Page 80 of From Beijing, With Love

“Okay, I got it.” Daniel held up his hand. Turning to Yang, he said, “Tomorrow. You and me?”

“You and me,” Yang said, knowing he was grinning like an idiot but not caring. “It’s a date.”

Nainai hadn’t slowed down one bit with age. She wielded the blackened wok over the open fire with finesse. After being banished from the kitchen for the third time, Yang resigned himself to watching from the doorway.

“Does Ba work late a lot these days?” Yang leaned against the doorframe. Though he was disappointed his dad was missing dinner, he understood. He knew better than anyone what it was like to get lost in the research. He had once worked fourteen-hour days for three weeks straight, only realizing it when his equally overworked lab mate complained.

“I keep telling him to take it easy because I’m not going to stand over his early grave.” Nainai scooped rice into two bowls. “Heaven knows why he has to work late today of all days. You are only home once a year.”

A wave of guilt washed over Yang. Leaving Xi’an had been equal parts exciting and difficult. Every time he came home, he was struck by how much older Nainai and Ba looked—all those extra lines that would have otherwise gone unnoticed if he had stayed home. The guilt only gnawed harder as he carried all the dishes to the dining table. Nainai had cooked his childhood favorites: flaky scallion pancake with more layers than he could count, egg stir-fried with tomato, braised glass noodles with pork belly and napa cabbage, and mapo tofu. Dishes that tasted like home.

“Be honest. Is my cooking getting worse? I don’t cook much these days with just your dad and me at home.” Nainai spooned the egg-and-tomato stir-fry into his bowl.

“Nainai, you are the best cook I know.” Yang smiled as he took in a big spoonful of fluffy white rice mixed with the stir-fry—tangy, sweet, comforting.

“I need to teach you how to cook, so you can cook for that friend you brought home.” Nainai wore that hopeful smile Yang had seen too many times.

“She’s just a friend,” Yang said through a mouthful of mapo tofu, his tongue tingling from the Sichuan peppercorns.

He savored every bite of the meal, knowing he wouldn’t taste Nainai’s cooking again until his next visit. He could get some version of these same dishes in Beijing, but they would never taste the same.

After the meal, he ushered Nainai onto the sofa. “I’ll clean up. Don’t want you to miss your TV show.”

Yang set a plate of sunflower seeds and a bowl of grapes by Nainai’s side and fixed a plate of leftovers for his dad. As he washed the last bowl, his phone vibrated.

Meiwen had posted the photos from her birthday dinner, and he was tagged in too many of them for his liking. Yang liked the fact that he had zero internet presence besides the academic papers he had published.

Sitting down by Nainai, he scrolled through the photos. Most of them were of Meiwen and Jack—the beautiful birthday girl in red and the doting boyfriend. The rest were a mix of selfies, food photos, and candid shots of the group. Just as Yang was about to lose interest, something caught his eye.

Daniel.

He and Daniel, huddled close together like they were sharing a secret. Yang had his hand on Daniel’s back while Daniel looked up at him with flushed cheeks and a smile. He had been so careful not to get too close to Daniel during dinner. This must have been when Daniel had the coughing fit.

Can you delete this photo? Yang messaged Meiwen on autopilot, his fingers shaky as he typed out the words. If she needed a reason, he’d make one up. He’d write her an essay. She’d understand. Or she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter.

Yang closed his eyes and all he could see was Shanqi, even though it made little sense. When he snapped his eyes open and forced his gaze to the TV, the colorful display was too bright and intrusive. On the screen, a ghostly-pale heroine in an elaborate silk ruqun slapped the brooding hero across the face.

“Shagua,” Nainai said, pointing to the handsome man on TV cradling his face.

Hearing the word he had reserved for Daniel jolted Yang to the present. He looked at Nainai. “What?”

“That guy is a dummy. He’s hung up on the past and afraid of the wrong things. That’s why he’s so miserable. Let me tell you, he’s not going to get his happy ending. He’ll probably grow old alone, become a drunk or a monk. Or both.” Nainai picked up a grape from the bowl. “These shows are all the same.”

“Then why do you watch it?” Yang asked, his hand still firmly clenched around his phone.

“I hope to be surprised.”

Yang’s phone vibrated again—a text from Poppy. She’d sent him a photo of Daniel holding a too-full glass of wine while donning a face mask that got in the way of his too-big smile.

Sending a pic since he won’t do it and won’t shut up about you, the accompanying message read.

Two seconds later, he got a message from Daniel: SORRRRY, ignore Poppy! I told her NOT to bother you when you’re having family time.

Yang smiled to himself, feeling more grounded. He flipped back to the photo Meiwen had posted. This time around, without that instinctual panic, he saw something else—his own face.

It wasn’t a good photo by any means. He was slouched and there was a hint of a double chin. But he looked stupidly happy—the kind of happy that could be felt through the screen.

He sent the photo to Daniel. Remember your first bite of hot pot?