I continued with the wheezes until she tiptoed away toward the kitchen. I counted sheep (one dressed in glow-in-the-dark pajamas, one in a giraffe onesie, and three sheep masquerading as a clump of cotton balls) until I truly fell asleep, no midnight mooncakes in my stomach.

Chloe CHAPTER 11 HOOK, LINE, SINKER

November 28

I accidentally slept in the next day, having stayed up too late wondering why Andrew had pretended to be asleep when I came downstairs around midnight. Had I done something worse than I’d realized and upset him? Was he scared I was into the fake him and was now distancing himself to set me straight? Had he… felt something for real too? I quickly convinced myself it was a hard no to that last one, given how unlikely it was.

Also, did he really think he was fooling anyone with that laughable heavy breathing?

When I padded to the kitchen early afternoon, only my mother was present, eating congee at the table. Honestly, I so dreaded time with why-don’t-you-wear-more-makeup Mǎmá Wang that I would have preferred it to be the “love you” guy from game theory sitting there.

“Where’s Andrew?” I asked, sliding by her to put the electric kettle on for some green tea.

“A few patients called with emergencies and Bǎbá decided to handle them with Andrew’s help so we could have some girl time.”

My hand slipped and I missed plugging the kettle into the outlet. “What? No!”

I hadn’t paid all this money for Andrew to sit around suctioning my dad’s pulpotomies. And if he was going to spend the day with anyone, it should have been my mom, not my dad, because turn Mǎmá Neck, and Head-of-the-Wangs Bǎbá would be swayed too, I’m just saying.

My mother waved a hand at me. “Oh, stop worrying. It’s just a little male-bonding time.”

“Yeah, and maybe they’ll hit up a strip club after.”

My mother snort-laughed, and in my surprise I laughed with her.

“You’ve always been my funny girl,” she said, her tone softer now.

My nose and eyes burned. She was so awful with other people around that I often forgot she was sometimes different when it was just us—extra emphasis on the sometimes. Was she playing the part with company or with me?

“So sometimes I’m funny, and other times those same jokes are disrespectful?”

She swatted the air. “You’re disrespectful when you challenge me, joke or no joke. Why do you always have to do that? You know I just want the best for you.”

“Yes, wanting the best for me with your great priorities, like how my future husband needs to have money and a double eyelid, which you’ve been telling me since I was, like, five.”

“Andrew has both of those,” my mother said with a smile. “I can already picture your cute babies. With eyelid folds.”