Page 69 of Worth Fighting For

It’s been over a week since we came back from the ranch: blissful, whirlwind days in which Shang and I have been practically inseparable. Each morning, I go to work with a huge, dopey smile on my face and a tumblerful of latte that Shang has made on his espresso machine. At lunch, we meet up at a nearby restaurant and hold hands under the table like teenagers. After work, I bounce out of the office and meet up with Shang for dinner. He’s cooked for me twice more, and taken me out to a beautiful French restaurant on a different evening.

Then we go home, to his place, and spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms. We talk endlessly in bed. Once, we chatted so long that the sky melted from black to light purple before we finally dozed off, minutes before the alarm went off. I had to have three coffees that day, but it was worth it.

On our fifth day together, Shang came to my apartment. I had done my best to tidy up beforehand. As an additional precaution, I gathered everything I could find that saidMULANand drove the box of incriminating items to store in my parents’ garage. Of course, my apartment was nowhere near the level of pristine his was, but at least it didn’t look like the train wreck it usually does. But when Shang opened the closet door to put away his clothes, he was attacked by my pile of junk tumbling down on him. I just about died of shame, but Shang laughed for a full minute before grabbing me and squishing me, and then, while kissing the top of my head, he said, “Let’s go to the Container Store.”

The Container Store. A store that I had only heard of but never set foot in. I was so intimidated by all the different-size containers, ranging from ones big enough to store an entire human body in to ones that are so teeny I have no idea what they’re meant for. Maybe paper clips? Shang took my hand and led me around the store, picking out several containers, and within half an hour, we were on our way back to my place. If it had just been me in there all by myself, I would’ve wandered up and down the aisles, getting increasingly intimidated and frustrated, and two hours later I would’ve gone home empty-handed.

Somehow, Shang made even tidying up fun. And that is not even an exaggeration. I laughed a million times with him as we went through my stuff and he held up questionable things, like the whisk attachment for an electric mixer (except I’d long lost the mixer) and tiny thongs I’d gotten as a gag gift for my twenty-first birthday.

“Actually, maybe we shouldn’t throw these away,” Shang said, clearing his throat and putting aside the thongs.

“Stop!” I laughed, snatching them and stuffing them into a trash bag. Or tried to. Shang tackled me and we ended up rolling on the floor, laughing, before it inevitably turned into kissing and more.

The next day was a Saturday, so we worked on my place some more. Several times Shang would ask me, “What do you think, would you like this? Or maybe something like that?” And each time, I had to pause and really ask myself:What do I like? What does the real me want for this space?

By the time the sun set, with Shang’s coaxing, I had managed to let go of that part of me that’s constantly asking:But what would Baba think? What would my colleagues think?And we made my place into a space I know I’m going to look forward to coming home to, which is a huge step for me. I’ve never given a second thought about my apartment. It has always been just a place for me to crash after endless meetings at work, and in the mornings I barely even look at my surroundings before rushing out the door. But now I find myself pausing at random moments—when I’m getting a glass of water, for example, or when I’m shrugging off my jacket—and looking around me with a sense of comfort and pride. This is my apartment, and it’s not big or flashy, but it’s…pretty. My couch, now that it isn’t covered with jackets and random articles of clothing, is actually cozy. My kitchen is tiny but functional, and with Shang’s help, I’ve added floating shelves and placed potted herbs in it, sprucing the space up. My bedroom is a place in which I now want to do more than just sleep: That Saturday night Shang stayed over, and in the morning we lounged for a long while in bed, reading, talking, sipping coffee.

I’m so happy that if I were someone else, I would absolutely hate me. But the happiness isn’t perfect. For one thing, my dad is still ill, still in a hospital bed. His recovery is going slow, and I make sure to visit him as much as I can while juggling work and my newfound relationship with Shang. Not to mention the fact that I’m still lying to Shang about who I am. Each day, I promise myself that I will tell him the truth, and each morning, he wakes me up with a soft kiss and I feel my determination falter.Just one more day, I tell myself.Give me just one more day of this bliss.What we have is so precious, so priceless, that I can’t bear to break it, because maybe that would break me.

What a thing to think of, when we’ve only been together for a few days, but already I can’t envision going back to a life without Shang. And I know he feels the same way, because already he’s given me a key to his place, already he’s cleared out an entire chest of drawers for me, already he’s speaking in future terms. “For Thanksgiving, do you want to…” “For Easter, shall we…” “For Christmas, do you think…”

And I don’t want to stop this ride. I want to think of spending Christmas with him, wearing matching ugly sweaters and sipping eggnog. I want to do weekend getaways and plan for longer trips and I want so badly to introduce him to my parents. I want it all, everything, every moment of it, and the knowledge that all of it might disappear because of this stupid, horrible lie I’ve told is excruciating.

On Tuesday, Mushu says, “I haven’t seen you in three days, and that’s three days too many. Shall we have dinner tonight and catch up?”

I feel a twinge of guilt. I’ve turned into one of those people who disappear into a black hole just because they’re in a relationship. “Sure,” I tell Mushu. I send Shang a text telling him I won’t make it back for dinner and he replies with:

Ok. Are you still coming over? X

I smile and text him:

Yes x

Dinner with Mushu is exactly what I need to clear my head. Mushu is the only one who knows the whole truth, so I can be honest and get her advice. As we settle into our seats at the restaurant, a sense of comfortable joy washes over me. I’ve missed quality time with my cousin.

“So,” Mushu says, “Shang is really that amazing in bed, huh?”

I cough. “Mushu! Oh my god.”

“What?”

“We haven’t even ordered our drinks yet.”

Mushu catches a waiter’s eye, and when he comes over, she says, “Can we have a bottle of chardonnay, please? Thank you.” The waiter nods and leaves, and she turns back to me. “Right. Now can you tell me everything? Spare no details.”

I sigh. “Oh, Mushu. I needed this.”

“Yeah, me too. You’ve been shacked up in coupledom and forgotten me.” Mushu pouts.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I kind of got swept up in Shang. He’s so…” I sigh.

The waiter comes back with our wine, and after it’s poured out, we raise our glasses.

“To love,” Mushu says.

“I don’t know if it’s love,” I say.

Mushu rolls her eyes. “I’ve known you all my life and I have never seen you like this, ever. Not even with Nick, and you were with him for two years. Thing is, cuz, I just—I know we joke around a lot and it’s hard for anyone to take me seriously—”

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