I passed between the indoor columns, then traversed a hallway nook with great acoustics where two women dressed in Tang dynasty clothes were playing the pípa and èrhú (gorgeously, I might add—the music, not the women… well, also the women, maybe; I wasn’t looking). Then I passed an enormous room (ballroom?) where guests were chatting and snacking on egg rolls and chāshāo bāos and turnip sī bǐngs served by staff in red and green qípáos. Eventually, I found Jing-Jing in the very back, in the kitchen, which was vast but not meant for company, as evidenced by the lack of Christmas decorations. In fact, it was devoid of anything save for a plastic bag tied to one of the drawer handles, which made me happy: even crazy rich Asians still recycled plastic bags in a distinctly Asian way.

They were still a few yards from me, but I could see that Jing-Jing was surrounded by her parents and the Kuos, with Hongbo hovering slightly outside the circle, looking uncomfortable. Jing-Jing’s head was nonstop nodding like a bobblehead, and a polite smile graced her face, but I knew from the tightness in her eyes that she was trying to escape.

Hongbo was dressed in a shiny silver silk suit (nice s alliteration there—I’m sure that was what he was going for). Every time his slippery suit brushed against Jing-Jing’s elbow (he was pacing now), she flinched.

When Hongbo saw me, his head perked up, and then he sidled over to put his arm around Jing-Jing. As predicted, both sets of parents urged them on with their hungry, disgusting eyes.

I’d never felt so desperate to book it across an overwaxed floor in socks. Except I knew she didn’t actually need me. Which she proved half a second later when she grabbed Hongbo’s hand and turned it sideways. He pulled his arm back and tried to shake it off, but he was the one who was shook.

Good.

As I (finally) neared her, I heard Jing-Jing say calmly to Hongbo, “Please don’t touch me.”

A shadow crossed the parents’ faces at the same moment Hongbo stalked off.

And headed straight for me. I instinctively backed up, not wanting whatever was coming to happen in front of the parents since it was a wild card.

Hongbo followed, catching up to me in a mostly empty hallway I’d turned down.

“You’re the reason she hasn’t said yes,” he said, his eyes narrowed in frustration. He pressed a finger to my chest, one push per sentence. “You’re the obstacle here. You’re the thorn in my ass I have to remove.” The spot hurt where his index finger had dug in.