Chapter 3

It was only a short walk from the coffee shop to the hospice center where I worked, which was located within the grove. As I tipped my change into the hands of the elderly homeless man who had set up residence beneath one of the palms, half a dozen obese birds crowded about me.

I was feeling pretty damn good about myself by the time I walked through the door.

“Morning, Zhefan.” My overworked supervisor Shigu gave me a tired smile as I swept up to the front counter to sign in. “You look…peppy?”

I flashed her an overly animated smile. “Just performed a virtual citizen’s arrest at our local coffee shop. You know keeping the city safe.”

“Uh huh,” she answered vaguely, hearing but not listening as she browsed through some papers. “Well, here we go. Mr. xukun in 308 needs a blood sugar reading.” Yeah, I was trained to do some stuff nurses do.

“Mrs. Kao is refusing to take a shower, oh and here’s one you’ll like Mrs. Lu in 207 insists that her family is driving across the country right now to see her. She’s been making a Welcome banner all morning.”

Shigu gave me a stack of job assignments that had to be done before I left as she clocked out with a huge smile.

“Um…thanks.”

She winked. “Good luck.” Then she was gone.

Needless to say, by 10:05, my adrenaline rush had worn off. I paced from room to room, making the same circles and seeing the same faces I'd seen before. Don't get me wrong: I like my job. It's only that I'd been at the same institution for over three years and had hoped to have landed an acting job by now. Hospice was not intended to be a long-term solution. Patients were separated into two groups: those who had been pushed out of the health-care system and were temporarily utilizing us as a recovery center owing to budget cuts, and those who came here to die rather than recover.

In any case, no matter how many individuals you met, you wouldn't have known them for very long.

Xiaoyan would often inquire about it. He couldn't fathom how I could spend my entire life surrounded by death and dying. I was the person in the patient's life who would provide palliative end-of-life care till they died. And I wanted to make their final days as pleasant as possible. I wanted to be that dependable and nurturing presence, assisting patients and their families in regaining their dignity. But no matter how many ways I tried to describe it, she'd always say it sounded like something out of a Stephen King novel and demand that we move on to something else.

Mrs. Lu, a woman I'd spoken to every day for the previous eight months, asked me my name when I pushed open a door.

When I finally got home and pushed shut the door of the apartment, Xiaoyan sprang up to greet me like he hadn’t been imitating The Walking Dead all morning.

“How was work?” he asked cheerfully.

I pulled off my scarf and let my purse fall to the floor. I handed him the bag with the stuff he had asked me to buy.

“Work was fine.” I felt like I’d given him the same answer to the same question for the last thousand years. It was definitely time for a change. “I got thrown up on.”

“That’s awesome!” he exclaimed, blatantly tuning out everything I was going to say as he waited impatiently for his own turn to speak.

I stifled a smile as he bounced a foot up and down, his heavily charcoaled eyes bursting with excitement. “Why, Xiaoyan, how was your day?”

“I GOT A CALLBACK!” he shrieked.

My mouth fell open, and he danced from side to side like a deranged bobblehead.

“I know! It was for that dystopian Western thing. I’m going to be…” he paused for dramatic effect, “Hot Ranch Chick Number Seven.” he pulled the tequila out of the bag and smiled. “I’m going to celebrate with this! I can’t believe I got this gig!”

“That’s amazing,” I breathed, imagining the possibilities. “And to think, I could have been number eight.”

“No, their quota for boys was filled,” he said practically. “To be number eight, you’d have to be white.”

“Oh.” I mulled this over for a second before saying, “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks! And thanks for stopping by the store.”

“Not a problem. Oh my gosh!” I suddenly remembered. “I saw a fight today!”

“Wow,” he raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. “Your first genuine fisticuffs. What was it about? Was it gang-related?”

“It was over a parking spot,” I said impressively. “Well, actually I stopped it before they came to blows…but I’m sure it was headed that way.”

He gave me a long look. “So you finally see the makings of a fight, a long-standing life ambition, but you stop it before it can actually get there?”

I felt as though I literally deflated. “...yeah, I guess so.”

He patted me sympathetically on the shoulder. “Come on, I ordered chicken.”

“Thank you. I’m starving!”

I followed him into the kitchen and was shocked to discover an elaborate setup. He’d pulled out our finest silverwear, and for once, we weren’t eating on paper plates. There was even a chipped tea light or two for ambiance.

“What the—”

He clicked a button and Florence and the Machine started screeching in the background.

My eyes narrowed and I turned to him suspiciously. “All this for Hot Ranch Chick Number Seven?”

“Well, not exactly.” Anxious and excited, he pulled out a chair and shoved me down in a way he obviously took to be endearing. “The thing is, Zhefan… I actually got the two of us a gig. But it has nothing to do with hot ranch chicks.”

“Really? That’s wonderful.”

“It is, and it isn’t.”

I cocked a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we don’t get paid like normal.” he grinned as I frowned. “But it’s great for our image. And we have the potential to meet some big names. And we can earn a big bonus by mentioning the agency. If we bring in work, we get a big, fat bonus. Think of this as fun work. We’re going to a party! And it’s tonight!”

“A party?”

“Who doesn’t want to party on a Friday night? I’ll tell you more” he said. “They’re getting us all fixed up!”

“Who?”

“You just got to trust me. Now come on. It’s time to go primp! Of course, after we eat this wonderful meal I got us.”

I laughed. “We’re not eating on paper plates, so that’s five star dining to me.”

“Not to mention, we’re not using plastic forks.”

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