The artist studio where Julia slept was located in the northeast corner of the city, an hour-and-a-half by subway from Tiananmen Square. All of her writing took place in an old brick building that smelled like a mixture of incense and sulfur. There was a plastic cooler for drinking water and a loft on the second floor outfitted with a bed, a writing desk, and a large mosquito net. The net was thin, a flimsy piece of fabric suspended from the ceiling. On the first night after arriving in Beijing, Julia woke up to find that she’d ripped the net off of its hook, the gauze bunched up like a sleeping dog by her feet.

The studio was located in an artist compound that underwent heavy construction morning, noon, and night. In the early days, whenever she experienced a case of writer’s block, Julia left her desk to stand and face the empty storefronts across the street, their glass windows papered over with red-and-black eviction notices, corners wrinkled and turned up at the edges. She stood on the sidewalk and stared out into the cloud of dust and debris until she couldn’t take the noise anymore. She let the sound slowly obliterate all thoughts. After a week of watching the construction it was unclear to her whether the workers were making something out of the concrete rubble or if they were still in the process of demolishing it. 

It was early August, high summer, and eight years since she’d been back to the city where her parents had been born. In her proposal for the writing residency she had submitted an essay about the difficulties of being the only daughter of Chinese immigrants and proposed a research project combining family history with descriptions of Socialist Realist monuments. She had worked hard on the proposal and it had gotten her accepted but in reality, Julia wasn’t sure what she wanted to write about. She was at a vague point in her career where she’d achieved a modicum of success but not enough to quit her day job or to ensure that she wouldn’t slip back into the “land of not-writing” that she and her writer friends often joked about. 

Of all the inconveniences of the space, Julia hated the bathroom the most. There was no distinct bathtub, just a showerhead that extended over the toilet and a drain in the middle of the tile-blue floor. She remembered a bathroom like this in her grandparents’ apartment in Dalian, a place that she had visited once when she was thirteen. She could recall the scent of camphor that filled the room and the cockroaches that scurried into the corners when she flicked on the lights at night. Now, over twenty years had passed and her grandparents were both dead. When her parents had mentioned their deaths to her several years ago, she realized that she didn’t even know her grandparents’ first names. 

China was filled with shiny, modern things but the bathroom design hadn’t changed since she was a child. Julia hated it then as she hated it now. The experience of all the surfaces getting wet at once, the vast boundarylessness of things. This boundarylessness replicated itself in the way that her neighbors outside of the compound lived their private life on the streets, in the card games and drinking parties held on the sidewalks at night and in the laundry strung like jewelry across apartment buildings. 

Earlier that summer, before leaving New York, she had slept with one of her best friends, a white man named Collin who happened to be her best friend’s ex. She spent the weekend before her flightat his place, dozing off in his clean white bed while he sat typing notes on his computer. He worked part-time at a magazine while studying for a master’s degree in sociology. Every now and then she tried to coax his attention away from the screen by rubbing her hand across his sheets in play-seduction, but he remained unmoved, his handsome face concentrated on the dissertation in front of him. 

Towards evening, as she lay in his bed reading, she heard his housemate poke his head through the door. “Is she still here?” he asked. Collin smiled at her before shooing his roommate away. “Stay as long as you want,” he said, kissing her on the forehead before pressing his body firmly on top of hers. She took his middle and left ring finger deep into her mouth while they fucked but in the morning before work, he stroked her hand as though she were a sick aunt, a sweet but tiresome invalid.

“When do you come back to New York?” he asked. 

“In eight weeks,” she said. She shifted her body to the edge of the bed. The morning was hot and muggy. She imagined the comfort of a cold shower and remembered the luggage that still needed to be packed and tended to. “How will you keep yourself busy?”

“I’m sure I’ll find a way,” he said. He smiled to reveal trim white teeth. 

In college, where they had first met, she learned that Collin had never worn braces, had 20/20 vision. “Good breeding,” her friends had joked at the time. Talk of his attractiveness spilled loose across campus. Julia had always equated his looks with a lack of seriousness, a dint of intelligence. She rolled her eyes at him whenever he attempted to charm other women. It happened everywhere. At bars, at restaurants, and at parties where Julia left to use the bathroom and returned to find a pretty white stranger in her seat, her face tilted up at Collin in admiration, a reverse pietà.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m excited for you.” 

But I am worried, Julia thought. She watched from across the room as he buttoned his pressed blue shirt, his body turned away from her. 

◆

Her friends often joked that Julia tried to live an ascetic life, orderly and above moral reproach, but mess seemed to find her anyways. Back in New York she worked full-time as a bookkeeper at an arts organization. She liked that finance used a different side of her brain and carried very little emotional weight. This was the justification she gave to anyone who asked her why she was an accountant trying to be a writer. 

While leaving her office at night she wished that her writing would tidy itself up like sums in a spreadsheet, columns that revealed their logic across orderly rows. On her last day of work before the residency, her department brought in a cluster of silver foil balloons and a cake with strawberry icing. She had volunteered to work part-time and the job would be waiting for her when she returned. “You’re lucky that they let you get away with that,” Collin said. His words made her feel powerful. She walked home with the balloons in her hand and popped them one-by-one in her apartment that night, pushing the air out of delicately punched holes. 

The residents that summer were all white women except for Julia. There was a Singaporean artist and self-proclaimed “feminist” who worked in textiles; a Canadian artist who photographed trash and debris; and an Austrian dance choreographer who wore shapeless dresses in shades of beige. They were all in their mid- to late-forties with tanned faces and cropped brown hair stippled with gray. 

On the third night, after a flurry of introductions, the Singaporean asked Julia how old she was. They were seated at the local police station where Mr. Wang, the residency driver, had taken them to register their passports and temporary addresses for the next two months. 

  “I’m 33,” Julia said, blushing as she said the words. 

The light in the police station was green and diffuse and, coupled with the jetlag, the whole experience made Julia feel like she was floating underwater.

“Your Jesus year!” the artist exclaimed. “You’re so young!” Her eyes widened behind long, synthetic lashes. “That was a good year for me. First marriage, first solo show.” 

She placed a hand on Julia’s shoulder. “It must be hard for you here, honey. Do you have anyone waiting for you back home? A husband? A girlfriend? Family?”

Before she could protest, the Austrian made a noise from her seat by the windows. “Has anyone noticed how they treat dogs around here?” she asked.Julia could see the sweat soaking through her beige shift. 

“Like shit,” the Singaporean artist grinned. 

Later, when she relayed the anecdote back to her friend Rebekah over Skype, Rebekah smiled and waved her off. “Doesn’t it make you feel proud to be the youngest person there? I think it speaks a lot to your accomplishments as a writer.”

“Thanks, but not really,” Julia said. She frowned into the tiny dot of the laptop’s camera lens and tried not to focus too hard on Rebekah’s pretty face. Rebekah was Collin’s ex and her good friend from elementary school. Julia hadn’t mentioned what had happened between them. 

“You’re too hard on yourself, you know,” Rebekah said. Julia watched as she ate cereal from a bowl perched on her knee. In all the years that they’d known each other, it had rarely occurred to Julia to be proud of anything. She remembered nights at Rebekah’s house after school, her parents complimenting them on everything from their bedazzled jean jackets to their coordinated dance routines. There was a photograph at Rebekah’s apartment commemorating their dance recitals. At Julia’s house, her parents ate quickly and in relative silence, leaving very little room for compliments or anything else. 

“Lighten up!” she said. “You’re not at work, you’re in Beijing! Besides, I’ll be there anysecond now. My flight is in two weeks. You can be sad after I leave.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Julia said. They had made the plans months before, on a cold night spent scrolling through five-star hotels in Beijing. 

A week had passed since she had left the city. She had heard from Collin only a few times since arriving, mostly at her own prodding. She sent him pictures of luxurious food to which he replied with affirmative heart emojis. Thinking of you, she wrote. Because of the time difference, she waited hours before he returned her texts. Recently, she had started asking herself if she felt more or less lonely after spending time with him. She imagined flipping the words around like tiles in a board game. “More” or “less”, “more” or “less”? 

“How’s Collin doing?” she asked. 

“He’s good! He asked about you the other day. I think he’s a bit jealous that I get to visit you and he doesn’t.” 

“Well, no one’s stopping him.” Julia blushed at her own words. “Why, did he say something?” 

“Not explicitly.” Rebekah plucked a blueberry from her cereal. “But he had this funny look on his face after he brought your name up. It was weird. You guys are still close, right?”  

Julia felt her blush deepen. “Yes, we’re close but not as close as you and me.”

“Right,” Rebekah smiled. “Well, I can’t wait to see you. We can visit the Bund, that Pearl TV Tower thingy…”.

“That’s Shanghai, idiot.” 

“Oh right! Shit. Well, don’t forget to save some of the fun stuff for me!”

◆

Collin and Julia met in a creative writing class during their sophomore year of college. When it was Collin’s turn to workshop, he submitted a story about a tense, uncomfortable dinner at a girlfriend’s house. The girlfriend in the story and the girlfriend he happened to be dating were both Vietnamese American. Julia had seen them walking all over campus, taking photos of each other on the lawn, looking attractive and in-love. She envied them while secretly making fun of their self-absorption with her friends. It was her way of disguising what she truly wanted, to be in a relationship that looked just as vital and all-consuming.

In class Julia commented that the characters in Collin’s story seemed flat, stereotypical, and unconvincing, especially the Vietnamese American ones. “I don’t think the narrator understands a lot about these characters and what they’re about,” she said. “It feels like a lot of guesswork, on the part of the narrator, about Vietnamese culture.”  

No one else shared her views or if they did, they didn’t feel compelled to voice them. In her Intro to Creative Writing class, the students sat in a semicircle with their desks facing one another. She watched as both Collin and the teacher stared at her with blank looks on their faces before moving on to the next subject. Collin evaded her gaze for the rest of the class period, leaving Julia to wonder whether she’d taken things too seriously, like her friends often said she did. “You’re just sensitive,” Rebekah liked to say whenever they reached an emotional impasse. 

Over the years, Julia’s opinion about Collin slowly changed. They became friends after graduating from college and moving to New York. He took a job in publishing while she settled into the finance department of an art gallery. She introduced Collin to Rebekah at a book launch and they dated for five years. 

She admired their relationship from afar. When they were together, Collin and Rebekah seemed happy, truly in love. There were no fights, no bickering, and no ostentatious displays of affection. They were white and good-looking, like a Noxema commercial, and they enjoyed having an audience to their relationship. Once, while walking through a farmer’s market in Brooklyn, she watched as Rebekah picked an heirloom tomato from its basket and held it to Collin’s nose for him to smell. The intimacy of the gesture and the sweetness of Collin’s bent neck made Julia blush from across the street. 

Afterwards, at the park, Rebekah had wanted to go sunbathing in her underwear. Julia felt self-conscious in her childish push-up bra but Collin didn’t seem to bat an eye.His attention was fixed on Rebekah and the manuscriptthat he had in front of him. She tried not to notice as he rubbed his knuckles in soft, concentric circles against Rebekah’s bare back. The heat of it penetrated through the air and made her skin prickle.   

While Collin and Rebekah dated, Julia attempted to conquer other milestones: switching jobs, dating older men, applying to a graduate program for writing. When Rebekah broke off their relationship after a period of slow decline, Julia played her role as the dutiful friend, avoiding Collin for months before bumping into him at random, at a neighborhood bar. He looked older, less sure of himself and whereas Rebekah didn’t always understand her sensitivity, Collin seemed to acknowledge the darker, more critical sides of her personality. 

“You’re not very nice,” Collin said to her after a night out drinking, just the two of them. It had been a year since the break-up and all three maintained a distant but steady friendship. Julia was stung by his words but tried not to show it. “What I mean is that you have more interesting qualities than being nice,” he said.  

“What’s not nice about me?” Julia asked. The din of the bar rose up around her and she could feel herself growing shy, reddening into her drink.

“It’s a compliment,” he said, reaching across the table to place a hand over hers. His palm was damp from clutching a mug of beer. “You’re honest. Being honest is a good thing.” 

Julia was not used to being watched. As a child she often felt like she had no stake in any given situation and relegated herself to the position of an outsider, a referee sent to enforce the rules of the field. Love and romance were for other people. She was flattered by Collin’s attention, even if she didn’t quite agree with what he saw. The fact that he had tried to understand her at all seemed remarkable, something worth rewarding.   

The night Collin and Julia had sex for the first time, he had been hosting a barbeque at his apartment in South Slope. Rebekah was out of town for the week, visiting family. As his housemates roasted corn and grilled hamburgers, they all talked about approaching their mid-thirties, still young but with the sense that things were not as free and open as they used to be. That night Julia was the last to leave. She hung back in the kitchen as Collin said his good-byes, slowly finishing a bottle of lukewarm beer. After the last partygoer had left, he approached her with a tired look and pressed his face into her neck. His lips felt surprisingly full, pillowed against her collarbone. When they finally fell into each other, she heard him exhale a sigh of relief that matched her own. 

As they took off their clothes she noted the patch of hair on his back and the tiny belly that hung over the waistband of his jeans. She loved how sex turned him eager, the look on his face both concentrated and boyish, and as often happened in the lead-up to having sex, she was most excited to see herself reflected in his desire. He kissed her with force, his tongue pressing deep into her mouth and when he came inside of her she felt his whole body shudder, a complete letting-go, his breath an all-consuming pulse in her ear. 

In the morning, she woke up to find his arms around her. They had slept together naked, cradled like that all night. This touched her so much that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Moisture prickled at the corners of her eyes. He woke up slowly and smiled at her, pulling out his phone to play her a Neil Young song, a continuation of a joke from the night before. As they lay in bed together, she catalogued the thin, red rash across his chest and the smell of her own morning breath. She made up an excuse not to stay and left the apartment before either of them was fully awake. 

◆

When they met for drinks a few weeks later, she carefully picked out her outfit and underwear, hoping that they would sleep together again. He chose a restaurant near his apartment and surprised her by wanting to order a four-course meal. Their conversation wandered naturally, as it usually did, from art to books to film. Eventually, they circled around the subject of romantic love.  

“How do you deal with the disappointment?” Julia asked. “After the beginning of things?” 

Collin paused to spear a baby carrot with his fork. “I think the disappointment is necessary,” he said. He chewed slowly, methodically. “It’s like praying the rosary,” he said. “A journey in stages. It becomes a choice, whether or not you decide to see it through to the end.”

Collin often said things like this, statements that were unprompted and had the appearance of being slightly profound. Instead of responding, Julia took a sip of wine and stared out into the restaurant. She caught the eye of an older white woman who looked at them appraisingly. When Julia frowned, the woman gave her a slight smile of encouragement. It made Julia feel strange, to be the eye of this sort of appreciation when she was so used to feeling unseen. 

It was easy to think that this was all because of Collin, whose handsomeness seemed to be a quality integral to his personality, like other people’s shyness or humor or self-deprecation. He wore it on his sleeve, in the way that he was easy with other people and the way in which he would look at her from time to time, cock his head to one side and ask “What are you thinking?” to show that he could be observant, as much as he was used to being observed. She wondered if it was thoughts like these that made him think that she was unkind. 

They ordered opposite items on the prix fixe menu and shared. The night was not going as planned and Julia felt nervous. She gripped her hands around her napkin and twisted it from time to time, feeling the tension in her shoulders build, then ease. She thought desperately about being in bed with him again, about being taken away from the swirl of thoughts in her head. 

Halfway through the meal, Collin got a call on his phone and frowned. “I have to take this,” he said, before placing an earbud into his ear and walking away. He blocked her path to the bathroom so she settled for pouring herself another glass of wine and adjusting the fabric of her dress across her chest while she waited. 

“Who was it?” Julie asked when he came back, his T-shirt slightly crumpled with sweat. 

“Rebekah,” he said blankly, wiping his hands on his jeans before picking up his fork again. He seemed distracted, pushing the food on his plate without bringing it to his lips. 

“I’m sorry to do this but I’m going to have to cut things a bit short,” he said after a beat. “She wants to see me tonight.” 

Julia felt her heart drop. “About what?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. “I didn’t know you guys were still talking.”

Collin shook his head, irritated. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s only recently. But it looks like tonight is the only night she can meet.” 

“She’s meeting you at 8:30 PM on a Tuesday night,” she repeated. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears. A feeling of anger and embarrassment flushed through her. Collin looked down at his plate and then back at her. 

“You’re not going to sleep with her again, are you?” she blurted out and instantly wished that she hadn’t. She felt sweaty and out of control. She wanted to challenge him, to see him lose his cool a bit. Most of all, she desperately wanted him to stay.

Collin looked surprised, then laughed. “I’m not going to do that,” he said. Julia watched as he sat back slightly in his seat. He stared at her for a moment as if trying to puzzle her out, before pouring himself another glass of wine. “Is that what you really think of me?” 

“Yes,” Julia said, without pausing. 

They were both silent as Collin seemed to withdraw within himself, thinking. Julia couldn’t meet his gaze so she focused on a corner of the table until he was ready to speak again. “Want to make a bet?” he asked finally, grinning his lopsided grin. Julia felt the tension diffuse a bit. Collin had a talent for this. 

“Sure,” she said, trying to match his lightheartedness. “But are you sure that you have anything that I really want?” 

He smiled at her from across the table and poured her another glass of wine.

“I’ll bet you my firstborn child,” he said. “That I won’t sleep with her again.”

“I don’t want any children,” Julia said.

“Oh, right,” he said. “Only books, right?”

Later that night, she got a text message while reading in bed. “I won the bet ☺,” he wrote. “You owe me dinner.” When Julia read the words, she felt a sharp pain in her belly, a whoosh that told her that she was both sad and relieved. 

She made herself wait fifteen minutes before texting back. “You’re a grown-up now, huh?” she wrote. “How are you feeling?” 

“Sad,” he said. She watched the ellipses bubble back and forth as he drafted his next few words. “I think I’m going to have a hard time sleeping tonight,” he wrote.  

“Are you going to have a hard time sleeping because of me or because of her?” she wanted to ask but she couldn’t find the courage to write the words. Instead, she put her phone down and pressed her fist into her stomach to staunch the ache that she felt there.  

The mental image of a Collin who was not quite Collin, a man with Collin’s features but molded to her specific wants and needs, overwhelmed her and made her feel safe. She had trouble imagining the logistics of a real relationship between them—the fights and irritations, Rebekah and the potential ripples in their social pool. Still, this didn’t prevent her from imagining what it would be like to wake up next to him in the morning—to feel his gaze fixed on her in a way that would propel her from the sidelines to the front of the field.
On their final morning together before Beijing, he prepared two glasses of iced coffee. He worked in a desultory fashion, pausing to hum the bars of a song while rummaging for milk and ice cubes. When he handed her the glass, their fingers touched. “You have really nice hands,” he said. He glanced at them admiringly. 

Julia put her glass down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do you like them?” she asked. “Or do you like what they can do to you?”

Collin paused to look her in the eyes. “Both.” 

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m joking.” He splayed his hands open as if to say, forgive me. His face turned serious. “Don’t act like I don’t care about you.”

She pressed her face into his chest. “I’m not sure that you do.”

“I have a funny way of showing it.” She felt his kiss on her forehead. “But don’t you know that about me?” His hand moved in concentric circles along her back. “Sometimes I get the feeling that you know me better than I know myself.” 

If that’s true, she thought. Then why aren’t you in love with me? 

“When you get back from residency, let me prove it to you.”

◆

Rebekah arrived on an August afternoon when the sky was pouring. On the way to the airport, Mr. Wang took a wrong turn and they ended up in traffic, forty minutes late. When Julia finally spotted her by the SIM card stand, she felt a surge of guilt for leaving her stranded but Rebekah smiled and gave her a huge hug when she saw her. “They keep asking to take photos with me,” she said as they walked to the car park. “It’s cute. They all think I’m Kate Beckinsale or something.” 

At the studio, Rebekah unpacked her things while Julia made coffee. “I’m sorry about the smell,” she said. “And the bathroom.” 

Rebekah glanced into the water closet and shrugged. “Looks fine to me,” she said. “I’m just happy to be here. I mean, Beijing. Can you imagine? It’s incredible.” 

While Rebekah showered and got dressed, Julia stepped outside for some air. The rain had stopped and the moisture left a faint heaviness behind. Mr. Wang stood across the street, smoking a cigarette. The other artists were in the courtyard barbecuing veggie skewers for dinner. The Singaporean signaled her over with a wave. 

“Who’s visiting?” she asked. Julia noticed that she had gotten her eyelashes redone in bright, powder blue. 

“Rebekah, a friend. She’s staying with me for a couple of weeks.” 

“I feel like we haven’t seen you in ages,” the Austrian said. “You must be so busy! We’re all going out for drinks in Sanlitun after this. Join us?”.

“It depends. My friend just got in this afternoon and she might be a bit tired.” She shifted her feet as they continued grilling. 

“Are these your friends?” Rebekah asked. She had emerged from the studio, her hair plaited in a French braid. With her light complexion and her linen dress, she looked like she could pass for one of the artists’ twins. 

“Ah, here she is! I’m Hetta,” the Austrian said, grinning and reaching out a hand. “This is Kate and that’s Emily. It’s so nice to meet you! We were just inviting you girls out for a drink.” 

“Oh, we’d love to!” Rebekah said. “Wouldn’t we, Jules?”.

“Absolutely,” she said, putting on a fake grin. 

“Parfait!” Hetta clapped her hands. “We’re charmed! Look, girls, have a veggie skewer. First ones out. Julia, what are you doing? Your friend looks famished.”

◆

The car was set to pick them up at 9 PM. Back in the studio, they tried on the outfits that Rebekah had packed for her trip. “I love this on you,” Rebekah said as she held up a dress in velvety purple. Julia inspected herself critically while imagining stuffing her body inside of it. “Are you sure?” she asked. 

“Positive,” Rebekah said. “Take it for the night.”

Julia changed in front of her like they did when they were kids, shimmying the dress on tight. “See?” Rebekah said, coming up from behind and admiring her in the mirror. “I knew that it would look good on you.” Julia smiled as she accepted the compliment.
They finished putting on the rest of their makeup and ran out to the car.

“Don’t you two scrub up nice?”, Hetta exclaimed as they climbed into the backseat. “I bet Mr. Wang thinks so too, doesn’t he?” she said, winking at the driver. 

Julia rolled her eyes at Hetta, but Rebekah didn’t seem to notice. “Take a photo of me,” she said as they pulled out of the neighborhood and onto the highway. She leaned against the window and pressed her arms up behind her. As Julia took the picture, a text message from Collin popped up on the screen. I’ve been thinking, he wrote. You’re right. Let’s talk when you get back. Her heart flipped and before she could think, she deleted his text with a flick of her finger. 

The driver took them to a strip of bars near a busy, outdoor shopping center. “We love it here,” the Austrian said as they piled out of the car. The street was festooned with out-of-season tinsel and Christmas lights. “It’s the only place you can get a decent drink outside of cocktail hour at a museum.” They got a table at a bar filled with expats and Kate ordered rum punch for the table. It arrived with blue flames coming out of the center. “Incredible,” Rebekah said as she took a sip. She kept her phone on the table and Julia glanced at it every few minutes to check that it was still silent. 

She woke up a few hours later to the sound of her own snoring. In the half-dark, she could make out that she was back in her own bedroom. The sheets rustled on her left side. Rebekah was lying awake beside her.  

“I think Collin is seeing someone,” Rebekah whispered.  

Her words jolted Julia out of sleep. “Hmmm?” she murmured.  

“I think Collin is seeing someone else,” she repeated. 

Julia’s heart inched towards her stomach. “What do you mean?” She tried to keep her tone light. It was a feeling she knew well, balancing on unstable footing. “I mean, how do you know?”

“He’s been acting really strange around me lately. Secretive. I bumped into him at the post office the other day, mailing a package to someone else. And the last time I called him to hang out, he was out to dinner. He wouldn’t say with who.” 

“That could have been anyone.” Julia turned to look at her. She thought about Collin taking the call at the restaurant, his crumpled shirt. “Besides, he’s always like that. Withholding information when it’s convenient for him.” 

Rebekah gave her a strange look. “You’re right. But it’s not like him, not to be honest with me.” She sighed. “I always thought, in spite of everything, that I would always know him best.” 

“Have you confronted him?” Julia was taken by her own brazenness.

“No,” she said. “I’m scared.”

Julia shifted to look up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, Rebekah. Things change.” A timeline of her future with Collin flashed in front of her. She turned to glance at her. “You guys aren’t together anymore.” 

“I know. But a part of me still cares. I’m not ready to let go just yet.” Her voice got small. “Besides, it makes me wonder. Am I that easy to get over?” 

“Of course not.” Guilt surged through her for the second time that day. She had a vision of Rebekah standing alone in the airport, looking forlorn. “He would be a fool to get over you.” She stroked Rebekah’s hair. The childhood urge to comfort and protect came over her. Like in the dances they made up in middle school, she never felt more at ease than when she had a role to play. 

◆

Julia slept in until noon the next day. When she came downstairs, Rebekah was already up with a pot of coffee. “I’m so embarrassed,” she said as she sat down at the kitchen table. “Really, I should be making this for you.” Rebekah didn’t answer. She looked distracted as she stirred milk into her cup.

“Are you still thinking about last night?”

She nodded. “He was supposed to text me back about wanting to talk.” 

Julia felt for her phone in her own pocket. It had been silent since yesterday morning. 

“I know it’s difficult,” she said, trying to think. “But there’s nothing you can do about it now, right? He’s twelve hours behind us.” She smiled at the truth of this. “Let’s try and make the most of it. You can worry about Collin when you get back.” 

They spent the next few days visiting Mao’s Mausoleum and wandering through Beijing’s street markets. Julia took notes for an essay that she knew she would never write. Men crowded around them in the narrow hutongs, offering expensive foot baths and trinkets. “Mei nu,” they called out. “Pretty ladies.” To get her mind off of things, Rebekah went to the silk market and ordered a handmade dress. Julia tried to take her own advice and forget about Collin. With Rebekah, she felt like she could see Beijing with new eyes: as a tourist and not as a struggling, prodigal writer confused about her own life and her place within it. 

She was learning to enjoy Rebekah’s company again. Removed from the context of everyday life, they could both pretend to be someone else. When tourists came up to Rebekah, asking to take her picture, instead of being jealous or annoyed, Julia tried to enjoy it. I wouldn’t want to be bothered like that anyway, she told herself as she watched Rebekah oblige strangers over and over again. Eventually Rebekah started to cover her face with sunglasses and a mask when they went outside. “Look, I’m learning,” she said. Julia smiled. The betrayal of sleeping with Collin still nagged at the back of her mind. 

At the end of the first week, another rainstorm swept through the city, pouring buckets of water onto the ground. “I’m going to take a shower,” Julia said when she woke up in the morning. Rebekah groaned to signal that she wasn’t fully awake yet. 

Downstairs, she confronted the bathroom that she hated. Its tiles were painted a bright, medicinal blue, and the water took hours to drain, even after a five-minute shower. There was a squeegee in the corner so that the bather could push water towards the hole in the floor, but it was old and decrepit and it gave off a bad smell. It was impossible not to get the toilet wet as she showered and she hated having to use it afterwards, feeling the moisture prickle at the back of her legs. In the beginning she had tried to use air fresheners and buy the best scented soaps but as her stay was coming to an end, she tried less and less. 

She closed her eyes. As the water came down on her face, she imagined that she was somewhere else. This morning she was reminded of washing at her grandmother’s house. The design was the same but her nai nai kept the toilet clean, as immaculate as she could. “This is how you do it,” she had taught her in Chinese, the first time Julia had tried to wash in the bathroom. “I’m scared,” she said, glancing at her mother for help. Her grandmother had laughed. “Don’t look at her, look at me.” She set a stool in the middle of the floor and showed her how to navigate the showerhead and adjust the water temperature until it was just perfect. For a moment she felt safe within that messiness, with her grandmother as a guide. 

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Can I talk to you?” Rebekah asked. 

“I’m almost ready,” she called out. “Is everything okay?”

There was no response. 

She turned the tap off and slipped her wet feet back into house sandals, grabbing her towel from where it hung on a hook outside the door. A feeling of dread was gathering at her shoulders. 

Rebekah was standing at the end of the kitchen, a brown package in her hand. “They delivered this while you were in the shower.” As she got closer, Julia recognized Collin’s handwriting on the return address. She stopped. 

“Why is Collin sending you things?”

“I, I don’t know.” She was genuinely confused. Her hair was dripping onto the floor and the water was pooling at her feet. “I mean, I didn’t ask him to. Maybe he’s just excited for me, for being here.”

Rebekah’s eyes narrowed. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” She put the package down. “I mean, it feels weird to me.” She started to walk back-and-forth, thinking. 

“I’m sorry, Rebekah.” She felt like pleading. “I really don’t know what this is about. Do you want me to open it? I can open it in front of you. It’s probably nothing.” 

Rebekah laughed. She sat down on the sofa and put her head in her hands. “Wow, Julia.” She had an incredulous look on her face. “Are you guys sleeping together?” 

The rain continued pounding on the roof. Julia felt the blood rush to her ears. 

“Are you sleeping with him?” Rebekah repeated. 

She opened her mouth but couldn’t produce an answer. 

“I knew it,” she said. “I fucking knew it.” 

Rebekah pushed herself up from the sofa. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? How long has this been going on? Why did you let me come here?”

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I—”

“Just because you pretend to be less selfish than everyone else doesn’t mean that you are. How could you not tell me? This whole time? You’re unbelievable.”

Julia’s head was pounding. “I feel awful.”

“Not awful enough. I’m getting the fuck away from you.” Rebekah turned to rush up the stairs. Propelled by an inner force, Julia ran after her. “Rebekah, wait!”

As she reached the top of the stairs, her towel dropped and her feet slipped out from under her. She grabbed the railing as her right leg collapsed underneath her. The last thing she saw before her side hit the landing was Rebekah turning about face to meet her. 

◆

“I need to get out of here,” Rebekah said, after she helped Julia limp downstairs and draped a bathrobe around her. She packed her suitcase to stay with Hetta for the night. The artist gave Julia’s shoulder a squeeze as she walked her out the front door. “Everything will be all right,” she said. “You’ll laugh about this down the line.” 

“I’m not upset,” Julia murmured. There was an ice pack pressed to her right cheek. She hadn’t bothered to check for the bruise that was forming on her lower side body. 

“Of course not,” Hetta said in a soothing voice. She squeezed her hand. “Take care of yourself.” 

Julia shut the door behind them. The rain had cleared up. In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine and listened to the sound of water dripping down the drain. Her face hurt too much to drink so she stared into the red liquid until her mind went blank. 

After a while, she dragged herself up to the bedroom. She glanced at her face in the mirror. It looked swollen and grotesque. She smiled at her own reflection just to feel her facial muscles move. She picked up the phone and dialed Collin’s number. 

Collin’s handsome, unshaven face loomed large on her phone screen. 

“Jesus, Julia,” he said as he picked up the call.

“I know,” she said. 

“What happened to your face?”

“I fell.” 

Collin let out a low, sympathetic whistle. “Jesus. Are you okay? You look awful.”

“I think so.” She waved her hand. “It should be fine.” 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be fine.” She was soothed by the look of concern on his face. “Where’s Rebekah? Isn’t she there to help you?”

At the sound of Rebekah’s name, Julia started to tear up. “I think I really fucked things up.” 

Collin was silent. “It can’t be that bad,” he said after a while. He was chewing on the side of his lip while Julia cried. “I think I can guess what happened. Things will work themselves out.” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s pretty bad.” She spoke as if she was talking to herself. He stayed on the line, watching her. 

“I hate to ask but how are your hands?” He asked after awhile, widening his eyes. 

Julia laughed. Her cheeks swelled in pain. “They’re still good.” She was gratified by his stupid kindness, his showman’s ability to turn a dire situation into something light. She played the old game in her head, flipping over the tiles that represented her feelings. Did Collin make her feel more or less lonely? More or less?

You’re not always the victim, you know. Rebekah’s imaginary judgment rang through her head. Her pretty blonde face would be scrunched-up in a frown as she spoke the words. In truth, neither of them understood her. If she were smart, she would abandon them both and start over but she had never been smart when it came to her own desires.

“You know, I’ve been afraid of it, this whole time. But I think you should give me a chance. Us.” 

“Is that right?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “I want you,” she said. 

A small grin spread across his face. “Say it again,” he said. 

“I want you.”