But fine, yes, I don’t want Andrew to come because I want you to focus on Hongbo. He likes you so much, Jing-Jing, and so do his parents. You don’t know what it’s been like for me this month! Not just the gifts, but they’ve been having us over for dinner constantly. And I’ve seen your future, Jing-Jing, and it’s so bright! They’re talking about everything they’ll give you and Hongbo as their only heirs. Describing all the future vacations we’ll take together—all of us! To Taipei, to Kaohsiung—don’t you want to see where I grew up?—to Europe, Australia, Beijing. Remember when you were little—oh, so little—and we used to watch those videos about the Forbidden City and Great Wall, and you’d beg me to take you there? What happened to that girl, so eager to see where she came from? Well, now you can! You can get back the curiosity for your culture that you used to have!

The Kuos are so excited to have you as their daughter-in-law, and to have Bǎbá and me as family by extension. You know how rare it is for them to be so forward, and rare for you, Jing-Jing, to have this kind of attention. And from the Kuos—the Kuos! I didn’t even dream of this for you because it was so unlikely! Andrew is a nice boy, but don’t miss out on this golden duck of an opportunity. We’ve known Hongbo his whole life, and Andrew just a short time. It’s nothing about Andrew personally. You understand.

Think about it. Please. I’m your mǎmá, Jing-Jing. I know you. Just trust me.

Chloe CHAPTER 24 ARMOR

December 22

Packing for a visit home was more complicated than texting fake boyfriends late at night. Most of my go-to clothes were too loungewear for applying-makeup-is-the-same-as-being-polite Mǎmá Wang, and I had so outgrown the clothes that remained that they now pointed giant neon arrows at my not-completely-flat stomach. Might as well just draw a bull’s-eye there for my mother to throw mean jabs at. There was no winning here, so I packed the loosest of my mother-approved wear and called it a day.

I already had a feeling I would need armor for this visit. Thanksgiving had been a joke compared to what was likely coming, with the impending deadline and my mother’s change in attitude, which was apparently still developing given the voicemails she was leaving me. She’d switched over from text about three days ago, probably because I had been sending her one-word replies.

I zipped up my suitcase and, with a sigh, resisted the urge to reread certain non-Mǎmá texts—which I had been doing despite my lie to Andrew. I reminded myself of the main objective this Christmas break: Get. Rid. Of. Hongbo. That was it. Anything else only got in the way.