Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
T he entire way back from the campsite, I can’t bear to meet Shang’s eyes, and as soon as we get back to the farmhouse, I hurry inside my bedroom. Mushu follows and closes the door behind her.
“Okay, spill,” she says.
“What?”
“What happened between you and Shang?”
I look away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uhh, I have eyes, therefore I can see. And you two were all chummy and there was this cute chemistry going on between you yesterday, and then all of a sudden, bam , this morning it’s nothing but toxic silence between you guys. And I have to say, it’s poisoning the atmosphere, so I think you owe it to the rest of us to tell me what happened.”
I frown. “I can’t tell if you’re actually making sense or if you’re gaslighting me.”
“Obviously I am making sense,” Mushu cries. “What is it?” She gasps, bringing her hand over her mouth. “Did he try something in the middle of the night? Oh, that bastard, I should’ve—”
“No!” I say quickly. “No, nothing like that. It was actually kind of the other way around.”
“The other way around?” Mushu lifts an eyebrow. “Uh. You mean, you tried something and he didn’t want it? Oh, girl. Okay, I know you must be humiliated right now, and it is pretty humiliating, I won’t lie to you, but you’ve done much worse things.”
“No, it’s not—Wait, I have? Like what?”
“Like the time Cousin Joey celebrated his birthday and you got so excited you blew out the candles?”
I snort. “I was six years old.”
“I’m just saying, I don’t think Cousin Joey’s forgiven you for that one. You know, he’s in therapy.”
“Because I blew out his birthday candles when we were kids?” I say flatly.
“I’m not saying that’s the reason, but I’m not not saying it isn’t, either.”
There is a pause as both of us regard what she just said.
“I think you used triple negatives there, so you went full circle,” I say.
Mushu looks ponderous. As she opens her mouth to argue, I continue: “Anyway! I didn’t—we didn’t—well, we did, but then I stopped and it got all weird.”
Mushu’s eyes grow so wide they look like they’re about to pop right out of her head. “Oh my god. Go back. What do you mean you did? What? You can’t just casually drop that in there.”
I release a long sigh. “We were making out, okay? Nothing else.”
“Nothing else?” Mushu screeches.
“Shh!”
“Sorry,” she whispers. “Oh my god.” Her mouth turns into a thin line and she looks like she’s this close to actually exploding. “Making out!” she squeals.
“You wanna shout that a little louder? I don’t think his entire family heard it.”
“Sorry, I’m just so excited for you! Wait, so why did you stop? Oh no, is Shang a bad kisser?”
“No.” My cheeks warm up as I recall those incredible, earth-shattering kisses. God no. “Far from it. But at one point he said my name—”
“Oh, I love it when they do that. That’s so hot.”
“He called me Zhou ,” I say flatly.
“Ah.” Mushu deflates and flops onto the bed. “Damn, talk about a mood killer.”
“Yeah. It made me feel so guilty I just had to stop.” I look out of the window, unable to face even my cousin. “God, what am I doing here? Deceiving him, not to mention his family. All these people who have been nothing but kind to us.”
Mushu sits back up. “Um, nothing but kind to us? Okay, hold up. I mean, are you deceiving them?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Okay, technically yes. But do you not remember why we had to do this? His family is so patriarchal you couldn’t have done this as Mulan. And even as Zhou, you couldn’t just convince them with your flawless track record, because they’re so sexist. No, you’ve had to bend over backward to prove that you’re man enough to do whatever it is needs doing around here. They’re hardly innocent in all this.”
I sigh. “Yeah, but Shang isn’t like that.”
“Really? Stoic hunk of a dude isn’t like the rest of his family?” Mushu looks very skeptical, and I find myself wanting to defend Shang.
“He really isn’t. At least, I don’t think he is. I don’t know, I had this image of him as—well—someone like James or Uncle Hong, but he keeps doing things to contradict that image.”
“Yeah, well, most people don’t fit neatly into one category. Anyway, I get it, it’s not the ideal situation, but you’ve gotta remember what’s truly important here.”
“The acquisition,” I say, at the same time that Mushu says, “Getting laid.”
My mouth snaps shut and I glare at Mushu, who shrugs and says, “What? I’m just saying. Look, Mulan, you’ve always been so responsible. Even when we were kids, you were always so caught up with making everyone around you happy, especially your parents. It’s so rare to get to see what the real you wants. And in this case, what you really want is obviously that scrumptious hunk of a man.”
“The acquisition is what matters here, Mushu,” I say, trying hard not to laugh.
“If you say so. But you do a million of these things a year, whereas you definitely do not get laid a million times a year, so…”
I can’t help laughing at that. “God, I don’t know how you make me laugh even when everything is so crappy.”
“It’s a blessing to be related to me,” Mushu says.
“It is,” I say, and I really do mean it.
This time around, on the way back to the city, Mushu calls dibs on getting a ride in Shang’s car, which makes me both relieved and terrified. I ride in the uncles and aunties’ trailer, and I actually find the nonstop chattering and invasive questions kind of fun to maneuver. (“What GPA you got in college? 3.9? Aiya, why not 4.0?” Well, Auntie, it’s kind of tough to get 4.0 at Princeton. I was surrounded by actual geniuses and all. “Yes, but you are Chinese, you should be better than these American geniuses.” “How many children you want, Zhou? I think you better have three. Three is good number of children to have. Two boys to take over business and one girl to take care of you when you old.” Can’t the girl take over the business? “Oh, what nonsense, of course not. Daughter job is taking care of parents.”)
My parents moved to America without the rest of their families, so I’m not used to the chaos of a big family like the Lis, but I revel in it. I love their merry atmosphere, the way the trailer is never quiet because everyone is talking over everyone. I love the good-natured arguments between the uncles and aunties, the way they can never just agree with each other and have to debate everything until someone—more often than not Uncle Hong—shouts, “Okay! We settle down now!” And then they settle for about two minutes before they start up a whole different argument. But the entire time they’re laughing and patting one another on the arm or the back with obvious affection, and there is a constant stream of snacks being passed around, all of them homemade.
There are the Chinese Rice Krispies that they had at the campsite, and then there are savory prawn crackers, which I didn’t even know are possible to make at home, though when I think about it, of course they are, because why wouldn’t they be? These ones are far superior to any I’ve had before, tasting of real shrimp and garlic and onion, and they’re utterly addictive. There are egg wafer rolls—paper-thin, fragrant wafers rolled up like cigars, with toasted sesame seeds sprinkled throughout the batter. I lose count of how many I have on the ride. There is bak kwa—Chinese jerky, which isn’t dry like the American version but tender and sticky sweet and savory, the greasy sauce coating my fingers. They are quite literally finger-licking good.
By the time we arrive back in the city, I think I’m way too full to eat, but the Lis stop off at a Chinese restaurant and I find that, actually, I’m now craving some hot dishes. I’m about to enter the restaurant when Shang arrives. We pause at the door, both of us looking frantically at each other.
“Go ahead,” Shang says, opening the door for me.
“Thank you,” Mushu says, blithely stepping from behind him. She goes through the door while wiggling her eyebrows at me.
“Um, thanks,” I say, ducking my head and hurrying through the door.
Inside, the rest of the family is seated, leaving me to sit next to Shang and Mushu. I silently curse the universe as we settle into our seats. The round table is so cramped that it’s impossible not to graze elbows with your neighbor, and each time my elbow touches Shang’s, we both jerk apart as though we’ve been shocked.
The uncles, aunties, and cousins are talking over one another as usual, with Mushu diving right in as though she was born and raised in this family. Shang and I sit in silence, letting the noise wash over us, painfully aware of each other’s presence.
“So—” I say.
“Um—” Shang says.
We stop. “You first,” I say.
“Okay. How was your ride back? Did you get grilled about your college GPA?” Shang says.
I laugh. “I did, actually. How did you guess?”
“I grew up with these people,” he says dryly.
“They were unimpressed by my GPA,” I say.
“Gasp, you didn’t have a perfect GPA?” Shang says.
“Okay, but might I remind you that I did go to Princeton? It’s kind of a little competitive?”
“Oh yeah, how did I forget when you mention it every other conversation?”
I stare at him in mock outrage. “I do not!”
“It’s like that thing people say about Harvard men—how do you find out if a guy’s been to Harvard? He’ll tell you within five minutes of meeting him.”
“Li Shang, you did not just compare me to a Harvard man.”
His dimples appear again and he looks so adorable that my mind is just going Eeeeeeee . I can’t believe we’re having an actual conversation, that we’ve gone right back to our old banter even after last night. Of course, now that I’m thinking about last night, I go back to feeling awkward.
Luckily, the food arrives then, and I, stomach filled with junk food, dig in gratefully. The meal is plentiful but fast as everyone inhales the food. Unlike the other meals, we don’t linger afterward, all of us eager to get home. The group disperses back at Uncle Hong’s house, and Mushu and I drive to the hospital to visit Baba.
Mama is rubbing Vaseline on Baba’s lips as we walk in.
“Hi, Ma.”
“Hey, Auntie Li, how’s it going?” Mushu says.
“Ah, you girls are back. How was the trip?” Ma places the tub of Vaseline down and comes over to give us a hug.
“It was good. I think they’ll sell the company to us quite happily,” I say.
Ma’s face breaks into a huge smile. “Really? How did you convince them?”
“Oh, you know.” I have a hard time meeting my mother’s eyes. “This and that. Had a lot of good conversations with them, told them our company’s philosophy and stuff.”
“She sheared sheep, rode a demon of a horse, herded cows,” Mushu says.
“What?” Ma gapes at me.
“Well, I tried herding cows. I failed miserably. Fell into a pile of cow patty.”
“That’s the polite term for cow dung,” Mushu says helpfully.
Ma looks torn between horror and laughter. “Oh, my dear girl. You know, Baba and I have always wanted to take you to his family farm back in China.”
I wrap an arm around Ma and rest my head on her shoulder. “I would love to, Ma. I have a newfound appreciation for farming.”
“My goodness, who are you and what have you done with my Mulan?”
“How’s Dad doing?” I say.
“Not too bad, I think. The doctor says his vitals have improved, and he’ll be up in no time.” Ma sighs. “It hasn’t been nice going home without him, though, so I’ve been sleeping on the sofa here.”
“Aw, Ma!” I cry. “I’ll accompany you. I’m sorry I left.”
“Well, you had to. But yes, stay at the house. It’ll be less empty with you there.”
I smile as I watch Ma fussing around Ba’s bed, tucking him in more snugly and placing a loving kiss on his forehead before leaving. My parents have set such a high standard for coupledom. Watching them, I know I’ll never settle for less than this kind of love, a love that is strong and yet tenderhearted, a love that is worn soft round the edges, like a comfortable pair of socks. I link my arm through Ma’s and Mushu does the same on the other side, and together, the three of us walk out of the hospital and drive back home.
The next day, I go to the office early and dive into work. I haven’t taken time off in years, and skipping two workdays for the Li family trip has made me feel like I’ve fallen behind on a million tasks. The morning whizzes by as I play catch-up with everything, having meeting after meeting with the analysts and checking in with clients and investors.
There’s a knock at my door and the receptionist pops his head in. “Mulan, there’s someone here to see Zhou.”
“Who is it?”
“His name is Shang. He’s from Wutai Gold.”
“Oh! Right. Yes.” I straighten up, my hand flying to my hair, flattening any flyaways that might be there. I feel so frazzled. “What time is it?”
“It’s two p.m.”
“What?” I’ve missed lunch without even realizing it. “Uh. Right. Shang. You know what, I’ll meet him out there.” The last thing I want is to have to tell others to call me Zhou again. And anyway, it’s too late for that, Shang is here—why is he here? Grabbing my phone and bag, I hurry out of my office.
Shang is waiting at the reception area, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s wearing a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I read online once that a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows is the sluttiest thing a man could wear, and I agree wholeheartedly. God, he looks good.
“Hello, Shang,” I say, very much aware that several of my colleagues nearby aren’t even trying to hide the fact that they’re eavesdropping.
“Zhou,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
The receptionist looks confused. “Zhou is—”
“Right here!” I say. “Anyway, let’s go out, I missed my lunch hour and I am starving!” I’m babbling, I know, but I barrel ahead, practically shoving Shang toward the elevator. “So nice to see you again, hope you had a good rest?” I only stop talking when we get in and the doors slide shut, then I let my breath out.
Shang looks amused. “Busy day?”
“Yeah, my workload really piled up while I was away.”
“You’re a very important person,” he says, smiling.
“The most important,” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder. We grin at each other, and I try not to notice the way his cheeks dimple. It’s only been a day since I last saw him, but already I’ve forgotten how good he looks in person. Those deep brown eyes of his and the intense way he looks at me, my god. His scent fills the elevator, that damn addictive smell that makes me want to nuzzle his neck. “Um, so what can I do for you?”
He takes a beat to answer, and the way his gaze rakes over me makes me blush. Again, I wonder why everything I say sounds so suggestive when it comes to Shang. “You mentioned that you need to go over some numbers?”
It takes me a second to remember that I have indeed mentioned that before. “Oh, yes.”
“And the others thought it would be good for me to go through them with you.”
“Oh,” I manage to say. It’s not entirely unheard of for a client to run through the numbers at this stage, though it is uncommon, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t happy about it.
“James offered to do it,” Shang says.
My joy shrivels for a second.
“But I kind of, uh, told him I’d do it.” Shang shoves his hands back into his pockets and gives me a sweet, bashful smile. “I hope that’s okay with you.”
I give up trying to fight the smile from taking over my face. “Yes. It is absolutely fine with me.”
We go to a nearby bistro for a late lunch. It’s the middle of the workday, so the restaurant is practically empty. We grab a seat next to the window and I order a chicken sandwich for myself. Shang opts for a matcha crepe cake. It’s hard not to stare at Shang. I’ve gotten used to seeing him in sweaters and casual clothes, so seeing him in office wear is a new sight. One that I could definitely get used to. And, I realize with a start, this is the first time that it’s just the two of us in the real world, without his family or Mushu around. The thought makes me nervous, like I’m a teenager again, out on my first ever date.
“Did you sleep well last night?” Shang says.
“I did, actually. I stayed over at my parents’ because my—” I stop myself in time. God, I was about to tell him that my dad’s sick and my mom’s lonely because of it. Argh. The reminder of my lie is sobering.
“Because?” Shang says.
“Oh, um, they just missed me while I was away.”
Shang’s eyes dance as he smiles. “That’s really nice, Zhou. I’m glad you have such a good relationship with your parents.”
“Yeah,” I say weakly. That damn name again. I hate hearing the name come out of his mouth. Each time he says it, I want to jump up and scream It’s all a lie! I’m lying to you! “What about you?” I say.
“Oh yeah, after that ride back and then the drive home, I was pooped. I got back to my house, unpacked, did the laundry, and then collapsed into bed.”
I gasp. “You did the laundry? What are you, some kind of psychopath?”
“You mean am I a responsible adult? Yes, yes, I am.”
“Who does the laundry as soon as they come home from a trip?”
Shang shrugs. “The clothes were damp and dirty and covered in sweat and—let’s not forget—cow dung and probably fish scales as well. It would’ve been a health hazard not to do the laundry.”
“Yep, psychopath,” I say.
“I think the correct term is antisocial personality disorder,” Shang says primly.
“Oh yes. Thank you for mansplaining.”
Shang bites back his smile, but his cheeks still dimple anyway. “So your unwashed clothes are still sitting in your laundry basket?”
“If by laundry basket you mean my luggage, then yes.”
“You didn’t even unpack?” Shang gapes at me. “Wow. You, my love, are an agent of chaos.”
The words my love hang in the air between us like a neon sign. I’m pretty sure my entire face is beet red, my heart swelling like it’s about to spill out through the gaps in my rib cage. Don’t make it a thing. It’s just a saying.
The food arrives then, breaking the delicious tension. I’m starving, so I pick up my sandwich and take a giant bite. Shang watches with amusement as I chew. I don’t want to talk with my mouth so full, so I raise my eyebrows at him to say: What?
“Nothing, I’ve just never seen anyone take such a big bite before. It’s kind of impressive.”
I narrow my eyes, as though to say: Are you judging me?
“I’m not judging.”
I roll my eyes. Totally judging.
“I swear I’m not.”
I finally swallow, then have to drink some water to stop myself from getting hiccups. “I like taking big bites.”
“Evidently.”
“Okay, Judgey McJudgerson, scientific studies show that there is an actual biological reason why we like taking big bites. It hits all of the pleasure sensors in our mouths, and the feeling of swallowing a huge bite also triggers a feeling of pleasure.” I falter a little as I realize that, once again, the words I’m saying are coming out really suggestive. I quickly add: “Also, when our ancestors were hunter-gatherers, they had to eat fast whenever they made a kill.”
“I don’t know, this all sounds like pseudoscience to me.”
I push my plate to him. “Try it. Take a giant bite out of my sandwich.” Damn it, did that sound suggestive, too, or do I just have a perverted mind when it comes to Shang?
He picks up my sandwich and does so. He chews slowly as I watch with one eyebrow raised.
“God, can you eat any slower?” I say.
Shang widens his eyes, holds up a finger, and keeps chewing. When he finally swallows, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, that was a choking hazard.”
“But was it good?”
“Well, yeah, you’re right that there’s something enjoyable about that, but look at this, your sandwich is half gone in two bites.”
“Yup. Enjoyable and efficient.”
Shang laughs and shakes his head. “So you finish all your food in under five bites?”
“Well, some foods are more enjoyable when I take smaller bites. Like vegetables, meats, desserts. It’s really only the carbs that I just want to stuff into my face. Rice, noodles, sandwiches.” I take another humongous bite and Shang grins as he takes a sensible bite of his crepe cake.
“So should we work back at your office?” Shang says.
I quickly shake my head. I chew a lot longer than necessary so I have time to think. When I finally swallow, I say, “How about your office?”
“My office? My office is a really small space in a warehouse where we store and distribute the whiskeys. I don’t think it’s a very nice environment. What’s wrong with your office?”
“It’s getting fumigated.” As soon as I say it, I wonder if offices actually get fumigated. Why the hell did I say that?
“Oh.” A frown creases Shang’s forehead. “You guys have an infestation?”
“Yep. Of infests. I mean insects. Crickets? No. I mean the other one, the one that eats wood.”
“Termites? Jeez. Okay.” Shang takes a sip of his drink. “Weird, though, it looked like the space was fully functional just now.”
“Oh, yeah. The fumigation will start tonight, so we’ll be out of action for a couple days.”
“Right. So where should we go to do the work, then?” Shang says.
Oh no. He’s about to suggest my place, and I can’t have that because of all the mail I get that says MULAN HUA and the custom fridge magnet that says MULAN and the framed college degree that says MULAN HUA and the—
“Your place,” I blurt out.
“Oh?” Shang looks surprised. “Really? I mean, sure, I don’t mind, but…” He searches my eyes and I smile like a maniac. “Okay, I guess. If you’re comfortable with that.”
“Yeah, of course.” Am I? Comfortable with the thought of the two of us working closely at his apartment? Now that the thought sinks in, I realize I am far from comfortable, but not because I feel unsafe around him. If anything, it’s the other way around. I don’t trust myself not to pounce on him. Stop it. I can be an adult and do mature, responsible adult things, even if said things are being done with the most gorgeous man alive. “Your place sounds perfect.”
Shang lives in a one-bedroom apartment in Bayview, and if anyone asked me a few days ago what I expected his place to look like, I would have said, Immaculate. Cold and austere to the point of giving psychopath vibes. But as I step inside and pause to take my shoes off, I realize how wrong I would have been.
The apartment is neat, yes, but it’s also overflowing with life—potted plants line the shelves, along with what seems like dozens of cookbooks, tastefully arranged throughout the space. Instead of the cold, metallic furniture I would have expected before, Shang’s tastes run more natural, toward wooden furniture in neutral shades. An eclectic mix of artwork decorates the walls. The overall effect is beautiful and cozy and—if I were to think of all the things I’ve slowly come to learn about Shang over the past few days—so completely and utterly him.
I follow him through the beautiful living room into the adjoining dining space. His dining table is equally welcoming—a solid wood table that fits six people, with pots of succulents in the center, next to a tray of sauces. There’s soy sauce, sesame oil, roasted sesame seeds, and a bottle of Lao Gan Ma chili crisp, all lined up neatly. I wince as I think of my own dining table, a space that is always filled with various items. Books that I’ve been reading, random pens and notepaper, old coffee cups that I haven’t bothered to clear away, a scarf that I wore in winter and never got around to tidying up, more books, a cute card a friend sent me, stacks of junk mail I meant to recycle but somehow haven’t had time to…
The open kitchen is, at a glance, incredibly spotless, especially given how much cooking probably goes on in there. “Oh my god, look how impeccable your kitchen is. I was right, you are a true psychopath,” I say. “Am I going to find a severed hand in your fridge?”
“No, I like to keep severed hands in the freezer,” Shang says.
I narrow my eyes, stride to the fridge, and open the freezer. There are plastic containers labeled CHICKEN TERIYAKI , SALMON (UNSEASONED) , GARLIC HERB STEAK , and so on, all of them neatly stacked. “Who does this?” I cry.
“Um. I do? Would you also like to check the fridge section?”
“I would, actually.” I close the freezer door and open the fridge. It looks like a fridge that’s been stocked by a social media influencer, all neat rows of containers filled with various fruits and vegetables. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned out my fridge. There are possibly new specimens of penicillin growing inside it. I close the fridge door and straighten up. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.”
“Why not both?” Shang says, opening a cupboard and taking out two mugs. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” There are two stools next to the kitchen counter. I pull one out and perch on it, then rest my chin on my palm and study Shang as he moves about the kitchen. This man. This incredible, surprising mama’s boy—oh my god, that’s it. “Your mom!” I shout.
Shang slides an espresso pod into his coffee maker. “Yes, what about her?”
“I bet she comes here and cleans your place,” I say smugly.
Shang laughs. “Close, but no. I go to her place and help her tidy up once in a while. I told her to hire a cleaner, actually, but she keeps refusing.”
“Ooh, so you have a cleaner.”
“I don’t. I just…like cleaning.”
“Nobody likes cleaning,” I say.
“Have you been on TikTok? The number of cleaning videos on there proves you wrong.”
“Cleaning videos?”
Shang takes out a carton of milk. “You know, just videos of people cleaning their space.”
“The fact that you know about these videos delights me.”
Shang shakes his head. “I feel like a lot of things about me delight you. In the worst possible way.”
“A little, yeah. Okay, but really, this place is incredibly neat. Like, hospital-grade neat.”
“Did I not mention that cleaning is one of my many hobbies?”
“No. You said cooking is your hobby.”
“And cleaning.”
“Cooking and cleaning are your hobbies,” I say.
“Yes, is that a problem?” Shang raises his brows as he slides a steaming mug of milky coffee to me.
“No, just surprising is all. Given, you know, your whole family, not to mention your company’s brand.” I wrap my hands around my mug and take a deep inhale of the rich, nutty scent.
“Are you stereotyping me?”
“A little bit, yeah.” I sip my coffee and sigh. “Damn it, I know I’ve said this already, but you make the most amazing coffee. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Lots, actually. Baseball. Basketball. Calculus.”
“Calculus? Am I going to have to take your Asian card away?” I tease.
“Here we go again with the stereotypes.”
I shake my head, laughing. How is talking to Shang so easy? With a start, I realize that I haven’t once asked myself: What should I say as Work Mulan? There’s something about Shang that disarms me. Something about him reaches out to me and whispers: You don’t have to play a part with me. You can let your guard down. And I don’t want to fight it. I’m so tired of fighting the real me. But this is so dangerous. I can’t afford to go down this road. It could put the entire acquisition at risk.
I watch as he assembles a snack platter of cured meats, cheese, and fruits, then we go to the living room, where we take out our laptops and start going over my analysis of Wutai Gold.
Shang listens attentively as I explain the financial model and valuation that my analyst has come up with. “This is all based on the CIM—the confidential information memo—that was sent our way, plus our projections. This valuation is based on DCF modeling.”
“DCF modeling?”
“Discounted cash flow.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“It’s fine, it’s just a way of valuing something based on projected cash flows. I tend to be pretty conservative, but I think there are some really great things we can do with your company to get the profit margin up.”
“Like what?” Shang says.
“Well, I think we could be a lot more diverse with our target audience.”
Shang smiles. “You mean we shouldn’t just aim the product at white males ages forty-five to sixty-five?”
“Exactly.” I assemble the perfect bite of cracker, jam, cheese, and prosciutto before popping the whole thing in my mouth. “Mmm.”
We go on to brainstorm ideas on how to diversify the target market, and for the first time in a long while, I find that I don’t feel at all frustrated while working, because unlike my usual meetings with patronizing finance bros, I’m not forced to argue or defend my ideas or tell the other person to stop interrupting or talking over me. I’m not forced to explain why I think this would be a good idea or why that would be a more sensible approach, and it hits me then how exhausting simply existing as a woman, and a woman of color at that, has been in the finance industry. But here, with Shang, I don’t have to do any of that. When I share an idea, he simply listens and asks a question here and there for clarification, but he doesn’t challenge me. He doesn’t play devil’s advocate—a thing I abhor with the passion of a thousand suns because the only time people play devil’s advocates is when they have no stake in the matter, whereas I have to deal with endless devil’s advocates every single time I step into a meeting.
When Shang says, “Shall I cook us some dinner?” I’m genuinely surprised to see that it’s grown dark outside.
“What time is it?” I check my phone. It’s almost eight o’clock. “Oh my god, I didn’t know it was so late. Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you working on this. I can leave now, you probably have plans.”
“Yeah, cooking.” He says it so simply, in a way that’s so different from how he is around his cousins. There is no shame in it, no hiding how much he looks forward to doing it every evening. He doesn’t wear his mask around me, either, I realize with a warm glow that spreads throughout my entire body. Shang grins at me. “Are you hungry?”
“Always. But are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“I’m sure.” Shang heads into the kitchen, where he peers into the fridge. “How does chow mein sound?”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Yeah, and I’ll get to see you shovel an ungodly amount of food into your mouth.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “Can I help?”
“Sure. Wash the vegetables, and I’ll cut them. Hey, how come I didn’t notice you taking giant bites when we were at the ranch?”
“Well, we were with your family then, so…”
“So you decided to act like a civilized human?”
“Correct.” I hand the freshly washed cabbage to Shang.
“But you don’t care about doing it in front of me.”
“Nope,” I say cheerfully.
Shang laughs. “You know what? I’m honored. It means you’re comfortable around me.”
“Yeah.” My voice trails off in wonderment. This is it. No more roles. No more hiding. “I am comfortable around you, Shang,” I say quietly.
Shang looks up from the chopping board. Our eyes meet, and the air between us grows thick. “I am, too.” He puts down the knife and reaches out, touching my cheek gently, his thumb grazing my skin, and it feels like I’m being touched for the first time. “I really like you, Zhou.”
That name again. But this time, I don’t let it break me. I accept the stabbing guilt and then push it aside. It’s wrong, I know it, but I want this so much. I like him so much, and we’re finally here, in a space where we’re alone, where we don’t have to speak in whispers, where we don’t have to be Work Shang and Work Mulan, where we can simply be. I reach up and twine my arms around Shang’s neck.
“Maybe,” I say, “dinner can wait?”