Page 91 of From Beijing, With Love

“I’m sorry,” Yang said. He sounded … detached, like he had made peace with whatever was happening. Must be nice.

“Okay.” What could Daniel say? He’d known this thing between them had an expiration date. They both knew. But after yesterday, after the stupid sunset, after Yang coaxed those three words out of him, he’d thought things were different.

“It’s best this way.” Yang filled the loaded silence. Like he fucking knew what was best for Daniel.

Daniel strode across the lobby to continue the call, because he couldn’t stand the way Poppy was looking at him, like he was on the verge of breaking. “There’s nothing best about having to say goodbye to you through an electronic brick.”

Perhaps he was already broken.

“I’m sorry … I just can’t,” Yang said.

Daniel didn’t know he could feel worse, but hearing the pleading edge in Yang’s voice made him feel just that. He had a choice. He could let all the hurt he was feeling spill out like venom, or he could show some grace and preserve what they had. Cast it in amber and save it forever.

“It’s okay. I get it,” he said, choosing the latter, because even after everything, he still loved Yang. How stupid was that? “Thank you for …” His voice was cracking. He needed to keep it short. “Thanks for babysitting me on this trip and showing me China. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Nothing is going to be the same without you.

“Of course. You are my not-American tourist, after all.” Yang let out a wet laugh. “And … wo ai ni.”

“Wo ai ni.” Daniel repeated the words, feeling their foreign edges on his tongue. They weren’t in the handful of words he knew. “What does that mean?”

Silence followed.

“Hel … hello?”

“I’m here,” Yang answered.

“Did I say it wrong?”

“Shagua, you said it perfectly.” Daniel imagined Yang’s lopsided smile as he said it. “It means I’ll miss you.”

The call ended, leaving Daniel standing alone in the corner of the hotel lobby next to a yellowing monstera plant. He had arrived in China with a bruised heart, and now he was leaving China with a broken one.

PART IIITokyo

CHAPTER FORTYDaniel

Daniel was jolted awake when the wheels of the plane landed on the tarmac with a thunk that reverberated through his seat. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He barely remembered getting on the plane.

“Hey you.” Poppy looked up from her phone, her brown eyes searching.

“Hey you.” He forced a smile as he unbuckled his seat belt. Pretending to be okay wasn’t his forte, but he had to try for Poppy’s sake. He wasn’t going to ruin her trip with his drama again. She deserved a better best friend.

“What do you need?” she asked, handing him a bottle of hand sanitizer.

A clean slate, Daniel thought as he sanitized his hands, breathing in the astringent scent of alcohol. He needed to file everything that had happened in China away in a drawer and lock it up. He wouldn’t go as far as throwing away the key, because he’d like to look back on it one day when there was enough distance.

“I need …” He paused and watched Poppy’s expectant face. She was emoting supportive-best-friend. “To eat everything, because I’m fucking starving. And maybe a drink or two.”

His answer did what it was meant to do—wipe the worried look off Poppy’s face, the one that made him feel broken. She grinned, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “I think we’re in the right city for that.”

Their hotel was a sleek skyscraper overlooking the Shibuya Crossing. Even though Beijing was crowded (more than crowded), the cityscape was more wide than tall in most neighborhoods. Tokyo, though—the clusters of towering skyscrapers, the massive digital billboards with three-dimensional displays, and the nonstop flow of traffic … it was overwhelming to the senses.

After dropping off their luggage at the hotel, they went up to the twentieth floor of the building next door for udon. They sat by the window, a view of the dazzling Shibuya below them. The sun had long set, but with all the lights, the bustling streets were brighter than day.

“To Tokyo.” Poppy clinked her shochu daiquiri against his matcha highball—berry red against grassy green.

“To Tokyo.” Daniel savored the bitter edge of his cocktail. Below them, people scurried across the Shibuya Crossing like little ants.