Well, shit. She was way more perceptive than I gave her credit for. My pits were starting to sweat thinking about how all of this could blow up in my face if she saw just a little too much. Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it before because I felt like my parents hardly noticed anything with me, but in reality, they just noticed what they wanted to, and the problem seemed to be that we deemed different things important. But if I shared my mother’s belief that incoming pimples were devastating and “priority number one,” then yeah, she was the most perceptive person in the world, noticing my undergrounders before I was even aware of them.

“I know you’re smart, Jing-Jing. But you’ve barely had any boyfriends, so maybe I can teach you one last thing: All relationships have problems. It’s how you solve them that matters.” She laughed, one short exhale. “And I’ve had experience with that!”

She clapped her hands twice. “Okay! Since the boys are away, hurry and eat so I can take you out for a facial and some new clothes!”

My mind knew she was being generous, that it would be nice to do something together and that this was her way of showing me love, but I also couldn’t ignore that it was always her thing, it was usually about my appearance, and I was just so tired.

“Can’t wait, Mǎmá.”

Drew CHAPTER 12 DR. HUANG

Human mouths are frigging disgusting. This was most certainly not in my training. (I’d have to tell corporate to add a Don’t Upchuck after Contacting Human Fluids course.)

“You okay, Fangli?” Jing-Jing’s dad asked through his mask.

The middle-aged patient gave him a thumbs-up, unable to do more.

I’m not okay! my brain screamed, but luckily my face mask covered a lot. It would also catch my vomit, right?

In my year and a half at Rent for Your ’Rents, I had been covered in spit, yes (when Michelle’s mother yelled at me about the soaps and a spray accompanied every third consonant), had worn a mask, yes (at Grace’s house, because her nǎinai was a hundred and we all had to cover up so she wouldn’t get sick), but no, I’d never been covered in spit while wearing a mask that suddenly felt too thin. All while holding tools in a stranger’s mouth.

“To the right, Andrew,” Jing-Jing’s father said sternly, and I tried not to look at the puddle of spit as I directed the thick white suction tube toward it.

Shit, and I was supposed to be a promising medical student. This might be the closest I’d ever get to having my cover blown.

Keep yourself together and the bile down! I yelled at myself. Fangli was the last patient today, but I hadn’t gotten better with experience. Somehow worse, it seemed.