The Popstar & Me

Chapter 25 - Broken Strings

Chapter 25

There is a crowd at the bar by the time we get there. A singer, wearing a green qipao, is whisper-singing a sexy, melodious Teresa Teng song about the moonlight and her heart.

 I take a seat at the edge of the bar. The air is filled with whiffs of medicinal herbs, cigarette smoke, and the ubiquitous scent of jasmine pinned on lapels in the sultry summer weather. Nostalgia suddenly overwhelms me. I'm here in this bar with the world's most eligible bachelor, but all I can think about is Yang Yang and the life I could have had here.

Shanghai, to me, isn't a place that exists in this world. It's a place of my imagination, of my dreams, of a place across an ocean of insurmountable waters, populated by the fading faces of people I'll never get to know the outcome of. Even now, as I know that Zhang is dating my mother's best friends' daughter, and he wants nothing to do with me or my memories, I can't help but romanticize what could have been in my mind.

Perhaps, in another life, we could have come here to listen to old tunes on a summer night.

 Perhaps, in that life, I would belong here.

"What are you thinking about?" Fang asks. He arrives with a cold, sweaty bottle of Tsingtao in one hand and a glass of Pinot Grigio in another. Even before he sits down beside me, I know that the wine is for me, his poor foreign friend. I take the beer from him and take a mouthful from it. He's impressed, not so much that I'm drinking a foreign beer but that I'm drinking it straight from the bottle like a sailor. I wipe my mouth with the back of my arm.

"I'm thinking about the people I used to know before I went to America," I confess. I'm not a drinker. This is probably my first real sip of alcohol alone with a true stranger. Before this point, my primary memory of alcohol involved spiking some diet coke using my mom's Costco cabernet when my cooler friends came over. Sitting here at a bar with an older boy makes me feel like all worldly and grown-up. Up until now, I didn't know teenagers could behave like this outside of Gossip Girl. "Do you know that all the Mandarin I know, I learned from watching Chinese dramas? Until coming here, I've never even spoken it out loud."

Fang laughs at that. He reluctantly sips on the glass of white wine like he's not sure if it threatens his masculinity. Finally, he drinks the whole thing in one gulp. He leans into the bar counter and smiles at me in that mischievous way that makes me want to melt. He's just so insanely good-looking. He doesn't even need to deliver any lines. It's like you can look into his clear hazel eyes, and all your problems melt away.

"I have a confession too," Fang muses. "I've always dreamed of living abroad, maybe somewhere where I can be normal for a little while. Silly, isn't it? If my parents heard that, they would say — shǎ zi, do you want to throw away everything you have? All for what? To live with a bunch of guǐlǎo? I'm sorry," Fang apologizes with a laugh. "Those are their words, not mine."

"I would love to show you around."

"Will you show me, New York, through your eyes?"

"You betcha."

I bat my eyes at him. No, I'm not flirting with him! I'm just-just a little out of my mind. It must be the beer. It's warming the pit of my stomach, and suddenly, the world is fuzzy.

"Your sister-in-law must be afraid that you want to run away with me. She was glaring at me all night."

"Maybe she's not entirely wrong about that," Fang smirks and stares into his empty glass. "Are you still thinking about your ex?"

"No," I blurt, just a touch too eagerly. It's true. I haven't thought about Calvin at all. Who cares about Calvin? There are other boys on the swim team back home I could try to date. As much as I hate to admit it, it suddenly dawns on me — Calvin Suzuki is replaceable. This moment, here, with Fang, in this bar is not. I've never had a moment like this before, where I felt like I entirely, unquestionably, belonged.

"I'm not thinking about mine either," Fang says, and for a second, his lips flicker up in a quick, spontaneous smile. Just like that, he leans in and kisses me.

~*~

I'm so grateful for the alcohol because I cannot believe that I'm kissing Fang Yao. My mind is about to explode. But it's okay, at least now that I'm tipsy, I find all this supremely funny. His lips are warm and sweet against mine. I don't know if I should kiss him back or just let him take the lead. He's not much older than me, but I feel like one does not come on to Fang Yao with tongue unless he invites it.

"You taste nice," I whisper when we finally part. "A bit like wine and mint. It reminds me of a mojito." I've only had virgin mojitos up until now, usually with afternoon tea at a ritzy New York hotel for one of my friends' sixteen birthdays. I hope he doesn't know that.

"I'm sorry," Fang apologizes and puts his sunglasses back on. He clears his throat and looks away. "I shouldn't have done that. I don't usually do things like that."

"It's okay," I say and pat him drunkenly on the arm. "It's not the first time a guy has kissed me and then regretted it big time. Maybe the problem isn't you. Maybe it's me."

Fang laughs at my dumb attempt at a joke. He intertwines his fingers in mine just for a second and then thinks better of it. He clears his throat and goes back to trying to wave over the bartender. Now that Fang has the sunglasses on again, he doesn't have much clout here by way of facial recognition.

"It might sound crazy, but I don't regret it."

"Yeah, you're crazy. Don't worry. Once the wine wears off, you'll realize I'm a horrible idea. Everyone else seems to think so, and you're so much more than everyone else, even the sum of all the everyone elses."

"What?"

"Nothing. Now I'm just talking to hear my voice. I do that when I'm anxious or drunk."

"No, I'm not talking about that. I mean, what is this?" Fang asks again. He is looking down at the bill that the bartender just slid him.

"That girl over there said her drinks are on you," the bartender says and points to the other side of the bar. 

I see Fang's expression turn sour as he glances looks in that direction. His brows are furrowed now, and I see his fists clench against the side of the bar. The girl has a boy with her. When she catches Fang staring, she ostentatiously drags the handsome boy over. The boy is wearing a fedora, and his hair is slick with gel under it. As the two of them approach, I recognize the boy. He's dressed in a black blazer with a purple dress shirt under it. 

The last time I saw him, he was wearing a red shirt for Chinese New Year.

 It is Kang Lu. 

That must mean the girl who had sent Fang the bill was none other than his ex-girlfriend, Liyuan