He embraced her like her father once had. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. “If you think it worth while,” she answered doubtfully. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. He knew she was out there, he could feel it. Once inside, he looked around, worried that his parents would suddenly cancel their trip and return home. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool.
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