You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Nineteen

Dinner was two of the fabled American Hot Pockets, imbibed downstairs in silence, two meters away from the kitchen microwave. They tasted mostly of grease and pizza-flavored oil, but she liked grease. Hawker-center food was almost all grease, anyway.

"Not bad," said Christine, wiping her cheesy mouth. "Where are the guys?"

"We don't usually eat together," said Jen. "They're... not on the best of terms, as you might imagine."

"Yeah," said Christine. "I can imagine. It's not like I wanted to see them, anyway."

"Sure. Are you going to tell Rob what Lawrence said?"

Christine looked around for the sink, then pumped two squirts of detergent on the sponge and started washing her plate.

"I need a shower," she said. "And we need to move all that stuff I'm borrowing to that room."

"Which room?"

"The one with the bri... with the big red bed."

"Ooh. Getting fancy, are we?"

"Look, it's not like I..."

"I was kidding, C. You're allowed to be fancy."

Right. Jen didn't know what sarcasm was.

"Well, thanks a lot then."

"I'll get old Kang to help us tidy up your room," said Jen. "You go up and take a shower."

Christine would have offered her own help, if only due to Kang's age, but she was becoming increasingly aware of the thin film of post-flight airplane oil on her skin, and a hot shower seemed like the best defense against the encroaching nighttime cold, somehow worse than the bygone daytime cold.

"Alright," she said. "Where's the shower?"

"End of our floor," said Jen. "There's only the one. Grab your toiletries and PJs from my pink luggage. Left is cold water, right is hot. Don't turn it more than halfway either way or you'll die."

"Thanks," said Christine. "I'll try not to kill myself."

"Bye-bye," waved Jen. "Enjoy the steam."

The shower was in its own room, but there was only one hook for a towel, and so, after checking the lock three times, Christine made do with putting her old clothes on the sink, her shower gel on the cubicle floor, and her towel on top on the curtain rod, chattering like a chipmunk all the while. She wasn't going to have one of those stupid manga shower mishaps, where the guy magically appeared in the middle of bathtime. And given that she was living with actual magic guys, she wasn't taking any chances.

Looking cynically at the chipped shower faucet, she poked it twice, then turned it gingerly to the right and hopped out.

Pssssssssssssht, went the venerable and aged shower, spraying freezing cold water at an alarming rate. Christine hid behind the shower curtain and grinned, waiting for it to warm up. She could smell the delicious heat, slowly rising, like the sweet scent from a bamboo steamer. Just waiting for her to hop in. She was...

Crap. She had her towel on the curtain rod, didn't she?

*****

Drying yourself with a wet towel in the middle of winter wasn't fun, but at least it was survivable. She could explain it to Jen. She had wrung it out anyway, so there was no way she would notice...

"You put your towel on the curtain rod, didn't you?"

Christine nodded mutely.

"Well," grinned Jen, "nothing that the washing machine can't fix. I'll take this downstairs."

And she was off, hoisting the towel, loose change jingling in her pocket.

Christine sighed deeply, because the only reason Jen would have loose change on her was that she had already predicted the predicament. She trudged to her room and peeked in.

"Hello? Mr. Kang?"

There was no-one there at all. But the room looked spick and span, and spacious. The bedsheets were new. The curtains were new. Even the closet shone. The faint smell of lavender wafted from the four posts of the luxurious red bed, which suddenly looked like something from a period piece as opposed to a thrift store.

Christine tiptoed in, marveling at the feel of clean carpet between her toes. This was completely different from the dusty, dark room the three guys had interrogated her in. She felt like she was in a hotel.

"Mr. Kang, you are my new favorite person. Out of two."

Then, right as she dove through the curtains and onto the bridal bed, something hit her.

Wait. You have to call Mum.

She didn't have to call Mum. Mum didn't care. If Mum really cared, she'd be calling her. And besides, Jen had the phone, and anyway...

"Anyway," she mumbled, "real mothers don't make curse-dolls from their daughters' hair."

She was so tired. Rob, Yusuke, August. She had met so many people today. Most of them jerks.

There was someone called the Hart Princess who was possibly related to her.

Lawrence was sending her a whole envelope of talismans.

The top of the bed was so red. The light was all red.

Was this what babies felt like in their mothers' wombs? Before they knew anything about their mothers?

Before they knew enough to be disappointed?

She was asleep before she knew it.