Page 29 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
“I think she’s going to win this one,” I worry out loud to Cyrus.
I expect a much stronger reaction, but he appears distracted. “Is that so?” His gaze flickers down to my feet, and then he abruptly twists around in the other direction. “Come with me.”
“What? But we’ve already finished buying everything—where are you going?” I ask. It doesn’t take very long to catch up to him, and it’s not because I’ve developed a sudden tolerance for pain or my stilettos have magically reshaped themselves to accommodate my feet. Cyrus’s strides are much shorter, slower than they were before, and he glances at me every few seconds, as if to make sure we’re moving at the same pace.
I limp along until we’ve left the market behind us, the fresh breeze clearing away the smell of orange peels and sliced watermelon.
“In here,” Cyrus says, making another sharp turn toward a pharmacy on the corner of the street. He holds the door open and nods for me to enter.
The cool blast of air-conditioning hits me with full force as I hobble in, the sweat on my bare arms drying within seconds. The entire pharmacy is barely larger than our hotel rooms, but its blue-and-white shelves appear to be stacked with a bit of everything: rows upon rows of facial creams and toners and eye masks promising to reverse all signs of aging; cheap mascaras and lip tints and nail clippers; about twenty different kinds of vitamins sealed in orange jars. A gorgeous celebrity grins down at customers from a massive banner, holding up a new shade of lipstick like he’s proposing with it, his name scribbled at the bottom:Caz Song.
Cyrus is already at the counter, saying something in Chinese to the only retail assistant in here. I pick out the wordsdo youandwherebefore they both turn toward me.
“This for her?” the retail assistant asks in English, stepping around to speak to me.Two minutes, I note to myself with a mental grimace.I’ve been inside for two minutes, and that’s all it took for her to deduce that I can’t speak Chinese.By this point, I doubt I could look any more like a confused foreigner even if I glued my passport to my forehead.
The jade beads on the retail assistant’s bracelet clatter noisily as she reaches for something on the upper shelf to my right. “I have very good shampoo for you,” she declares, brandishing a hot-pink bottle.
“Oh,” I say, confused. I demand an explanation from Cyrus with my eyes—did he drag me over here to ask forshampoo recommendations?—but he looks just as bewildered.
“This smells like oranges,” she continues, every word punctuated by an enthusiastic nod of her head, her high bun bobbing with it. “A favorite for our customers. Many girls say their boyfriendslovethe scent too—won’t stop following them around just to smell their hair. Very easy to wash out and will make your hair smooth and shiny and healthy, like a mermaid. Once you start using it, I promise you will never be able to pick up another shampoo brand again.”
Cyrus clears his throat. “We’re just looking for Band-Aids,” he says, switching to English too. “Do you have any—”
“Check the back,” the woman says briskly, and waves the shampoo higher in front of my face, her eyes gleaming. “But you will regret it for all your lifetimes to come if you leave without trying this shampoo. We have other types of shampoo too: papaya, mango, cherries, vanilla. There’s one for frizzing—does your hair frizz a lot?”
“No,” I say, distracted, tracking Cyrus’s movements out of the corner of my eye. He disappears behind one of the shelves, and reemerges seconds later with a small pack of Band-Aids.For me?I wonder to myself. It’s the only explanation for why he brought me here, and it’s surprisingly thoughtful.Suspiciouslythoughtful. Two years seems too short a time for someone to grow a heart from scratch.
No, it must be a ploy of some kind. Another trick up his sleeve. The fact that I can’t be certain ofwhathe’s aiming for, exactly, unsettles me. Maybe he has plans of his own to humiliate me yet again, or maybe he just wants to get to my aunt through me. Either way, I can’t let my guard down around him. Not now, not ever.
“There’s another one for hair damage,” the woman continues, reeling my attention back to her.
“Thank you for the recommendation,” I tell her, “but I really don’t need any shampoo—”
“Everyone needs this shampoo,” she says, undeterred. “Everyone.Your favorite idol uses it. Your favorite idol’s idol uses it. I use the shampoo myself and it was the best decision I ever made—better decision than marrying my husband or buying an apartment in Puxi before the prices skyrocketed. If it’s the money you worry about, we have discount for first-time purchases …”
“That’s okay, but thank you,” I tell her, stepping back.
“We’ll just have this,” Cyrus speaks up, dropping the Band-Aids onto the counter.
Her face falls with such obvious disappointment that I almost consider buying the shampoo to cheer her up.
As soon as Cyrus finishes paying, he guides me back out onto the street and gestures for me to sit on an empty bench.
“She certainly loves that shampoo,” I can’t help remarking.
“Maybe they sponsored her,” Cyrus suggests, tearing open the pack.
“Maybe her grandparents founded the shampoo brand.”
“Maybe the founder of the shampoo brand was hiding in the pharmacy and listening to us the whole time.”
“Maybe the founder saved her life many years ago and asked only that she passionately promote their product in exchange.”
“Maybe the shampoo saved her life,” Cyrus suggests.
I snort. “How would that work?”
“Say a robber had been about to attack, but the shampoo made her hair so shiny that they completely forget what they were doing and stopped just to admire her glossy locks.”
