Loveboat, Taipei by Abigail Hing Wen

Author:Abigail Hing Wen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

20

An hour and a half later, after bathing sticky slices of niángāo in beaten raw egg and carving radish flowers with Aunty Claire and Sophie (who carved ten to my three—how does she work so fast?), I search the mansion for Rick, peeking between the reclining leather seats in the basement movie studio and moving steadily through silk rug–lined hallways and up curved stairways to the rooftop garden, blooming with sweet-scented gardenias and a guava tree. The warm breeze blows my hair over my face as I look out over the city skyline, the skyscraper Taipei 101 rising lonely above it all. My body aches to make something of this view-to dance-but I turn around and head back downstairs.

I knock on the oak panel of Rick’s bedroom door a second time, but there’s no answer. He must have gone outside. As I pass Xavier’s room, soft little moans and kissing sounds reach my ears through his door.

“I did it for you,” Sophie murmurs.

I can’t hear Xavier’s reply, but Sophie’s angry grunt follows, then the vehement scrape of a chair leg on wooden floor, as if they’ve pushed apart.

“What’s wrong with you?” Her voice rises an octave. “You didn’t hold back with Mindy from what I hear.”

“I just don’t think we should do this,” Xavier answers.

More furniture scrapes the floor. A thud, like a book thrown down. Pages snapping. My feet have frozen to the silk runner.

Then the door flies open. Sophie rushes out. Stops as her eyes fall on me. She tugs the straps of her orange-striped dress back onto her shoulders as his door slams, blowing her skirt between her legs.

“You okay?” I ask, alarmed.

“He’s a moron.” She yanks his earring from her ear. “I was so stupid to get involved with him.”

“You don’t mean that,” I protest.

“We’re through.” She hurls the earring at his door, which pings off and disappears under a grandfather clock. “I’m going to sit by the pool until dinner.”

Kicking aside a pink bear, she pushes into her room and slams her own door—her carefully laid weekend plans chucked out the window. I raise my fist to her door as Xavier’s flies open.

He’s shrugging a black shirt over his head. Track lighting glints off his tan chest. Through his doorway, the bed sheets of his four-poster bed are rumpled, covers turned back, orange backpack on the floor.

As his eyes meet mine, he freezes. I wonder what picture of me he sees this time, standing frozen with embarrassment.

“Ever. This isn’t what you think.” The absence of a smirk or mocking in his voice makes my stomach dip. Xavier the Player is much easier to face than Serious Xavier. “Sophie and I—”

“It’s none of my business.” Skipping over the bear, I bolt for the stairs and down two at a time.

“Ever, wait,” he calls, but then I’m out of earshot.

Fifteen minutes later, I find Rick running through a bamboo-lined path in Tianmu Park, a few blocks from Aunty Claire’s. Dusk is falling, the sky violet streaked with pink clouds.

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