Hello Kitty Must Die (16 page)

MY PARENTS BLOCKED
my way as I headed out the door for work on Friday morning. My father’s eyes twinkled with glee and excitement. My mother beamed at me.

“What?”

“So you like Don, right?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? You spent the night with him.” My father looked at me with a mischievous grin.

“I had no choice. You tricked me into going camping with him.”

“But you spent the night with him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you two share a tent?”

“Yeah, because no one told me to bring my own tent. Because no one told me that it was going to be an overnight trip.”

“So you two were in the same tent.”

“Yeah, but we had separate sleeping bags, Dad. Don brought along an extra one.”

“But you two slept together.”

“Oh my God, Dad, I really don’t have time for this. Nothing happened. We didn’t have sex or anything. Don conked out right away. As soon as he hit the ground.”

“But you like him, right?”

“No. Don sucks.”

“Fiona, stop lying. I know you like him.”

“It’s okay, Fiona. Nothing wrong with liking a boy,” said my mother.

“Mom, I don’t like him at all. Seriously. Me no like Don.”

My parents exchanged puzzled glances.

“Then why did you go on the crabbing trip with him overnight?” asked my mother.

“Because Dad pushed me into it. And he never told me it was going to be overnight.”

“Oh.”

Yeah. It was my father’s fault. Go blame him.

“Well, guess what, Fiona. You are getting married on the twenty-eighth of next month. Your mother and I will make all the arrangements. Wear lipstick.”

“What? I’m getting what?”

“Married.”

“Who the hell to?”

My father stared at me, blinking his eyes in surprise. “To Don, of course.”

“I’m not marrying Don, Dad! This is ridiculous. What makes you think I’m going to marry him?”

“You spent the night with him.”

“Who cares? We didn’t do anything. This isn’t China. People don’t get married just because they spent the night together. Hell, they don’t get married even if they’ve popped out three kids together.”

So glad I didn’t tell my father about all my other dates. Yes, Dad, just slaving away at the office.

“Fiona, you’re Chinese.”

“So what? I’m in America.”

“Don’s father and I already agreed.”

“Good. Then you can go and marry Don yourself. Or better yet, his father. I’m going to work.”

I stormed out of the house and sought refuge in Jack’s world, my world, the world of six-minute increment billable hours. But my concentration faltered, wandering back to the morning argument with my father, replaying it over in my mind.

It’s true. If you keep watching the minute hand of a clock, it never moves. In fact, the more you stare at it, the more it seems to move backwards. Friday afternoon crawled by, second by second, as I kept checking the time like an anxious child waiting for the final bell to ring for school to end. So I could run over to Sean’s place to bitch and moan about my father’s announcement that morning.

“Crap, Sean, I’ll need that hymen after all.”

Sean spat out his rum and coke, trying to control his laughter.

“Not funny, Sean. I’m serious. My parents are making my wedding plans. They’ve already set a date. It’s on the twenty-eighth of next month.”

Sean couldn’t speak. He doubled over, holding his stomach while continuing to laugh at my predicament.

“Dude, you suck. You are not helping whatsoever.”

“Sorry, Fi. It’s just too ridiculous.”

“Exactly. It’s ludicrous. Who the hell expects you to get married after an overnight crabbing trip?”

“Your dad.” Sean burst out laughing again.

“He was serious!”

“I know. Have you talked to Don yet?”

“Oh God, no. I didn’t even think about that. Do you think he’s going along with this?”

“That’s something that you are going to have to ask him, Fi.”

“But I don’t want to talk to Don ever again.”

“It doesn’t look like you have much of a choice.”

Sean was right.

“Fi, why don’t you just tell your dad no?”

Because I’ve already done that a million times. And it has never worked once. I also didn’t want my father’s silent treatment or the awkward tension in my house. And most importantly, I didn’t want him blaming my mother for my impudence.

To remind me that I was still in America, the land of the free, the nation where you didn’t have to marry the boy who took you on an overnight crabbing trip, Sean bought me fifteen dollar drinks at XYZ, a trendy, upscale South of Market bar. The watering hole for investment bankers, corporate lawyers, people who can afford to shell out over ten dollars for a drink.

“Look at these people, Fi. They think they are going to live forever.”

“Stupid them.”

I put my head down on my folded arms, feeling the effects of the Raging Bull and the events of the day.

“Buck up, Fi. The situation is not lost. Your Dad is not going to have you killed for not marrying Don. Not in this country anyway. And look on the bright side, no one lives forever.”

“Well, I don’t want to die any time soon.”

“
You
don’t have to. Where is this Don anyway?”

I knew what Sean was really asking, but I didn’t want to tell him. The situation had not come to that point yet.

“Menlo Park somewhere,” I lied.

Sean looked at me. I turned a shade of pink, feeling sure that he knew that I was lying. He always could tell when someone was lying, especially when that someone was me.

“No worries, Fi. I’m leaving Don completely to you. But just so you know, there is no shortage of roofies or peanuts.”

“Good to know, Sean.”

Peanuts.

The peanut, also known in the scientific community as
Arachis hypogaea
, is the most commonly-consumed nut in America. MM’s. Snickers. Nutrageous. PayDay. Planters. Peanuts are everywhere. They are a rich source of protein and niacin, which contribute to brain health, brain circulation and blood flow. Unless, of course, you are severely allergic to peanuts, in which case, they just contribute to your death.

Like Don.

Some people are more conducive to death. Others aren’t. Shoot Rambo a dozen times and the guy keeps on going. Give Don a peanut and he’ll just die on you. No good, unless you had a big life insurance policy on him. Or needed to get out of an arranged marriage to him.

A loud sigh from Sean interrupted my thoughts of peanuts. “Fi, I’m bored.”

“My goodness, Sean, you have a front row seat at the meat market of the rich and famous. Take a look at all the silly people who think they’re going to live forever, downing pricey drinks and waiting for someone to put them out of their misery.”

Sean laughed. “Oh, Fi. You’re the best.”

“Yup. Like that sexy brunette at the end of bar. The one with the silvery, pink scarf hanging on her neck. She comes ready with death accessories. Aren’t those the best ones?”

“You’re learning, Fi. Always use something that belongs to them. You remember that.” Sean winked at me.

“Oh I will.” As Sean finished his drink, a question popped into my mind. “Why plastic surgery, Sean? Why make women prettier when...?”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask me that. I don’t make people prettier. I do reconstruction, mostly. I fix whatever gets broken or destroyed. Like hymens.” He laughed. “Gotta run. God’s work waits for no one.”

Sean made a beeline for the brunette. I downed the rest of my drink and headed home.

Reconstruction. Guess that explained that.

BEFORE GOING TO SLEEP
, I emailed Don and told him to call me on Saturday. When he called me in the afternoon, I was still at home, too hung-over to drag myself into the office.

“Hi, Fiona. Aren’t you excited about getting married?”

“No, Don. I’m not marrying you. We are not getting married.”

“But it’s already been arranged. Our parents agreed on it.”

“Then unarrange it. Tell them to marry each other.”

“Are you upset? You sound upset.”

“Yes, Don. I’m upset. No one asked me about this. I don’t agree to this. I’m not in love with you. And I’m not marrying you.”

“Oh.”

“You can tell your parents that for me. Marriage not happening.”

“What does your dad say?”

“It doesn’t matter, unless he’s the one saying ‘I do.’ And he’s not.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to get married?”

“No. Not to you.” For the millionth time.

“But I just bought my own house here in San Bruno. It’s a block away from my parents.”

“Congratulations, Don. Good for you. Have a nice life in your house.”

“It’s a really nice house. To raise a family in.”

“Good. Go raise a family in it. So long as it doesn’t involve me.”

“Fiona, why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t want to get married.”

“Because I don’t. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but I’m not going along with this. And nothing you can say will make me change my mind.”

“Oh.”

“Are we clear?”

“My Dad wants to talk to you.”

Great.

Don handed the phone to his father.

“Hello? Fiona? This is Don’s father.”

“Hi, I’m not marrying Don.”

“Didn’t you have a nice time crabbing?”

“Not really. Cold and wet. And his friend died.”

“But Don said you two had fun the whole night long.”

“No, we didn’t. Don fell asleep early on in the evening after he pulled up his crabs.”

“But my son is a wonderful boy.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“He just bought his own house. Why don’t you come over and see it? We’re having a house-warming party next week.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m busy. Working. Lots of work.”

“Just for a little while. It’s a lovely house. You’re going to love it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not marrying Don.”

“Fiona, can I speak with your father for a minute?”

Great.

I shook the receiver at to my father who had just come out of the bathroom. A pungent smell of human fecal matter followed him out into the hallway. I said nothing. People culture observed, even at home.

“Don’s father, Dad. Tell him I’m not marrying Don. This is stupid.”

“Fiona, don’t be rude.”

My father took the phone, holding his pajama bottoms up with his other hand as the elastic band had worn away.

“Hilo?”

I walked back into my bedroom to lie down and nurse my pounding headache. I had had one too many Raging Bulls last night. I muffled the sounds outside my room by hiding under the covers. I really didn’t care what my father was saying to Don’s father. I had already made my intentions clear.

“Wow, really? That’s wonderful,” I heard my father say. I pulled down the covers. Suddenly, I became interested in the conversation again.

“Of course, we’ll be there. Don is such a good boy.”

No, he isn’t.

“I’ll tell Fiona. She’ll love it.”

No, I won’t, whatever “it” is.

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

My father padded into my room, still holding up his pajama bottoms.

“Guess what? Don’s invited us to his house for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Dad, I’m not going.”

“Fiona, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not being rude. I’m being honest. I’m not going to marry the boy. There’s no point in going to see his house or to eat dinner with his family.”

“Well, I already said yes, so you have to come.”

“No, Dad, you said yes. So you go.”

“Fiona, it’s just dinner.”

“No, it’s not. Don wants me to move in that house with him to be his cooking whore.”

“Fiona! That’s enough. There’s no need to be vulgar. No harm in just having dinner, and we’ll be there.”

“I can’t. I have to work.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Yeah, and I’m a big firm lawyer. Sunday is a working day.”

“You will still need to eat. Might as well get a free meal at Don’s place.”

“No such thing as a free meal, Dad. I’m not going.”

“We’ll eat and leave.”

“No, we won’t. We’re going to sit around and bullshit with them after dinner.”

“No, I promise. We won’t.”

“And I’m not marrying Don.”

“Well, then you’ll get to tell him face to face tomorrow at dinner.”

Like that was going to go down better.

“Fine, Dad.”

“You’ll go?”

“To tell Don and his family that I’m not marrying him.”

A second later, I realized that I had been suckered into going on a third date with Don. And this time at his new house.

I needed more than a packet of roofies. I needed a Snickers bar.

T
RIAL LAWYERS SOMETIMES
repeat the same question over and over, ignoring your response in an attempt to elicit the answer they want. It’s an old cross-examination technique to try and wear down the witness. In court, judges and lawyers call it badgering. And the proper objection is “asked and answered.” Because the question has already been asked and answered.