The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) (14 page)

‘I thought you got along with your father?’

‘Yeah, we get along okay. He’s just not very engaged with my brother and me. He’s a brilliant man, but he’s an academic. He doesn’t connect very well with people.’

‘You’re not people though, you’re his family.’

‘Ironic, isn’t it? But Charles and I weren’t like that. He was a sort of a mentor for me, not just in school and career stuff, but in life…’

‘What happened?’ Because something must have happened or we’d be discussing Charles in the present tense.

‘He had a hacking cough even when we first met. Heavy smoker. By the time he was diagnosed, he had just a couple months left. He died almost three years ago.’

‘I’m sorry, that must have been really hard.’ I hate being confronted with news like this. My responses always sound so trivial. And occasionally stupidly flippant. I still kick myself for responding to a colleague who said she’d just lost her granddad with the question, ‘Did he fall through a hole in your pocket?’ Nervous idiocy.

‘Yeah… but,’ he says, smiling again. ‘If reincarnation is real then he’s out there somewhere, right? So he’s not gone. Maybe we’ll meet again.’

How I’d love to have his belief that every cloud has a silver lining. By my calculation, his mentor would just now be out of diapers if he were reincarnated. But Sam loves the idea so much that he doesn’t care that little Charlie would be drooling strained carrots.

The streets we wander are jammed with people, noisy with traffic and a feast for the eyes. The whole city is saturated with color. Unlike London’s majestic, restrained buildings, or Connecticut’s shopping strips and malls, detail crowds every square inch of Hong Kong. Neon glows everywhere, giving the city a carnival atmosphere. Every shop is stacked to the ceiling with merchandise, on floors, walls, countertops. Posters and hand-lettered adverts paper many of the display windows. Magically, like sweet shops, they draw my foreign eyes.

In fact, it is a sweet shop! ‘Will you look at that?’ I say, dragging Sam inside the busy shop. Most of the labels are unintelligible but one section is in English. It’s stocked with dried prune products – chamomile prunes, basil prunes, green tea prunes, yogurt prunes, rose prunes. Europeans must get awfully constipated here. Just next to nature’s laxatives is the Asian hillbilly section, full of codfish jerky. Mostly, though, the shop is filled with baskets of beautifully, individually wrapped morsels. The customers are milling around filling plastic bags. They don’t look like pick “n” mix candies though. I think they’re actually dried fruit jellies. We watch, uncertainly, until a lady snatches a sample from a dish in the middle of one of the colorful sections. ‘Here.’ I hand Sam one and free mine from its shimmery colored wrapper. ‘Ready? Down the hatch on three. One, two, three.’

Bleurgh. It tastes of soap.

‘That’s horrible!’ Sam laughs, putting his hand over his mouth.

‘Squeaky clean breath though.’ I kiss him, savoring the moment. This is exactly how I imagined my life in Hong Kong. With Sam. We’d meet after work, hold hands and chat about our days, our pasts, our future. We’d discover new places together, occasionally share too many bottles of wine in a random bar, not caring where it was or who was there, not even noticing, because we’d be so wrapped up in each other. We’d start shopping for things ‘we’ needed, each settling into the other’s apartment, establishing little routines together. Sometimes we’d get together with friends and sometimes we’d spend entire weekends doing nothing but watching DVDs in each other’s arms. We’d try different spots for dinner, and share food that we’d never eaten before, and find our favorite haunts. We’d be a normal couple. I want that so much.

‘So, here it is,’ Sam says when we’ve walked all the way to Tsim Sha Tsui at the tip of Kowloon. ‘It’s kind of a weird entrance for a restaurant but trust me, it’s cool.’

We’re standing on a narrow, very upscale shopping street. ‘Chanel does dinner?’

He laughs. ‘I told you it was a weird entrance. Here.’ He guides me through a sleek office lobby to an elevator guarded by a bouncer, and we ascend at the speed of light. ‘Ow, my ears are popping.’

‘Mine too.’ He winces. ‘We’re going to the top. I’m tempted to cover your eyes when we go in, but I don’t want you to trip. Ready?’ He holds the elevator door open for me. ‘I wanted tonight to be extra special.’

There’s no need to cover my eyes. We feel our way in the murky light through the elevator lobby to the restaurant.

The whole front of the restaurant is glass. A shimmering panorama stretches to the edges of my field of vision. Across the harbor, lights from every skyscraper reflect off the water, but nature’s light show is giving this perfect example of modern beauty a run for its money. Twilight intensifies from pale pink on the horizon to deep blue in the sky. Despite the light pollution (as if you could call such a beautiful sight pollution!), I bet there’ll be stars tonight. ‘Wow, it’s so beautiful. Thank you, Sam.’ I kiss him while the host waits patiently to show us to our table.

The table would be perfect if only Sam wasn’t sitting on the other side of it. He has gallantly given me the seat facing the windows. ‘Sit here next to me,’ I propose.

‘I don’t think there’s room.’ He frowns, eyeing the small bench. 

‘Come on. Look at this view. Here, I’ll squish over. There’s room. It’s silly to sit there when you can sit next to me.’ As he snuggles in beside me with his arm over my shoulder, I know this is the best date I’ve ever had.

‘This is perfect,’ he says. ‘It’s my idea of the perfect life. I never thought I’d be so happy, so content. Not that I’m not usually content. I am. As you know. I loved grad school, and London. But this is better than I dreamed. Don’t you think so?’

‘Absolutely.’ I couldn’t be happier than I am at this moment. To hear my boyfriend say that confirms everything I’m thinking.

‘I can imagine living here for the rest of my life,’ he continues as the champagne arrives. ‘I’m comfortable here, and it’s the ideal place for my kind of work. The job is going really well, Han, and I love it, despite the long hours. I was really lucky to get it, don’t you think?’

Work? Isn’t he talking about
us
, and our wonderful life? The paranoid terriers are snapping at my heels again. Why do I feel harrumphy because he’s talking about loving his job? Considering how few people do, I should be happy for him. And I am. I’d be even happier if he included our relationship in his idea of perfection. After all, I do.

‘Yes, although it is taking you away from Hong Kong.’ Just a small fact I’d like to point out.

‘That’s the only downside,’ he says. ‘Think how perfect it’d be if you were in Ho Chi Minh!’ He laughs at the look on my face. ‘Han, I’m only joking. I’ll be back here soon.’

‘How do you know about this place?’ I ask between bubbly sips. Most of the tables are full, with a mix of Chinese and Westerners. There are little round tables along the windows for couples to enjoy ringside seats to Hong Kong’s show, and some bigger tables in the middle of the floor for groups of friends. Our table perches on a raised platform at the back, giving us an uninterrupted view over the heads of the other diners. A few of the men are in suits but it’s clearly more a social restaurant than a business one. Although looking at the prices, an expense account would come in handy.

‘It’s one of Pete’s favorites. When I told him I wanted to take you somewhere special tonight, he suggested it. It looked amazing from the photos online. It’s even better in person. He takes dates here when he wants to cement the deal. It’s sort of pricey.’ His look tells me he regrets divulging Pete’s seduction tactics.

‘Don’t worry. Pete’s secret is safe with me. And, by the way, you didn’t need to take me here to get lucky. You’re going to get lucky tonight.’

‘I’m already lucky.’

He’s staring into my eyes. I feel lost in them. I’m so much at ease with this man. He makes me feel excited for our future. There are
possibilities
there.

I’m sure we could kiss our way through the night, subsisting on champagne alone, but the menu is too tempting. Everything looks delicious. I just wonder if the chef can make a few tiny adjustments.

‘May I have the bresaola, please?’ I smile at the waiter, who has finally overcome his reluctance to interrupt our kissathon. He looks pleased with his own trendiness. ‘But instead of the salad, can I have figs? And instead of goat’s cheese can the chef use mozzarella?’

‘You want…?’ His composure slips as he struggles to understand why a patron would come to a restaurant only to treat the menu like the pick ’n’ mix at the cinema.

‘Well, you have mozzarella, here in this dish,’ I point out. ‘And figs here in this one. I’d like a combination of the bresaola, figs and mozzarella. Can your chef do that for me?’

I guess they may as well know what they’re dealing with from the outset. I guess the same is true for Sam. Smirking, he says, ‘And can we please have some olive oil and balsamic, for the bread?’

‘Yes, sir. And for your main course?’

‘Let’s decide that later,’ I say. What I mean is that I’ll give them a break before altering more dishes. The waiter already wishes he hadn’t seated us.

Even though I’m savoring each moment, disclosure, joke shared, every look, and the seemingly infinite details of his face and body, time is flying by. I desperately want to slow it, but I’m too caught up in its momentum. We’ve been making out like teenagers for most of the meal and I’d love to muster the social conscience to be embarrassed. It’s the very least my mother would ask. But I don’t care. I love this too much.

‘This is the best table in the house,’ he says as our main courses are cleared. ‘Look. Everyone in here is looking at us, wishing they’d done the same thing.’ Sitting together he means, within kissing distance.

Why have I never sat next to my dates before? Probably because I’ve never felt like this before. I want to be in contact with this man all the time. It physically hurts when I have to leave him. My stomach clenches and I feel like sobbing. It’s silly really, as this happens even when we part for just a few hours. Sometimes I wonder if it’s healthy to be so in love. The emotion should carry a warning label. Caution: may cause panic attacks, sensitivity to harmless comments, and sinky-stomach upset. Can encourage long bouts of analytical discussion in some sufferers. Do not attempt to operate heavy machinery, and always follow your friend’s advice.

By the time the waiter clears our main course plates I’m ready to alter his menu again. Something tells me he won’t like it any more than he liked my starter and main course suggestions. ‘I wonder if they have any dark chocolate, to go with the wine, for dessert?’

Sam looks bemused, dreading my next chat with our server. ‘I can ask,’ he continues gamely.

It’s not fair to make my perfectly nice boyfriend make the waiter’s life any more difficult than it already is. He has, after all, proven himself capable of ordering one of the chef’s suggestions straight off the menu.

‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘Is it possible to just bring us some chocolate for dessert?’

The waiter definitely wishes he’d called in sick tonight. ‘Chocolate? Here.’ He’s pointing to the chocolate mousse.

‘No, that’s chocolate already in the dessert. Is it possible for the chef to just give us some chocolate, pieces of chocolate that he uses for desserts? Just the chocolate.’

‘I’ll check.’ He slinks off to hand in his resignation.

Another man appears a few minutes later. He could be the bouncer from downstairs, who’s trained to deal with difficult customers. He claims it’s not possible to give us chocolate because all the desserts are prepared ahead of time, so the chocolate is already in situ. Fair enough. ‘Then can I please have a scoop of vanilla ice cream with a shot of espresso to pour over it?’

He nods, baffled as to why I’d ask the bouncer for dessert.

‘Where’s that?’ Sam asks, perusing the menu.

‘It’s not on there. But they have ice cream, here with the apple tart, and espresso as a coffee option.’

I don’t blame him if he never takes me out to dinner again. That’s okay. I’m happy to stay in his apartment all the time. We can always ask the hookers next door to bring us some food.

The next morning I feel remarkably awake considering that we were the last diners in the restaurant last night, or rather, this morning. It might be the excitement of today’s adventure. Or maybe it’s because I’ve drunk enough coffee to give me palpitations.

There’s a tree in Hong Kong that grants wishes. Sam’s as excited as me as we exit the MTR station, looking for a sign. It’s not exactly the ancient setting you’d expect to find a mythical tree. I envisioned mist wafting through temple complexes, with perhaps a few Shaolin warrior monks. But the station is modern, squat, concrete and functional. The streets surrounding it buzz with cars and buses. Perhaps we’re in the wrong place. There’s no sign for the tree anywhere. Surely magic trees can’t be so common here that they don’t merit any acknowledgement.

‘Can I see the map?’ I ask Sam, as he digs his ringing phone out of his pocket. I only do this to show that I’m willing to help out. I’m not about to challenge a man’s fundamental belief in his ability to navigate. Besides, my map-reading skills are on par with my driving skills. That is to say, best left to someone else.

‘Sure, though we were off the map about a dozen stations ago.’ He shrugs as if this is all part of a normal day. Everyone travels to the Chinese border looking for a mythical tree. ‘’Scuse me just a sec, it’s Li Ming.’

What does she want now? They saw each other just yesterday at work. It’s a little inappropriate for a boss to call her employee on his day off. I’m sure HR would be interested to know that she’s cutting into his personal time like this.

He’s telling her the name of the restaurant for tonight. He doesn’t sign off with kissy noises or murmur endearments into his handset, but I still don’t like it.

‘Sorry about that. She’s really looking forward to meeting you tonight.’

My stupid imagination is making me insane. ‘Great, I can’t wait! I’m sure I’ll love her.’ I force a smile. ‘Should we ask inside about the tree?’ The moment passes when he reaches for my hand.