Ileaned over and placed a caring hand on Jing-Jing’s shoulder before pulling the chair out in a subdued manner—no flourishes. Her parents were classified by the company as Type C for affection, and those Type C eyes ate up my quiet, kind, zero-PDA gesture. (In Type A circumstances, I would have kissed her on the head or cheek; Type B, placed my hand on the small of her back; and Type C.2, I would’ve been a bit more theatrical with the chair pull).

Mrs. Wang nodded at me and smiled a genuine mom smile (meaning her eyes crinkled and her lips lacked any trace of judgmental pursing).

It was almost too easy.

Jing-Jing, who had been thrown off a little at first (such a newbie—I was clearly her first rental), quickly righted herself. “Andrew, you’re always such a gentleman.”

I’d chosen the name Andrew because it was close enough to my real name to prevent any potential mishaps but still different enough that every time it touched my ears, I remembered the part I was playing. And, of course, Andrew sounded all proper and good-boy and shit, best foot forward, all that important gobbledygook. It was funny how much of a difference an “An” could make, but trust me, that gap was huge. Those two little letters flipped a switch in my head, and as for the real me? I was so much more of a Drew, both literally and figuratively. I told my parents that if they were so hell-bent on me not being an artist, why did they name me Drew? Well, I used to tell them. We haven’t spoken in years.

Hence this job. Great pay, amazing benefits including dental (which I now understood was a worthwhile investment for the company based on how Dr. and Dr. Wang gushed over my recently cleaned teeth).

I smiled at Jing-Jing, my lifted cheeks pushing into my frames, which were another subtle reminder of my role. My glasses had no prescription (unless it was a prescription for appearing smart and unthreatening to parents with Category 1 personalities), though I had added the blue-light blocker—might as well make those babies at least somewhat functional. I looked from the supposed love of my life (my second one this week) to her parents, and I softened my eyes by thinking about the new set of brushes I’d be able to buy after this commission. And, just like I was lying to all of them, I lied to myself that those brushes were the one thing missing. That they’d get me one step closer to fulfilling my dream (the real one, not the rotating ones I told clients’ parents). Really, though, Successful Artist Drew was just another character I tried to play, except it was the only one I failed at.