So you can imagine how stupid psyched I was when I’d learned that a small music news site had actually read one of my pieces, and (holy shit!) that they even wanted to buy it. Or how incredibly rich I felt when that money actually hit the bank.
I was $80 closer to realizing my dream.
BOOYAH! Take that, parents! Suck it, step-dad! Anna Tang’s gonna make it on her own!
To celebrate, my boyfriend Asher took me to a ritzy sushi restaurant in Williamsburg. We’d just demolished a huge seven course meal (with sake pairing!), featuring a delicate matsutake mushroom broth, a sweet and savory unagi omelet, and a rainbow of raw fish slices that melted like butter on our tongues. I barely had room for dessert, molten black honey mochi with roasted matcha ice cream...but of course I ate it. It was ice cream.
All in all, it probably cost a fortune, way more than what I’d been paid for my piece, but we were celebrating the significance of my accomplishment, not its fair market value. Besides, Asher came from money—he wouldn’t care.
Tall and lean, with wavy chestnut hair and expressive brown eyes, he was cute and approachable, like the boy next door. He acted like a boy sometimes, too, like just then when he sat back in his chair and belched, long and loud. I wrinkled my nose.
“Excuse me.” He lightly beat his chest and emitted a series of smaller burps. “Wow, I’m so full. Do you want the rest of my ice cream?”
My eyes lit up at the sight of the large spoon of ice cream still on his dessert plate. The mind was willing, but the flesh...ah, screw it. Stomachs were elastic for a reason, and that reason was dessert. I ahhh-ed and he slipped the spoon into my mouth, business end first.
“Bathroom, be right back.” He leaned down to kiss my temple before taking off towards the restroom.
On his way there, he nodded at a handsome older Chinese woman who was walking towards me. Everything about her screamed well-off Asian mom: the dark blue wool cardigan and black silk pants, short permed hair, and of course, oversized designer handbag. My eyes nearly slid past her, but snagged when her eyes widened, openly staring at me as she walked by. I didn’t recognize her (thank goodness! Not family!), so I flashed her a polite smile before glancing around at the other patrons and licking the last of the ice cream off the spoon.
The restaurant was cozy and stylish, softly illuminated with flickering candles and pale yellow lanterns, the live flames faintly reflecting off the dark wooden furniture and matching wall panels. A large, fully-stocked bar occupied nearly half of the restaurant, and was surrounded by a gaggle of women, all of whom were decked out in little black dresses and flashy penis jewelry. In their midst stood a very drunk and very loud bride-to-be, complete with sash and tiara.
Behind me was the older Chinese woman’s family. I tried not to listen to their conversation, but it was hard to ignore them when Asher wasn’t there to distract me from their loud Mandarin. Besides, they were clearly talking about me.
“That Chinese girl behind you is very pretty,” said the older woman. “She has a very good face.”
“Shhh, Ma, what if she can understand you?” whispered her son.
“Then let her. She knows she’s pretty, this isn’t news to her.” I smiled. Damn straight.
“Ma, please. Just eat more sushi. Ba, you too.”
“Eh, it’s too salty. I just want dessert,” said the father.
“Ba, you shouldn’t eat so many sweets. You already had two donuts today. Too much sugar is bad for you.”
The dad scoffed. “A little extra is okay sometimes.” I silently agreed with him and placed the sparkling clean ice cream spoon back down on Asher’s plate.
The mom continued, “You should talk to her. She might make a good wife for you.” I quietly snickered. Whoever he was, there was no way I’d be good, or a wife, to him.
“Ma! Stop that. Ba. Here, just eat...” Geez, especially when he was such a nag.
Asher rematerialized and sat back down, grinning, his long legs bouncing up and down beneath the table. “So, did you enjoy the meal?”
“Yeah, it was delicious. Thanks for bringing me here.” I gave him my 10/10 post-food smile.
He pushed the empty plates aside and reached for my hand across the table, his legs still jackhammering underneath. “Anna...we’ve been together for three years now.”
Oh shit. Mentions of romantic history or longevity always made my skin prickle. Those types of conversations usually didn’t end well. “Yeah, it’s been fun,” I said, my face and tone carefully neutral.
“I...I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I think we make a great couple. I mean, we both love music and dancing, both love having a good time. Whenever I look down from the stage and see you dancing there, I just...it always means a lot, to see how much you enjoy my music.” He smiled sweetly, though his hands were slick with sweat.
I relaxed a little and smiled back. Music was my element. “It’s easy to enjoy! Your band’s music is fantastic.” His electronic music band, Spice Dust, was actually pretty good. I’d met Asher at one of their shows, where I’d been dancing in front of the stage, trying my damndest to seduce him. I’d succeeded, of course.
He squeezed my hand and finally stopped bouncing his legs. “Anna, I’m really glad that I found you, and I hope...ah...”
In one sudden motion, he stood up and got down on one knee in front of me, knocking over his chair and announcing the spectacle to the entire restaurant. He snapped open a blue velvet box to reveal a delicate, rose gold ring, twinkling with an assortment of little white diamonds. “Will you marry me?”
I froze, hands outstretched but too late to stop him. Had I heard him correctly? There was no way that I had. I’d told him dozens
