The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) (33 page)

‘Mmm, but we didn’t start again, did we? I mean, we picked up where we left off. That’s why it feels so comfortable now, because we’ve had a year of relationship. It’s not brand new. I think I like that better. We know a lot about each other now.’

‘I’m sure there’s more to learn.’ He kissed me again.

He didn’t know the half of it. God, why did I let Winnie talk me into that wax appointment? It did
not
go as planned. ‘I’m sure you’ve still got a few secrets yourself,’ I said. 

I regretted the words immediately. I couldn’t tell if they made him uncomfortable, but I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Some spots in the relationship were still sore.

‘Only secrets to share with you. Not secrets to keep from you.’

He meant that to make me feel better. But it didn’t. Because technically,
technically
, he hadn’t kept the secret from me in the first place. He simply neglected to mention that while we were on a break, free to see other people, he was exercising that freedom. It punched a hole through my heart, and our relationship, when I found out. It still made me sick to think about it. So why did I keep thinking about it? ‘I’m getting hungry,’ I said, hoping to distract myself from myself. ‘Let’s go to the market.’

The night market’s assault on the senses was as good a distraction as any. It was a Hong Kong institution, lining Temple Street and closed to traffic. A chaotic jumble of vendors crowded the road for blocks, squeezing shoppers into a narrow corridor. Every stall was piled with colorful wares – silky cheongsams, wall hangings, samurai swords, cloisonné and enameled animals, bowls and jewelry, genie shoes and Chairman Mao paraphernalia. Somehow, what looked like cheap tat in daylight became must-haves under the glare of electric lights strung inside and across the stalls. Pungent cooking smells from dozens of makeshift kitchens wafted over us.

We chose a food stall packed with locals, as we always did after Laos. The horror of being trapped in a hotel room with your boyfriend during a bout of trichinosis wasn’t a fate I’d wish on my worst enemy, even if there was a silver lining in that toilet bowl. A man who’ll hold your hair back when you’re praying to the porcelain god is one who’ll always look after you. 

‘What’s that?’ I pointed to the pyramids of dark green parcels being energetically sold by a vendor who couldn’t be more than ten years old.

‘Not sure. Two?’ Sam smiled, catching the boy’s attention.

‘Do we eat them?’ I took an exploratory sniff. ‘Cripes. It smells like the inside of an intestine.’

‘Have you sniffed many intestines?’

‘I was being kind. It smells of poo. You’re not eat–’

Too late. He unwrapped it and took a bite. ‘It’s tasty. Try.’

‘What is it?’

‘Just try it!’

Under the banana-leaf packaging (the source of the poo smell, I discovered) was a rice ball. I nibbled. It tasted like rice.

‘Take a proper bite. You’ve got to get to the inside.’

‘Mmm. Not bad.’

‘Told you. You wouldn’t have tried it if I hadn’t, would you?’

Was that judgment? It sounded like judgment. ‘Yes I would have.’

Of course I wouldn’t have. Daring eating for me meant adding olives to my chopped salads. I just wanted Sam to think I was an adventuresome girl, especially after his dalliance with that woman. Nothing dented one’s self-confidence like knowing your boyfriend went out with the female version of Indiana Jones. Well, I’d show him who was adventurous.

‘I’d like a bowl, please,’ I said to the man ladling soup from a big cauldron next to the rice ball pyramids. ‘Mmm, tasty.’ The broth was mild, flavored with ginger. Mushrooms and little dumplings floated among the white-ish meat. Fish? Chicken?

Sam was smirking. ‘You like that, eh?’

‘Mmm mmm.’ At least it wasn’t cat this time. I accidentally ate the furry feline in my lunchtime soup when I first arrived in Hong Kong. I’d never be able to look my parents’ pet in the eye again.

‘Do you know what it is?’ I shook my head. ‘Come here.’ He led me around the side of the stall, where I spotted large woven baskets. And a chopping block. And a man taking aim with a butcher’s knife at my soup’s main ingredient as it wrapped itself around his arm. I felt ill.

‘Are you going to finish that?’ He asked, gesturing to my spoon as it hovered over the bowl.

‘Er, no, that rice ball really filled me up. Would you like it?’

‘Ah, no thanks. You know I don’t like snakes. In any form. Here, why don’t I get rid of it for you.’

Chastened, I handed him the bowl as he tried not to look too smug.

‘You don’t have to impress me, you know,’ he said as we wandered through the hawkers’ maze. ‘I like you just the way you are. There’s nothing you can do, or not do, that’d make me go off you. You can’t scare me away, you know.’ He turned me to him, kissing me gently, igniting my insides.

I thought of the afternoon’s wax fiasco. ‘Don’t speak too soon about not being scared.’ I sighed. ‘Come on. Let’s go back to your place. I’m going to put your theory to the test.’

Sam’s apartment was in Hong Kong’s red light district, which was appropriate because, at that moment, my nether regions made me look like a sex worker.

‘Where’s the hair?’ Sam looked perplexed.

Normally I’d be uncomfortable having a man stare at my crotch. But it was Sam. He was in familiar territory. ‘It’s stuck to bits of wax in a bin in Kowloon. It looks funny, right?’

‘Well, you’re a little… bald. Did you mean to do this?’

‘I didn’t accidentally fall into molten wax, if that’s what you mean. The lady must have misunderstood me. I just thought it would be nice to tidy up a bit.’ Stacy and I had dared each other to have bikini waxes for years. I always chickened out. Until today. Judging by Sam’s face, phase one of my plan to become irresistible in the next ten days missed its target. All that was left of my once-plentiful pubic hair was a one-inch strip of stubble. Hitler’s moustache was more luxuriant. And probably more alluring.

‘So she just pulled it all off?’ He scrutinized me more closely, his blue eyes narrowing. ‘Didn’t you notice that she was doing it? It must have hurt.’

‘Of course it hurt! You don’t sit up and watch the process, you know.’ Like I was some kind of depilatory expert now. ‘You lie down. And she did it so fast that I couldn’t tell how much she was taking off. It was, once again, a stupid idea. But it’s not so weird that you won’t… you know, until it grows back, right?’

He smiled. ‘It’s weird, but it won’t stop us from… you know. Han, I told you. Nothing will scare me away. I’ll be happy when it grows back, though. You don’t need to do this. I mean, if you want to do it for you, to make yourself happy, that’s one thing. But don’t do it for me. I like you just the way you are.’

Sure, he may say that, but he didn’t know everything about me. If he did, he might not be so sure. Would I tell him? About Brent?

We hope you’ve enjoyed this sneak peek at
The Expat Diaries: Twelve Days to Christmas
, which is available globally in paperback and eBook

The Twelve Days to Christmas
on
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The Twelve Days to Christmas
on
Amazon.ca