Helen Hoang - The Bride Test

Rolling his eyes, Khai fished his phone out, dialed his cousin, and hit the speaker button. There was no way in hell he was doing all the talking alone.

Michael picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey, Khai, how’s it going?”

Khai held the phone toward his brother, and Quan said, “Michael, we need your expertise. It’s about orgasms.”

“What the hell? Are you kidding me?” A frustrated sound crackled through the speaker. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“We’re not kidding,” Khai said quickly.

There was a long pause before Michael said, “What did you want to know?”

Khai took and released a tight breath before asking, “How do you know when a woman is orgasming? What are the sym — signs?”

“Wow, okay. Orgasms. Um …” He cleared his throat. “There are lots of signs, but not every woman is the same. Generally, she’ll …” He cleared his throat again. “Why is this so hard?” He laughed a little.

“Fine, since you’re mature as a nine-year-old, I’ll start,” Quan said. “Sounds are really misleading. Half the time when you have a noisy woman, she’s a faker, and she wants the sex to be over because she’s not digging it. It’s better to watch her body. When a woman is about to come, she tenses up, and her hips rise. Her skin flushes. And when the orgasm hits, she convulses hard and fast. Her whole body might shake. If you’re paying attention, you’ll feel it on your cock or your fingers or your tongue, whatever you’ve got going on. It’s fucking awesome.”

After another long pause, Michael said, “What he said.”

An uncomfortable feeling crawled over Khai’s skin as he stared at the phone and then his brother’s face. “I don’t know if she did all that. I was distracted by how good it felt.”

“Were you inside her?” Quan asked.

“Well, yeah. That’s how you have sex,” Khai said. They taught that in fifth-grade health class.

Quan gave him an impatient look. “Did you touch her clit at all?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh hell,” Michael said.

Quan smacked his palm to his forehead. “Her clitoris. It’s where you stimulate her to make her come.”

“Where is it?”

Quan rubbed both hands over his face as Michael repeated, “Oh hell.”

“What?” Khai asked. “They don’t talk about the ‘clitoris’ in health class at school.” It didn’t even sound real. For all he knew, it was an urban myth, like the Chupacabra or Roswell aliens.

“They really should,” Michael said, sounding pained.

“Why don’t they?”

Michael and Quan both fell silent.

“So maybe she didn’t orgasm. Is that enough reason for her to be mad at me?” he asked.

“Who is this we’re talking about?” Michael asked.

“Esme,” Khai said.

“Oh,” Michael said.

“Who else would it be?” Quan said. “At the end, did you hold her? They need a couple minutes of that.”

“Why?”

“The fuck, Quan?” Michael said. “You should have prepared him better.”

“Prepared me for what?” Khai asked.

Quan scrubbed a hand over his buzzed head. “Shit.”

“I was all sweaty, and I was afraid the condom would leak and get her pregnant. I took a shower. That seemed appropriate.” Wasn’t it?

Quan continued scrubbing his head. “Well, shit.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Khai asked.

Quan dropped his hands from his head and focused a steady gaze on Khai. “Imagine you’re a girl, and — I’m serious, don’t laugh — you let a guy touch you, but when things start to feel really good, he stops. And then you’re telling yourself it’s okay, you’re glad he had a good time, but he leaves you right away and washes you off, leaving you alone in his bed. How would you feel?”

“Sexually frustrated?”

Quan looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, and used and sad and shitty. They get extra sensitive after sex, and you gotta make sure they feel cared for.”

“I second that,” Michael said.

Khai released a heavy, defeated breath. When it came to women, what Michael said was as good as gold. Khai had fucked this up royally. Because of deficiencies in his fifth-grade health curriculum and his stone heart.

“What do I do now?” he asked, completely at a loss.

Michael and Quan spoke up at the same time.

“Apologize.”

“Say sorry.”

“Can you give an example of what I should say?” he asked. A script would be best. He could memorize it and repeat it to her.

“Don’t tell him, Michael.” To Khai, Quan said, “It’s best if you come up with something on your own. It’ll be genuine that way. But first, I have some books for you.”

“What books?” Michael asked.

“Sex ed books. What? Yeah, I read. Surprising, I know.” Quan shook his head at the phone. “I think you can go back to sleeping or banging your woman now. I got some stuff to talk to Khai about.”

“Which books? I have—” There was a barely audible female whisper, followed by something that was distinctly a kiss. “I’ll catch you guys later. Call me if you need anything.”

The screen of Khai’s phone went black, and Quan got up. “I’ll be right back. They’re in my bedroom.”

Khai watched as his brother strode down the hall. It wasn’t long before Quan returned with a stack of books under his arm.

“Really? Sex for Dummies?” Khai asked. “You read this?”

“It’s gives a good overview. I like this one best, though.” Quan set the books on the table and moved She Comes First to the top. “Don’t take everything in there as hard rules. They’re just suggestions. I don’t agree with all of it, but it’s a good place to start.”

Khai reached for the book but hesitated with his hand inches away. “Are these books safe for touching?”

“Yes, you dork, they’re safe for touching. I prefer jerking off to porn, not how-to books. Keep them. I’m done with them.”

“Okay, thanks.” Khai picked up She Comes First and leafed through it, lifting his eyebrows at the diagrams. He hadn’t done that.

But he wanted to.

“There are videos where they demonstrate stuff with fruit on YouTube. You should check them out. But I’d save those for later. You need to speed-read that book and then apologize ASAP.”

Khai gathered up all the books. “Right, got it. Thanks again.”

The corner of Quan’s mouth kicked up. “Anytime, Khai. I shoulda prepped you earlier, but—”

“I wouldn’t have listened. I wasn’t ready.” He probably never would have been ready if it weren’t for Esme. “I am now.”

Quan looked at him for a good long moment before he said, “Be careful, okay? You guys are both grown-ups, and you can make your own decisions and shit, but just … be careful. With yourself and with her. I really do like her for you, and—”

“Quan,” someone called from the other side of the condo. “I’m getting cold.”

Quan clapped his hands and rubbed them together like everything was settled. “I think we’re done here. Feel free to call me if you have questions. But not until ten at the earliest. Good luck. Oh, and maybe you wanna buy a box of condoms on the way home. I’d give you some of mine, but I only have two left.”

Khai headed for the door. “Got it.” That seemed really optimistic, considering where things were with him and Esme right now, but it was best to be prepared.

As he headed out, he heard Quan say, “Don’t forget to apologize. First with words. Then with your tongue.”

Esme tried her best to focus on studying, but thoughts of Khải kept intruding on her United States history. Why had he looked so confused? Did he treat all his women that way? Was she supposed to be grateful he’d slept with her and beg for more?

She sneered. Not in this life. Not even in her next life when she was a catfish.

After reading the same page three times, she shut her textbook. She wasn’t trying to impress him anymore. She wasn’t sure why she continued studying. It wasn’t like any of this information would help her clean bathrooms any better.

A wave of homesickness hit her. She checked the time, but it was too early to call home. When she couldn’t talk to her family, the next best thing was fruit. Fruit and home were connected in her mind. Everything Cô Nga had bought was long gone, so she raided the pantry. Fresh was best, but canned was better than none. She opened a big can of lychees, poured them into a bowl with ice, and brought them to the living room, where she queued up The Hunchback of Notre Dame on Netflix.

She was sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of the TV, shoving lychees into her mouth with a soup spoon, when Khải walked through the front door. He glanced her way for a quick second before he focused on removing his shoes with a furrowed brow. He was wearing his reading glasses and looked especially accountant/assassin-like in his black T-shirt and pants. Beautiful mind, beautiful body.

This man had kissed her like he was drowning last night.

And then he’d discarded her as soon as he’d finished with her.

A lychee lodged in her throat, and she forced it down with an uncomfortable swallow. She picked up her half-finished bowl of lychees and prepared to run.

“No, don’t go.” Khải took a step toward her, and plastic bags swayed at his side. “Please. I wanted to talk to you.”

She considered running anyway, but the pleading in his eyes kept her still. She prodded at a floating lychee with her spoon as she waited for him to say whatever it was he needed to. She had no idea what to expect. He’d never been predictable.

Instead of speaking right away, he crossed the room and sat on his heels in front of her. The plastic bags rustled as he set them down. “I got these for you.”