Dragon Day Read Online Free Page B

hospital and the police station hiding in the narrow alleys, by the industrial-looking grocery and butcher where everyone’s lined up at a window to buy fresh baozi , past a trendy-looking bar/restaurant where you still have to use the public toilet across the alley. Finally Mimi does her business (a two-bagger). “We’ll go to the Drum Tower later, okay?” I tell her. Lots of people in the neighborhood like to bring their dogs out to the plaza between the Drum and Bell Towers, but not until after dark, when all the tourists have gone. It’s a big problem here, finding any kind of open space where your dog can run around a little. Another reason to leave, I think.
    But where would I go? This is the question that always stops me.
    I’d better think about what’s on my plate right now, I tell myself.
    So while Mimi sniffs at some interesting stains on a grey brick wall, I get out my iPhone. Stare at it. I don’t exactly want to send this email. I’m really not ready to deal with the person on the other end.
    It’s not really a choice, I tell myself.
    I launch the VPN on my phone, open up my email, and type: “Do you have time to meet?”

Chapter Four
    â˜…
    â€œSo where is it you’re going?”
    â€œJust to visit a friend.”
    My mom pauses in the middle of her chopping—chicken, for tacos. “And you don’t want dinner?”
    I shake my head, even though I love my mom’s tacos and she’s making three kinds tonight (“Chicken, potatoes y rajas , and I thought I’d try mutton”) and even has enough ripe avocados for guacamole.
    â€œHow much pepper for salsa?” Andy asks.
    â€œOh, throw in a few more of these little ones and another bunch of that cilantro.”
    He nods and starts chopping. Their knives fall into rhythm. He’s not much taller than she is, and they’re both a little stocky.
    If I were a better person, I’d think it was kind of cute.
    Zhou Andian, “Andy,” lives next door. My mom’s boyfriend. I mean, no point in pretending otherwise. She spends as much time over there as she does here, but she likes our kitchen better for cooking. I figured the thing with Andy would end up being one of her typical flameouts, which would have been all kinds of awkward, given that we’re neighbors, but five months in, it shows no signs of fading.
    Andy’s . . . not bad. He’s into this weird Christian house-church, but it seems pretty harmless—they’re not setting themselves on fire in the middle of Tiananmen Square anyway. My mom shares the whole Jesus fixation, so it gives them something to talk about.
    Otherwise he likes to help. He’s quiet, even-tempered.
    Added bonus: he’s not a drunk or a meth addict or an asshole.
    And he really likes my mom.
    â€œWhat time will you be home, hon?” she asks.
    â€œNot sure,” I mutter. “Don’t wait up.”
    She’s about to pop the quiz, I can tell, so I hustle myself out of there.
    How the fuck did things end up like this?
    I had my own apartment. I was making decent money, and I was even doing something kind of cool, representing “emerging” artists. No DSD on my ass or anyone else trying to fuck with me. I can’t say I left the war behind—it’s always going on in my head somewhere—but I wasn’t thinking about Iraq so much. I had this brief period where I wasn’t scared all the time, or numb. I was thinking maybe I’d actually found a place for myself.
    But that wasn’t the main thing, I realize. The main thing was, I felt free.
    I’d gotten over my ex-husband, Trey, sort of. I didn’t have to worry about whether I was Lao Zhang’s girlfriend or just one of a number of girlfriends he fucked, or if that was something I was even entitled to care about, because wherever he was, he wasn’t around—and when I interacted with him online, in a chat room,