Free Hour of the Rat by Lisa Brackmann Page B

and I know the difference now.
    So what was he?
    A foreigner. Maybe British. Young. Not a fighter. A mugger? A would-be rapist?
    Maybe so. But what are the odds? I go looking for Jason, I have a weird interaction with that guy Erik, and then
this
happens.
    “Way to go, McEnroe,” I mutter. “Way to go.”
    Because, you know, other people, they try to do a simple favor for a friend and it turns out simple. Me, I end up in a fucking clusterfuck.
    You think I’d learn.
    Back at the hotel, I buy a couple bottles of beer from the cooler in the lobby and hobble up to my room.
    My mom is crashed out on the single bed closer to the door, snoring softly. No Andy. Well, that’s something.
    I tiptoe past her and make my way to the room’s tiny balcony.
    We have a view of Green Lotus Peak, which is definitely green, but I can’t really see the lotus resemblance. It’s big anyway. I sit in one of the balcony’s cheap plastic chairs. It’s chilly and damp, and I turn up the collar of my coat, pull my knit hat over my ears, and pop a beer with the giveaway Yanjing bottle opener I got at a Beijing bar a couple of months ago. Take a long pull and think about what I should do.
    Here’s another difference between old me and new me: Last year I had to keep going, whether I wanted to or not. I didn’t have a lot of options.
    This year, you know, I don’t
have
to be doing this. Sure, I want to help Dog, but I already gave it my best, and I already have some dude attacking me over it. I think.
    I can just pack it in, go back to Beijing, and try to deal with my life. Back to the place where the DSD invites me to drink tea. Where they’ll maybe deport me or even throw me in prison, try to get me to betray my friends—an entire fucking arm of the state, with their $95 billion or whatever it is, dedicated to “maintaining security,” and me on the wrong side of it.
    Where Creepy John is coming home to meet my mother.
    Which leads me to another difference.
    I used to be scared all the time. I’m still scared, but I’m also really pissed off.
    I’m tired of being pushed around. Tired of being scared.
    And the guy that attacked me? Not all that scary.
    I mean, comparatively.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    “E LLIE ? H ONEY ? Y OU STILL asleep?”
    What do you think?
I want to say. Instead I manage, “Huh?”
    “Well, it’s after nine. Andy thought we could rent bikes and go visit the Big Banyan Tree.”
    “The what?”
    She scrunches her face in a puzzled frown. “It’s a famous tree of some sort. I guess it’s over a thousand years old. There was a love scene from some big movie filmed there.”
    “Sounds cool. But I think I’ll pass. You guys go ahead.”
    I grab my pillow and hug it close. I’m feeling seriously sleep-deprived and maybe slightly hung over.
    “Ellie, I think we need to talk.”
    Oh, fuck.
    I open my eyes again. There’s my mom, still standing by my bed, wearing sweatpants and another Sunrise T-shirt that says PRAY IT FORWARD .
    “I know you’re upset about Andy,” she says.
    “I’m really not.”
    “I don’t really blame you.” She stands there, twisting her hands together, struggling to smile. “I mean, I haven’t always made the best choices when it comes to men.”
    No shit, Mom.
    But that’s not what I say. What I say is, “Can we talk about this later? I’m really tired.”
    “Okay. I was just hoping … well, I was hoping this vacation would be a chance for you to get to know Andy a little better. He’s …” She ducks her head. Her cheeks flush. “Well, I think he’s a very special person.”
    What I want to say is,
Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’ve known this guy
how
long? A month? More like three weeks? Maybe
you
should take some time to get to know him better before you come asking
me
to give a shit
.
    What I actually say is, “He seems really nice. Look, I’ll catch up with you guys later. Promise. Okay?”
    “Okay.” She crouches down, gives me a kiss on my forehead. “See you