“Hey, how come you don’t have an English accent?” I never thought of it, but now that we’re actually on our way to London, it strikes me that Nathan sounds about as American as it gets.
“It’s because my parents moved around a lot when I was little, so I was always put into international schools. Even in England, they put me in an international school. Easier to transfer my grades that way. Do you want me to sound English? Oi can talk British for you, luv.”
“Oh god. Okay, you can’t carry it off.” I shudder, and he laughs.
“By the way, I got Selena those AirPods she’s been lusting after for Christmas. Signed it from you and me.”
I gape at him. “Really? That’s so generous.” I’d given her an assortment of moisturizers from Bath and Body Works.
“Well, yeah, none of this would’ve been possible without her help.”
“True.” Over the last two years, Selena has come home with me on many weekends. She’s a hit with my family; my aunts tell her she’s the daughter they wish they had （which—hello, what about me? But whatever）， and Ma tells her she’s the sister she wished I had, which I have to agree with. And when Nathan invited me to his home for Christmas, Selena gave me the best gift anyone could come up with. She’d told Ma she wanted me to come back with her to Northern California for Christmas, and Ma had agreed without hesitation, since my family doesn’t celebrate Christmas anyway.
Nathan takes out his tablet from his backpack and sets it up on our tray table. “I downloaded Immortals for the flight.”
“Ooh, you are a godsend, Nathan Chan.”
“I figured shots of a topless Henry Cavill would help take your mind off meeting my folks.”
I roll my eyes. “There is way too much boobage in Immortals for you to act all selfless.”
“True.” He laughs, then leans in and lowers his voice. “But yours are my favorite.”
I smack his arm, but honestly, I’m sort of grinning at that. He pulls me closer so I can rest my head on his shoulder and we settle down to watch the movie. At some point, we both fall asleep. When the air attendant wakes us up hours later, I find to my immense horror that my head is stuck at a weird angle.
“Oh, no. No, no.” I try to turn it, but pain shoots down my spine, and I squeak.
Nathan stretches, yawning. “What’s up, funsize?”
“I fell asleep badly, and now my neck’s refusing to turn.”
He stares at me for two beats before bursting out laughing. “Are you secretly a ninety-year-old woman?”
“Don’t insult me, kid. I’m only eighty-seven. Ugh. I can’t meet your parents like this!” I gesture wildly at my slanted head.
“Calm down. Come here.” Nathan places a hand on the back of my neck and begins to massage it.
“Ow, ooh, ah.” Is it painful or is it good as hell? I can’t decide.
“Stop twitching.”
“Please put on your seat belts and face forward,” an air attendant reminds us with a pointed look.
We do as we’re told. Despite Nathan’s best efforts, my head’s still stuck at an angle. Whenever this happens, I usually have to wait until I can sleep it off before I regain normal flexibility in my neck. So. I really am going to meet his parents with a slanted head. Okay, that’s totally fine. I am not at all freaking out about that.
Once we get off the plane, Nathan tries again to massage some movement back into my neck and shoulders, then he says, “Well, this’ll be fun.” He laughs when I hit him, catching my fist and kissing it. “It’s so cute when you hit me with your teeny-weeny hand. It’ll be okay. They are going to love you so much they won’t let you go back to the States.”
And, despite the crooked neck, he’s right.
As soon as we get our bags and go into the arrivals hall, there’s a shout and suddenly his parents are right there. His mom, a beautiful tall blonde, gives me a quick hug, and his dad, an Asian man who looks like what I imagine Nathan will look like thirty years down the road, gives me one of those awkward hugs that my mom and aunts often do.
“Oh, it’s lovely to have you two here,” his mom says.
“Hi, Mrs. Chan.”
She pooh-poohs at me. “Call me Annie, none of that Mrs. Chan business. And that’s Chris.” She points at Nathan’s dad, who smiles at me.
“Alright then, son?” Chris says.
“Alright, Dad.”
Huh. Nathan does speak British after all.