One week later and one day before my escape halfway across the country, I was focused on more important things: Were two hats, three scarves, and fifty hand warmers enough for the upcoming winter? Better make it sixty.

The doorbell rang and I assumed it was a family friend stopping by with a home-cooked dish, but…

“Jing-Jing!” My mother’s shrill but singsongy tone told me exactly who it was.

I threw the additional hand warmers into my suitcase and fought off the urge to scream.

Only nineteen hours and forty-two minutes before you’re outta here, I reminded myself as I reluctantly dragged my ass downstairs.

My parents were fawning over him, complimenting his Nike high-tops, asking about his parents and their company. “Aiyah, your family is so impressive. Number One Systems is number one all right!”

As soon as my foot touched the hardwood of the first floor, Hongbo…

Excuse me, I was gagging in the corner.

Hongbo fucking pulled out a ring box.

My mother gasped so hard she dissolved into coughs.

He shoved the box toward me. When I recoiled, he opened it, as if the size of the stone would sway me. The fucking Hope diamond wouldn’t have done it, let alone the square-cut canary one picked out by his mother.

“No,” I said, trying to fight back tears. How had it devolved into this, and so quickly? “Please leave,” I begged, simultaneously trying not to hurl something at him or hurl, period.

“Shut up!” my mother yelled at me as she grabbed the box. “We humbly accept, Hongbo.”

I ran. I didn’t know what else to do.

“How dare you, Jing-Jing!” Hongbo shouted. “Can you get that stick out of your ass for one second and smarten up before it’s too late?”

“He’ll provide for you; your life will be so easy,” my mother called after me. “And we’ve known his family for so long—what more could you ask for?”

“You’ve never had a serious boyfriend—how can you know what you want?” my father added.

I had never felt so utterly, completely alone.

I ended my recounting there since it naturally picked up with where Andrew came in, though in reality a piece was still missing. But it was a piece I couldn’t bring myself to share with him because it was embarrassing and horrible and made me feel like a piece of shit on the sidewalk. And thus I had left it off the application, too. He didn’t need to know; none of our potential plans were affected by this final nail in the coffin—just my ego and self-worth.

When I finished relaying the hellish details to Andrew, it felt like a weight had been lifted. A nacho-and-lap-dance-loving, Lamborghini-faking weight.

Around the Prime Strip part of the story, Andrew and I had taken up residence on a bench in Cottontail Park, where, sadly, I had never seen a single cotton-tailed friend.