Dinner—the food, that is—was very enjoyable. The conversation was polite but strained; his parents acted like parents, and their son like a son. Lots of pictures were taken as friendly souvenirs.

Then the most dreaded question finally came when Donna asked, dabbing her thin, red-painted lips with her matching, perfectly manicured fingers, “Lily, what do you do?”

“Last year I graduated from the MFA program in creative writing from NYU….”

Alex immediately came to my rescue. “Mom, I told you Lily’s a novelist.”

Frank looked up from his plate. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve always wanted to be a writer—thrillers, mysteries, gangsters, you know, men’s stuff.”

I laughed a little to cover my nervousness and inferiority complex.

“What’s your writing about?” Donna’s eyes alighted on me like a hawk its prey.

“Coming of age, mother and daughter relationship, a family saga.”

Now Frank stopped eating to chime in. “Which publisher?”

I was so embarrassed that had there been a hole right in the restaurant, I would have plunged inside and refused to come out. “I… don’t have a publisher yet. It’s still a work in progress.”

Neither of the parents’ expressions concealed their disappointment. They exchanged looks, then the ex-wife said, “So what do you do besides this hobby?”

I knew the word “hobby” was meant as an insult, since many would-be writers scribbled their whole life but never got published. But I was dead serious and good, and I knew it. Then where was my book? As long as I remained unpublished, my writer’s identity would never be taken seriously. My heart sank. Unpublished, unemployed, unmarried. Maybe I should at least say yes to Alex’s proposal.

Then Alex’s father asked, “Lily, may I ask what are you doing in China?”

I hesitated for seconds before I blurted out, “To gather material for my second novel.”

Some moments passed before both parents uttered a “Hmm… that’s nice.” After that, they resumed their eating and drinking.

I couldn’t tell how the parents really felt about me—or if they actually had feelings. Did they like me as a person, even a teeny, tiny bit? Today I was not my usual self. Ill at ease, I forced myself to put on a face that was not really mine. Besides, I had never learned to mingle with the rich and pretentious. In fact, I hated it. I knew that in his parents’ eyes, I was of no significance.

Frank and Donna had already arranged that after dinner we would all go to a Xinjiang folk dance performance. I didn’t have much interest in seeing this kind of superficial tourist stuff, but I felt obliged to go along so as not to disappoint Alex or offend his parents.

A bus with other tourists was waiting outside the hotel to take us to the Hundred Flowers Theatre. Twenty minutes later, we were sitting among casual but affluent-looking American and European tourists. I felt totally out of place, though this was mitigated by Alex’s warm hand moving between my neck and back.

He pulled me closer to him. “Hope you enjoyed dinner.”

I managed to squeeze a smile and whisper back, “Yes, of course. Your parents are very hospitable and the food was excellent.” I hated to lie, but this was for Alex.

The music, loud and animated, filled up every space on and off the stage. The dancers were pretty and exotic, their shimmering, bright-colored costumes spectacular, and their movements airy and sensuous, like cursive calligraphic strokes manifesting in the air. The dance repertoire ranged from Flying Goddesses of Dunhuang to masked pantomime, and even to dances supposedly from Egypt and Mexico. The audience drank, snacked, shouted, and clapped enthusiastically, especially Alex. I could feel his youthful energy radiating in all directions.

The finale was called Huahao Yueyuan, Flowers are Beautiful and the Moon is Round. The dancers, like gods and goddesses descending from Mount Olympus to the human world, came down from the stage to invite everyone in the audience to join them. Alex dragged me and his parents onto the stage, then began to fling his long arms and slender body to the music. I was amazed to discover this natural dancer in him. I was also relieved to find Frank and especially Donna finally looking happy and relaxed, albeit probably alcohol induced. Frank was being coached by a very young and pretty dancer, while Donna was half lifted from the floor by a muscular male dancer with a perfectly proportioned body and an over-enthusiastic grin.

Despite my awkwardness with them, I did feel a superficial happiness in this dreamy, heavenly mountain-reaching atmosphere. The other American tourists, mostly middle-aged or elderly, all found their temporary escape and sensuous comfort in the arms of the young, handsome dancers. One sixtyish, plump man kept moving his hand up and down like an elevator between his beautiful dancer’s neck and bottom. A fiftyish, dried-up blonde kept caressing the smooth, tanned cheek of her exotic, sculpture-bodied male partner.

I was glad that Alex never left me to dance with the performers, nor did he even stare at the girls’ long legs; narrow, water-snake waists; and bulging breasts. He seemed content just having me all to himself in this dance orgy. I felt so grateful that tears brimmed in my eyes.

He noticed it right away. “Lily, you OK? Did I do something inappropriate?”

“No, Alex, you’re a good man. It’s just the atmosphere here that makes me think of something else.”

Arms around my waist, my young lover bent a little so his forehead was touching mine. “Tell me, what’s on your mind? I really want to know you more, Lily. But it seems that you won’t let me.”

Was I really so distant to Alex? Like Donna was to me?

I touched his face. “Sorry, Alex, if that’s how I make you feel. I promise I’ll tell you everything about myself later.”

Finally we all went back to our seats, everyone looking happy. I noticed Frank and Donna had been drinking steadily since dinner and so looked definitely tipsy now. Once they were back at our table, to my surprise, they immediately resumed downing the very strong Chinese mao-tai—notorious for burning your mouth even before it has snaked down your throat.

As I was watching them in disbelief, Alex suddenly announced to his parents, “Mom and Dad, I mean to get engaged to Lily.”

Under the table, I pinched him hard on his thigh to no avail.

But Frank and Donna didn’t seem to be shocked at all by this unexpected piece of news. Bleary-eyed, Frank patted Alex on the shoulder and yelled above the din, “Good for you, son!” while Donna smiled her sharp-toothed, tipsy smile.

“Just let us know when you’ve picked a date,” the father added. After that, both parents leaned to hug and peck their son’s cheek, then mine. Alex pulled me into his arms and kissed me on my lips.

Abruptly Frank stood up, lifted his glass, and hit it with a knife. “Quiet. Please be quiet, everyone. I have something very important to announce!”

A silence fell over the hall as all eyes found their way to our table.

Frank said in his booming, drunken voice, “Tonight I’m very happy to tell you that my handsome son will soon marry this lovely Chinese lady.”

A round of applause exploded in the hall.

He continued, “Let’s have a toast to the future bride and groom!”

Another round of alcohol-enhanced applause burst out. People drank in big gulps after that, upending their glasses.

Congratulations rose and fell in a raucous heterophony from all corners of the packed hall.

After the commotion subsided, Frank sat down and asked his son, “Alex, how do you want to be married?”

Alex lifted my hand to plant a kiss. “Something simple, maybe in the desert here.”

The father said, “You know, son, you can have something very fancy if you want. St. Regis or the Plaza. Just let us or my assistant know, OK?”

After observing this drama in disbelief, I turned to ask my young lover, “Wait a minute, Alex, did I say I’d like to be engaged, even married?”

I could not tell if Frank or Donna heard what I’d said or, if so, were disturbed. I had not noticed any sign that they cared how long Alex and I had been dating, if we were suited for each other, or even if I truly loved and cared for him.

Alex leaned close to me and spoke in a heated whisper, “Please, Lily, say yes if you truly love me. This is a rare chance to get approval from my parents. I hardly see them, let alone when they are both in such a good mood!”

I remained silent for a moment, then whispered into his ear, “Can’t you tell they’re not in a good mood, but an alcoholic one?”

He ignored my remark but hissed, “Please, we’ll be leaving tomorrow. Can’t you just say yes?”

But I couldn’t.


That night, Alex was upset. He didn’t touch me, and we had zero communication—emotional, intellectual, or sexual.

What I really wanted was to be left alone, to think things through, especially my goal in life, which for sure was not to get married, have children, move to the suburbs, and live boringly ever after. I felt sad that not only was our last night together sexless, but it ended on a sour note.

The next morning Alex and I showered and dressed in silence. He still acted hurt and angry, and I did not know what to say to smooth things over.

After a quick breakfast, I politely shook hands with his parents before they crawled inside the waiting car. Then, under his parents’ watchful eyes and to my surprise, Alex pulled me to him and kissed me deeply.

After the long kiss, Alex looked at me with his sad eyes. “Lily, I’m sorry that we quarreled. I really don’t want to go back and leave you here.”