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They usually ate standing up at the food stands in Chinatown, but today there was a free spot at the curb which neither Carter nor Lee were in a position to deny. Even sitting down, Carter could feel his legs hurting all over, making it impossible to fully relax.
No one got shot, but it was a near thing. The case had been easy enough to investigate, but actually catching the criminals had required a lot of running, jumping and falling down from both of them, which had left Carter filled with cuts and bruises and Lee, he imagined, in a similar state. He had somehow managed to convince Lee to go eat eel with him afterwards, even though his friend looked like he would rather sleep for the next thirty-six hours, either on a hotel bed or against Carter’s shoulder.
Which Carter would not have minded.
—You look real tired, Lee.
—Yes, because I did all the work! And you nearly got us killed!
—Yeah, but I saved your ass afterwards.
Lee went silent for a moment.
—That's true. Thank you, brother.
—You're very welcome, Lee. Where would you be if it wasn't for me, huh?
Lee just did that thing where he laughed and left Carter hanging, and Carter was slightly offended that he wouldn't entertain him even a little bit.
He couldn't be truly upset, though, not when it might be their last day together for however long it takes before another diplomatic conundrum. Sometimes he wished they didn't live so far away from one another. One day he would be completely caught up in a mission with Lee, used to having him around, and the very next he would be taking him to the airport, the disconnect between their lives growing more obvious until it was the size of the Pacific Ocean.
Carter couldn't remember when he had crossed the bridge between hating Lee and wanting him to stay, but he had stopped minding the feeling long ago. It was just natural; Lee was a great guy, and escaping the Triad tended to bring people closer together. That's all it was, really, even if Carter sometimes felt like he cared too much.
When Carter asked about his return to China, Lee sounded dejected.
—My flight takes off tomorrow afternoon. 3 pm.
—That sucks.
Lee smiled bitterly.
—It does.
Lee looked like he wanted to say something else, but Carter didn't push it. He didn’t want to be sad, either, not while Lee was still here. So they talked about the Beach Boys, even though Carter couldn’t care less. Lee must have been cold, because he kept inching closer and breathing heavy. When Carter turned to look, Lee was looking too, and his eyes, unlike the rest of him, were very much awake.
—Lǎohēi!—the cook called. —Your order!
Lee distanced himself like he had been caught stealing. Carter guessed it wasn’t that normal to see two guys be this close, but he was damn sure the eel vendor hadn’t just saved Chinese-American diplomatic relations (again) and, if he had, he would need to lean against a friend too. Probably a camel.
Speaking of which…
—You got some extra hump on that camel for my best friend Lee, right?
—You are not funny. And you lie.
—Me? Why?
—You say you don't like box of grease, but you come back.
—I told Lee we should go somewhere else, but he insisted.
—Just like last fifteen times.
Carter turned around to ask Lee how to say fuck you in Chinese, but his friend was on the telephone, looking more tired than ever. Carter guessed it was yet another mission, and took the food back to their spot.
The call was in Chinese, and, even though Carter had been studying for a few months now, all he could make out were a few hǎode and shìde, which meant someone was giving orders. He looked at Lee again, bruised and jet-lagged, and felt bad for not letting him rest tonight.
—Who was it?
—Chin. We’ve got a new job.
—Another bomb or something?
—Fortunately not. There was a break-in at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum. They think one of the items was smuggled to America.
—And what’s that?
—It’s a set of Cantonese Opera hairclips made in the 1950’s, part of a temporary exhibit.
Carter laughed.
—What else got stolen? Lipstick? A friendship bracelet?
—These things are very valuable, Carter. Besides, do you really want to jump off another five-story building? I don’t.
—That’s how it starts, man. In two months we’ll be rescuing kittens from trees.
—I don’t mind that it’s a small job. It means I will spend more time in America.
“I’ll spend more time with you”, was the implicit meaning. Carter played it cool, even though he was brimming with joy on the inside. He didn’t need Lee reading him like an open book.
—Means I’ll have to put up with your ass a few more days.
—You can pick the music this time.
Back and forth was good, comfortable. It let Lee know he cared, but not how much, and that was as far as Carter wanted to go.
Lee would still be here tomorrow, and that was good enough.
The first step was getting the Port of L.A.’s security footage. As they waited for the employee in charge to recover the previous week’s CCTV, Carter stared at the Year of the Horse calendar on the wall thoughtfully.
—What are you looking at?
—What’s that symbol in the middle?
Lee took a quick glance at the calendar, probably just realizing it was there.
—It means horse.
—Makes sense.
A moment of silence.
—I'm learning Chinese, by the way.
—Are you trying to pick up Chinese girls again?
Lee sounded frustrated, somehow. He guessed that’s what he got for being James Carter, LAPD’s biggest womanizer and arrogant prick. In all honesty, Carter hadn’t thought of Chinese girls in a long time, nor girls in general. He guessed he was finally maturing, because stopping crime with Lee by his side sounded way more appealing than dating.
—I'm serious, man. I even bought a CD.
—That's a good start.
—It's just I want to know what the guy from the eel shop calls me all the time.
—Lǎohēi?
—Yeah. What does it mean?
—It means you're black. Wasn't it obvious?
Carter didn’t know what else he was expecting. Lee just chuckled at his irritation. Carter pondered if he should or shouldn't say what was on his mind: if he didn't say it now, he concluded, when would he? Lee would be off to Hong Kong again in a few days.
—That's not the only reason though.
When Lee spoke, there was genuine curiosity in his tone.
—Really? What's the other reason?
—It's cause you're my best buddy, Lee. And I wanna learn your language.
Lee’s face got red all of a sudden, probably some weird effect of the rising sunlight. When he didn’t respond, Carter wondered whether he had said something wrong.
—Like, there ain't nothing wrong with your English, man, not what I'm saying, but I wanna know some Chinese too, you know? Cultural exchange and stuff.
—That's really nice of you, Carter. It makes me very happy.
Carter was happy, too. He wasn’t sure what his goal was with this whole conversation, but he was glad Lee had found some meaning in it.
Once they got their hands on the security footage and employee records, it was easy enough to identify the smuggler. At 9 P.M. the previous day, a truck had left the port, the camera having caught nothing but a small, pale hand resting in the rolled down window.
—Records say this truck was piloted by… Andy Watts?
—Andy Watts is a black man — the employee informed categorically.
—That ain’t no black man, that’s for sure.
They followed the truck’s trajectory using the L.A. street cameras until the driver changed vehicles and they lost their track. The camera caught her side profile, however, which matched the record of Greta Chen, a former elementary teacher and serial petty criminal living in Harbor City.
Mandate in hand, Lee and Carter knocked at Chen’s door three hours later and were received by a short, young-looking woman in pajamas, a cup of cocoa on her left hand.
—Greta Chen? — Lee asked.
—It’s me.
—We are detectives Lee and Carter from-
Carter shoved the mandate in the woman’s hand and barged in.
—Where d’you put it?
—Why would I leave it at my house?
Carter and Lee exchanged a glance. Usually there was a lot more Fifth Amendment and beating around the bush with these people. Lee visibly tensed, like he didn’t like where this was going; Carter, on the other hand, was perfectly happy with getting this stupid case done as soon as possible.
He inspected the house anyway, while Lee proceeded with the interrogation:
—Where’d you leave it, then?
—With the guys. They’re taking it to the designer.
—Who?
—The receiver. The package was bought by some big name fashion designer. Says he collects historical clothing, especially East Asian. Hey, stop messing with my shelves!
Carter walked away from the bookshelf with an innocent look on his face and a thin volume in his hands.
—What’s his name? — Lee resumed.
—Hmm… Barucci? No, that’s not it. He’s Italian. Bonucci. Giancarlo Bonucci. His brand’s really popular, he’s even showcasing at Fashion Week.
—And when’s the delivery?
—Tonight. There’ll be a reception at Bonucci’s before the fashion show, but it’s mostly just some excuse for rich people to go stupid. It’s some masked gala or shit. Real fancy stuff.
Carter started mouthing some words from his book without realizing.
—Carter, what are you doing?
—I’m learning.
Lee let out a big, frustrated sigh. Carter didn’t mind. He knew Lee didn’t mean it.
Greta Chen grinned.
—It’s like the TV shows. There’s always a dumb one and a smart one.
—I don’t watch TV shows — Lee cut her off.
Chen took a sip of her cocoa, then cleared her throat.
—Listen, I can get you guys some invites, if you’re interested.
Even Carter looked up at that.
—Why the hell would you do that? — he asked.
—I’m tryna set myself straight. Sick and tired of these odd jobs. I wanna go back to teaching. So, I get you in there and you let me go?
Lee called Carter to the side.
—I don’t trust her.
—Look at her, man, she’s even shorter than you. She gonna headbutt our knees or something?
—I still don’t like this. What if it’s a trap?
—Nah, man, it’s gonna be easy peasy. We get in there, get the jewelry and leave. Trust me, Lee. We’ll wrap up this case and still have time to eat scorpions or whatever shit Chinese people eat to celebrate.
Lee resigned himself. Carter sat in front of Chen and put down ‘Xiaomei’s Mandarin: 2º grade’ on the coffee table.
—We’ll let you go for two invites and the book. That sound fair?
—What do you want a kid’s book for?
—You don’t even got no students no more, I got a better use for it.
She frowned at Carter and sighed.
—Okay, fine.
—Good. We’re done, then. Zàijiàn, miss Chen.
—Zàijiàn, èrbǎiwǔ.
Carter didn’t hear the last part. Lee gave a muffled laugh.
They entered Bonucci’s Beverly Hills mansion, filled with masked people, bright lights and luxurious decorations. The host leaving hadn’t stopped the festivities, and Lee had to stop Carter from grabbing a colorful drink from a circulating tray and drag him up the stairs and through the darkened second-story hallway, which was double the normal width and decorated with all kinds of East Asian memorabilia.
—Man, this guy has a problem — Carter said, looking at a freakishly large gilded Buddha statue. — It’s like he’s living in a China shop.
Lee agreed silently. They pricked up their ears, trying to find out in which room Greta Chen was, but heard nothing.
To avoid suspicion, Carter had stopped by the dollar store and bought both of them matching bright-red masks completely covered in sequin and feathers, the only ones available. Maybe they should have just skipped them altogether, since, compared to the intricate, made-to-measure masks worn by the other guests, Carter and Lee were embarrassingly underdressed.
As if that wasn’t enough, Carter’s mask itched in all the wrong places, making him more impatient than normal.
—Why the hell these rich people wearing masks if they all know each other?
—Shhh. We shouldn’t be here, remember?
Just as Lee said that, they heard footsteps approaching. Both hid behind a Japanese folding screen, barely breathing and very close together. Carter’s whole face itched like crazy. His scratching at a particularly itchy spot behind his ear made the mask ride up and fall to the ground, Carter crouching down to find it.
—What are you doing? Just leave it!
—Shit! How do you put this thing on?
—Carter, be quiet!
Carter was fumbling with the strap one moment and perfectly still the next, breathing lightly, like a butterfly had landed on his nose. Lee’s left hand touched Carter’s face over the mask, while his right brought the strap to rest securely on the back of his head. Carter was mildly aware that Lee should have moved away by now but didn’t, but his focus was on the tingling of his own skin wherever Lee touched it and the absurd need to not let this moment end.
Lee’s eyes on his felt as solid as the touch of his fingertips, and he couldn’t help but get lost in them. Lee’s touch grew gentler, making Carter tingle with anticipation, but he simply let go and folded his hands behind his back, every movement marked with regret. Lee cleared his throat. Looked away.
Cold metal pressed against Carter’s nape. Two gangsters held them both at gunpoint.
—Get moving.
Carter detangled himself from Lee, glad that his skin couldn’t turn the embarrassing shade of red that took over Lee’s face. They were led to the room where Greta Chen and the gang leader were and forced to get on their knees.
—Are these the ones, Greta? — asked the leader.
—Of course. One black, one Chinese. Can’t miss them.
So it was a trap, after all. Carter could feel Lee’s “I told you so” even though he hadn’t said it out loud. Greta stood in front of them, and Carter couldn’t resist one last jab at her.
—Now we’re eye level, miss Chen.
—Yeah, whatever. Where’s my book?
She searched Carter’s pockets.
—It’s back at my place. Why you want a Mandarin book so bad? You’re Chinese!
She just scowled and walked out of the room. That was a victory in Carter’s book.
With a sign from their leader, the henchmen aimed their guns at Carter and Lee’s heads, ready to off them unceremoniously on the crimson carpet.
—Wait! — Lee fake-cried. — I need to say goodbye to Carter first!
Carter thought he knew all the tricks in Lee’s book, but he had never seen this one; it seemed Lee was feigning weakness in front of the criminals to make them lower their guard. It worked, judging from the disdainful look in the gang leader’s eyes.
—What, is he your boyfriend or something?
—They hug in corridor — one of the henchmen said, helpfully.
The boss laughed mockingly, and Carter wanted to beat him unconscious.
—Go on, then. This is going to be fun.
Lee turned to face Carter and took his hands. Carter suddenly couldn’t think straight; his face heated up, and he could barely make out what Lee was saying, only staring at his lips moving for way longer than normal. Carter had no idea what was up with him today. It must be a mixture of adrenaline and irritation leaving him on edge, but that doesn’t explain the tenderness he feels being with Lee like this nor the whole room seeming to disappear from around them.
Lee tightened his grip around Carter’s hand and looked at him impatiently, which took Carter out of his stupor. The boss was still grinning wickedly, and the henchmen looked at them like they were the protagonists of a telenovela. He paid attention to Lee’s words this time.
—I still remember the day I held your right hand at Venice beach. I turned left, and when I looked back you were still there. That’s when I knew you’d never let me go.
Oh. Carter knew this, they had done it many times before. Not the hand holding, the talking in code. They had developed that technique after their encounter with Ricky Tan at the massage parlor in Hong Kong, because Carter couldn’t understand Lee’s eye gestures.
—I think I remember. I was holding a porcelain vase, right?
—No, it would break if you brought it to the beach. It was too beautiful. We only brought the chairs.
The boss was annoyed.
—Are you done yet?
The henchmen took aim. One, two, three. The moment Lee let go of his hand, Carter rolled to the right and swinged a chair at the first henchman’s head, making him drop unconscious. The porcelain vase in the corner of the room was unharmed. When Carter picked up the man’s gun and pointed it at the boss, Lee had already put him to sleep with a mean kick, and so they focused their attention on the second henchman, the only one conscious.
—Where’s the jewelry? — Carter barked out.
No response. The guy probably didn’t even speak English.
—I’m asking you, bitch! Wǒ zài wěn nǐ.
The thug laughed weakly, still groggy from the fight. Even Lee had an amused smile on his face.
—The hell y’all laughing at?
—You said you are kissing him —Lee squeezed his shoulder fondly and gestured for Carter to give way.
—Was it the tone I got wrong?
—Yes. But it’s a minor mistake, Carter. You speak really well.
The compliment got to him as much as the hand-holding and mask-adjusting. It seemed not even talking was safe, and he’d need a full Lee detox after this was over.
Lee put his gun to the guy’s temple and interrogated him in Chinese, his voice lower than usual, his candid eyes now fiery and threatening. For such a short, harmless-looking guy, Lee could make any thug shake in his boots if he wanted to. Carter told him that, after their debacle with the Triad, and Lee answered: “It’s the opposite of you. You look big and angry, but then you open your mouth”.
Everyone told Carter he talked too much, but Lee never seemed to say it with malice, only a good-humored appreciation for a precious part of what made his best friend himself. Carter was glad they somehow found each other, and glad he got to know the sunny side of Lee rather than the tough-guy façade. It fit Lee much better.
Lee exclaimed something that Carter was sure was a bad word.
—What did he say?
—The pieces are at the venue. He’s using them on the fashion show.
—Get off the way!
—Sweetie, what happened to your outfit?
—LAPD! I need to go backstage.
Turns out, an LAPD badge is no match for Fashion Week glamor. Carter had to look down suggestively at the gun in his belt for them to be allowed in. They followed the loud clicking of sewing machines to the dressing room and searched every corner for the smuggled jewelry, to no avail.
—Where’s Bonucci? — Carter addressed the room.
One of the models spoke up:
—He left, like, five minutes ago.
—Where to?
—I don’t know, he picked up a box from Tia’s vanity and ran away.
So Bonucci had heard they were coming. If he planned on escaping with the jewelry, he must have gone to the parking lot. Carter went after him as fast as he could, barely registering Lee’s steps behind him.
They traversed the narrow corridors of the backstage, all but shoving away every model and crewmember in their way. Upon reaching the large, crowded parking lot, they separated; Carter searched the left half, snaking between more luxury cars than he’d ever seen before. The place was so large he couldn’t hear any trace of Lee’s presence, only the clicking of his own shoes against the concrete floor.
A short, high-pitched sound cut the air. The jingle of a key fob opening a car door. Carter ran in the direction of the sound and saw Giancarlo Bonucci getting in a Mercedes, a wooden, ornate box under his arm.
—LAPD! Put your hands up!
A gunshot echoed in the lot, and a bullet buried itself in a pillar not ten feet away from Carter. He took cover behind a Ferrari, his breath coming faster. Since when did fashion designers go around shooting people? He wondered whether Lee had heard the shot or not, whether he would underestimate Bonucci like Carter did, whether the bullet would hit the mark this time.
He had to finish this, fast. When the Mercedes drove by, Carter managed to puncture one of the tires, and the car slowed to a halt. Crouched down, smoking gun in hand, he reached the car, only to see Bonucci’s weapon pointed straight at him.
—Get out the car, now!
—Have you no shame? You ruined my fashion show!
—You ruined it yourself, buddy. Now be a good boy, give me that box and we can go buy you some new hairclips at Limited Too.
Bonucci slowly opened the door and exited the car, but, instead of surrendering, touched his gun to Carter’s temple.
—Never. And if you have any brains in that head you’ll let me go immediately, because there’s nothing, and I mean nothing, that can take these jewels from me.
Oh, great. This is how he died, gunned down in a parking lot by a pink-clad nutcase. Where the hell was Lee? Bonucci kept talking and talking, more to himself than to Carter, a mad look on his face.
—These aren’t just any hair clips, though I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference. You wouldn’t know art if it spat on your face. Do you have any idea of the beauty you destroyed tonight? Gorgeous Tia Yang on the catwalk, her hair adorned in silver and jade like a Ming princess’?
Carter could use Bonucci’s distraction. He side-stepped to his left and reached for the other man’s weapon, but Bonucci slammed his head with the grip of the pistol so hard Carter fell to the ground, his vision spinning, his gun nowhere to be found. A glimpse at Bonucci assured he would shoot to kill, but, through the confusion in Carter’s head, Lee’s voice came clear as day.
—Put your weapon down!
With Bonucci handcuffed and his gun taken away, Lee was beside Carter in an instant, cleaning the blood from the side of his head with his sleeve, trying to get his eyes to refocus.
—Are you okay?
—I guess. I thought I was dying, for a second.
—No dying on my watch. I’ll save you every time.
Carter’s heart filled with fondness at the words, Lee’s comforting presence, the pure relief of being alive. They’d almost gotten killed twice today because of Carter’s recklessness, and still Lee, his partner, his best friend, was there for him. He threw his arms around Lee and rested his head on his shoulder, the words spilling out of him thoughtlessly.
—Wǒ ài nǐ, Lee.
Lee’s arms left Carter’s side and his shoulders tensed. Carter was utterly confused as he felt Lee’s heart grow distant, even though, physically, they were still holding each other close. He let Lee go, and saw his friend stare at him with an intensity he’d never seen before.
—What’s the matter, man?
Trying to keep his voice playful was an impossible task.
—You said you love me.
—Of course I love you, Lee! You’re my best friend, and you saved my ass out here. You’re the fucking best.
Lee dropped his gaze. He was clearly disappointed, though about what Carter could only guess.
—Oh. Okay.
—Okay?
Lee helped Carter up and stormed ahead. Carter had to hold back from running after him.
—The fuck you mean, okay?
—It means I’m very happy you consider me your friend.
—You don’t look like it. If I’d told you to go fuck yourself you wouldn’t look this hurt.
Lee stopped and turned towards him, still looking at the ground.
—Good night, Carter. I’m going to my hotel.
—I’ll give you a ride.
—No need. I’ll call a cab.
Carter went through the procedures of Bonucci’s arrest mechanically. This time, there would be no post-case celebration.
Carter called Lee the morning after, but got no answer. He only managed to talk to Lee after calling the hotel and asking them to direct the call. When Lee picked up, he sounded like he’d just woken up, or like he hadn’t slept at all.
—Hello.
—Hey, it’s Carter. Please don’t hang up.
—I won’t.
—I just… did I say something wrong? I don’t know what happened, man, but I’m sorry.
—It’s nothing. I’m just… really, really tired.
Carter didn’t respond. He understood Lee was not referring to physical tiredness at all.
—Bye, Carter.
He listened to the CD again at night, though it did more bad than good.
“Tā jiao shénme míngzi? What’s his name? Tā jiao Lǐ. His name is Lee. Tā shì wǒ de hǎo péngyou. He’s my good friend. Listen to the dialog and repeat the key words…”
It must be the Chinese, right? Maybe he offended Lee’s bloodline on accident. He had to set things straight with Lee before he went back to Hong Kong, or he’d never forgive himself.
It was with that thought in mind that Carter hopped off his cab in Crenshaw, in front of the only Chinese restaurant in sight, and went in.
Carter didn’t think Kenny could sell Chinese food in a black neighborhood, but the restaurant was as crowded as when he and Lee came to investigate the superbills. He had to wait several minutes before Kenny had the time to talk to him (and, even then, under the condition that he’d order something from the menu).
—Did you say hi to your godson yet?
—I don’t even know if that kid speaks English.
—You never come just to visit, right, James? What happened, is it the Triad again?
Carter looked down at his dumplings thoughtfully. Where to even start?
—I just need you to help me out with something, since you’re the Chinese expert and everything.
—What, you wanna learn some moves? They done beating your ass again?
—Fuck off, I mean the language. You’re the only other person I know that speaks Chinese-
—Cantonese, specifically.
—Yeah, whatever. You know what “wǒ ài nǐ” means, right?
—Yeah, it means “I love you”.
—Exactly! But when I said that to Lee he got all weird and shit, and he just left.
Kenny looked at Carter like he’d admitted to being white.
—The hell you said that for, man?
—I don’t know, it just happened! Lee’s my best friend, and he saved my ass for the millionth time when I thought we were both gonna fucking die, and I got emotional, I guess.
—Yeah, but you don’t go around saying that shit to a Chinese! First time I said it to my wife was when I proposed!
—You mean I proposed to Lee? Man, you’re crazy.
—Not necessarily, man. But ài is a very deep, intense kind of love. Saying that to anyone outside of your family means lifelong commitment, and you definitely don’t say it to a friend. Little guy must’ve been creeped out.
—Shit, man. What do I do now?
—I don’t know, say you’re sorry for being fruity and get better at Mandarin. What else you want me to say?
Carter thought about Kenny’s words the whole way home. This whole misunderstanding was embarrassing, but it should have been easy to laugh off, tell Lee that of course he wasn’t in love with him, that would be ridiculous. But Carter couldn’t do that, because, he finally admitted to himself, it was true.
When he finally climbed into bed, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, he thought about Lee and how far they’d come, how they’d created a bond even living so far away from one another, and how, despite all that, Carter wanted to go even further. Thoughts of kissing Lee, touching him, loving and being loved by him, had plagued his mind for some time now. He had wanted to just bury these thoughts inside himself until they shriveled up and died, but now his and Lee’s friendship was suffering because of them, and it was up to Carter to take things back to normal, as much as it hurt to do so.
Lee agreed to meet him for lunch. When Carter got to the restaurant, Lee was waiting at the front, leaning against the window, one of his legs propped up on the wall. He really was becoming more American by the day. More Carter by the day. He stood beside Lee, glancing at him almost fearfully, a lot more distance between them than normal.
—You wanna go in?
—I’m not hungry.
This was really, really bad. Carter stared straight ahead: he feared that, if he looked too long at Lee’s hurt expression, he wouldn’t be able to say all he needed to say.
—Listen, man, I talked to Kenny yesterday and he said I really fucked up. I didn’t know what it meant, but now I do, and it was really awkward telling him all that, but I did, ‘cause I don’t want you to be mad at me no more.
—I’m not mad at you, Carter.
—Sure looks like it! I’ve been worried dead about you these last few days, thinking I wouldn’t even see you before you went back to Hong Kong.
Lee lowered his head. He looked ashamed.
—I’m not going back.
—What?
—To Hong Kong. I’m staying. I can’t just leave you behind.
Carter had many things he wanted to say to that, but nothing came out, and he was left staring at Lee’s throat as he swallowed nervously and changed the subject:
—I’m sorry I made you worried. I was only thinking about myself. I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much.
Carter was genuinely hurt. Did Lee think that little of him? Of himself?
—The hell you’re talking about, man? Ain’t we friends no more? You think I just don’t care about you?
—It’s not that! It’s just…
Lee hid his face in his hands and took a deep breath.
—When you said you loved me, I wanted it to be true.
So that was it. Lee wanted more from him, not less. Carter was half mad at himself, half scared shitless, half incredibly happy and all of that was starting to mesh into the same thing. He had to get himself straight and unravel this whole situation quick, because Lee was already folding in on himself like a dog about to get a beating.
—Look, Lee, I’m gonna be completely honest. When I said I loved you I didn’t know what it meant. I meant it in a friendly way.
—I know. I’m sorry.
—Listen! I’ve been thinking about that moment for days now, and now I think I actually meant what I said.
He only hoped the words coming out of his mouth made sense. He hoped he wasn’t speaking too fast for Lee to understand, because he needed to get this point across, and, above all, he needed Lee to stop being sad.
Lee must have been feeling as many conflicting emotions as Carter, because his face was completely unreadable. Carter thought he saw nervousness, and vulnerability, and a spark of understanding, and that made him keep going.
—What I mean is that all of this is really confusing and new. I don’t really know how this is going to work, if we’re doing candlelit dinners and flowers, and mu shu…
Lee turned a ridiculous shade of red.
—…but I really want to try, ‘cause you’re really special to me.
Carter didn’t know when they’d gotten closer, but Lee’s hand was mere inches away from his and he was finally ready to hold it. Lee looked him in the eye at last. Carter wanted to do this right.
—I’mma say it for real this time. Wǒ xǐhuan nǐ.
Lee hugged him so tight it hurt, and Carter realized how long he had wanted to do this, to be completely honest to the person he loved the most. Lee clung to him and smiled. Then laughed. Then kept on laughing.
Carter stopped the hug.
—What you laughing at?
—It’s nothing, I just think it’s really funny.
—What’s funny, man? I just poured my heart out to you!
—That’s not it. I was so happy that you started learning Mandarin, and you studied so hard, but… you couldn’t have known. My native language is actually Cantonese.
Carter gasped. Lee only laughed wider. Carter rested his finger on Lee’s lips, only slightly upset.
—Shut up.
—Shut me up.
Carter was just too happy to oblige.