The Popstar & Me

Chapter 14 - The Boy Next Door

Chapter 14

At 5 p.m., that Monday afternoon, I meet up with Lana by a fountain with the three frolicking monks in front of it. It's located across from the Calix Bar. I'm sweating buckets in the humid, soggy, Shanghai summer heat. The streets are littered with vendors selling portable fans and more than a few passerbyers are sporting wet towels over their heads to keep cool.

I'm drenched in sweat by the time Lana shows up.  I had to come here directly from the hospital because the appointments ran late. When I planned this day out in my head, I thought I would have time to change into a dress beforehand. Instead, I'm here in my torn jeans and my all-purpose Calvin Klein jean jacket. Lana shows up wearing a gorgeous beige sundress with perfectly neat pleats.

I curse the fact that I would have had time to change if only I didn't have to squeeze Fang in that day. Fang's appointment with Dr. Chen went well even though she was half an hour late. He seemed pleased enough with the results to make another appointment for Friday. Dr. Chen joked that maybe I should get started on my own next time if she's more than fifteen minutes late.

When Dr. Chen said that, I gulped and hoped she was joking.

I wouldn't want to give the infamous Fang Yao nerve injury, even if it's just on his non-dominant hand. Then again, it's not like he plays an instrument, does he?

I wouldn't know. Maybe I'll ask him next time. I can't believe I'm so lonely here that I'm trying to make small talk with my patients. Even though Fang isn't much older than me, I feel like my mother would tell me that a medical relationship should be strictly professional. Although, I guess acupuncture doesn't count. Don't people perform it in medical spas back at home?

"So, you seeing anyone?" Lana asks me as we walk into an alleyway behind Starbucks and order ourselves a round of wantons with a side of dumplings. There were about twenty wontons, too many floating among shreds of scallions and fried tofu. I guess it's unheard of here for anyone not to like wontons. My mother could eat them for every meal.

"No," I reply and help myself to the dumplings that we were sharing family-style. They were brown and crispy on the bottom. I help myself to some of the communal soy sauce with colorful peppers floating in it. "Why would you ask that?"

"Just wondering," Lana says and is at least five wontons ahead of me. "I'm seeing someone. Someone you might know."

"Someone, I know?" I repeat. Here in Shanghai, I know my immediate family members, some of my classmates in my acupuncture class, and my two classmates from back home. I don't know anyone else here, not unless they were famous or something.

"Yeah, remember when we were kids, you used to play with the boy downstairs from my apartment? It was your apartment back then. I remember because I used to come to visit with my mom."

"I don't remember any of it."

"Ask your mom; I'm sure she remembers."

"Okay, sure. So, what does this have to do with the guy you're seeing?"

"I'm dating him — Zhang Wei, our friend from back when we were kids. He wants to see you. Do you want to see him?"

~*~

We get coffee at Starbucks afterward because I need it for the walk back to her house on Huaihai Lu. Lana is nice enough to do the ordering while I pretend to go to the bathroom. I frantically call my mother while I'm waiting in line for the Women's Room.

"Who is Zhang Wei?" I ask as soon as my mom picks up sleepily. Yeah, it's about 5:30 am back in New York, but this is an emergency.

"Zhang who?"

"The boy who lived downstairs to our apartment on Huaihai Lu!" I pause and think back. Yes, I think I remember him, dimly. I remember writing letters to him that I never sent back when I was in elementary school. I never even knew his name. "Is that his name?"

"Oh yes, your make-believe boyfriend. What was his name? Yang-yang?" my mom says and laughs like she finds that image adorable. "You don't remember him? I still have that picture of the two of you. His mother took it while the two of you were splitting a chocolate bar. The two of you ended up with chocolate smeared all over."

"All right, mom," I moan. All right indeed. Yes, I vaguely remember this photo. My mom had it on the front page of the album of my baby pictures. I guess she must be getting old because I'm sure Lana just told me that my childhood pretend-boyfriend's name is Zhang and not Yang.

"You gave him your toy before you left. You told him to take care of it because you were coming back for it once you were finished visiting your father in America," my mother coos and continues to laugh herself sick. "You told him that New York was only a bus ride away, not even as far as your grandparents' house on Jiangpu Lu."

"Now I remember," I groan. "Now he's dating Lana, Aunt Ting's daughter. She's bringing me to meet him. Do I have to go?"

"Be polite to Aunt Ting and her family," my mom lectures. "Don't worry, maybe after all these years, he would have forgotten all about that chocolate disaster. Oh, and maybe you'll steal him back from her. I'm pretty sure he only has eyes for you."

"Oh gross, mom! What were we? Like five or six? It's been over ten years."

"Hey, if he's been waiting for you at that old apartment all this time, maybe there's some yuan fen there," my mom continues to giggle like this is the funniest joke in the entire world. "Maybe you two pick it up where you guys left off."

"Ugh!"

"I remember when you were five, a talent scout tried to nab you to shoot baby food commercials because you were so cute. You had the most adorable little dimples. How could anyone forget that face? Lan-Lan has nothing on you."

"Yes, yes, and if I had gone with him, I'd be world-famous now instead of some nobody. You love to tell this story."

"Maybe you should go back there and show her who is number one."

My mom loves the idea of me being "number one." In this regard, I guess the stereotype rings true. Like most Asian parents, my mom likes the idea of her kid one-upping every else, even if it's the daughter of her best friend. Compete for Harvard, compete for some bozo who lived in the apartment below us when we were six. Always have to be number one! I hang up on my mother, and I'm determined to be a good friend and support Lana in her newfound love.