe they were here just so they could berate me.

“We had you in our home! When you were a stranger!” Mrs. Wang exclaimed.

“The company does very extensive background checks,” Chloe supplied.

“That’s not enough!”

“It’s more than what you get with other people you date,” Chloe pointed out.

That made Mrs. Wang stop, but she turned down one of the many alternative paths in front of her. “What kind of person does this job?”

Chloe’s head dropped to her hands. “Someone who wants to help people.” She looked back up at them. “He’s here as my boyfriend, to get to know you better.”

“Which we’re doing,” her father said coldly. “This is part of his real life, isn’t it? Lying to others?”

“He supports himself,” Chloe retorted. “Do you know how hard that is?”

“Yes, Jing-Jing, of course we know,” her father said calmly.

“He supports himself doing that,” her mother added, spitting out the last word.

I felt as small as their words were meant to shrink me.

“If you want us to stop talking about his job, fine,” Mrs. Wang said with an undercurrent of spite. “Drew, do you go to strip clubs?”

What? “No, Ǎyí. I don’t.” Not even for the steak.

Mrs. Wang pointed an accusatory finger at me. “Aha! He’s a liar! I knew a professional liar wouldn’t be able to help himself. Jing-Jing, we can’t trust him!”

I looked to Chloe for an explanation, but her eyes were rolled to the ceiling.

Mrs. Wang continued her onslaught. “Tell us how you plan on supporting yourself and our daughter on an artist’s salary. Are you going to sell those Christmas ornaments you made?”

My face flushed. This was one of my nightmares come to life. She might as well have mentioned doodling tourists at the beach.

“You haven’t earned the right to ask him about that!” Chloe exclaimed.

“Then what can we ask about?” her mother said, a smug look on her face.