Not the answer I expected.
But the honesty hits harder than a lie would.
“I want the American dream,” Mindy says. “The European-American rich boyfriend to bring me home for Thanksgiving. Christmas pictures by the fireplace. Snap streaks with a guyeveryone drools over. Something pretty to send back to my friends in Hong Kong.”
She steps closer.
“I don’t want your status for here,” she clarifies. “Your status here will help me get status back home. Which helps me snag a crazy-rich Asian husband someday. Which will make my parents happy.”
Then she laughs—a small, bitter sound.
“You have no idea what having a tiger mom is like. I’m not smart enough. I’m not thin enough. My hair isn’t glossy enough. My skin isn’t perfect enough. I’m not enough.”
She grabs my cigar.
Takes a long puff.
Exhales the smoke like a fed-up dragon.
“Everyone’s life sucks,” she murmurs. “Why do parents do this shit to us?”
She swipes X’s drink next.
Takes a swallow.
Hands it back like this is normal.
Then she looks at the three of us.
“You’ve got my back, right?”
X stands, extending a hand. “It has to be a deal.”
Mindy nods.
“We shake,” she says. “I give them up… and you give me the American social dream.”
I take her hand last.
Her grip is small.
But her eyes?
Ruthless.
“Deal,” I say.
And for the first time all night?—
We finally have a crack in the facade.
A real lead.
A real informant.
“Talk,” I say.
Mindy inhales, steadying herself. “Well… I know you’re a gentleman. But—” Her eyes flick to X. “You have to date me. Take me to the winter ball.”
