Nothing to Lose by Norah McClintock

question.
    â€œSure,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
    That was my question exactly.

W e spent the morning visiting stores, checking out imported toys, fans, peacock feathers, silk purses, embroidered jackets, beautiful jade jewelry and statues—the dragons were my favorite—kites, bamboo furniture, and scrolls painted with cherry blossoms. Every now and then I’d turn to say something to Nick, but he wouldn’t be there. Then he would turn up again, take my hand in his, and kiss my cheek, acting like a guy who was enjoying his first weekend off in a very long time.
    Finally he said, “I’m starving. You ready for lunch?”
    As a matter of fact, I was. I had been up since four and hadn’t eaten anything except some pieces of bean paste pastry.
    The restaurant Nick wanted to eat at was located off the main roads, tucked halfway up a narrow side street.
    â€œIt’s not fancy, but the food is terrific,” he said.
    Nick was right. The place didn’t look like much on the outside—a low, grime-stained brick building with a red-and-white sign. The small English lettering said “Golden Treasures.” The dining room inside was tiny, the tables were covered with red plastic tablecloths, and the chairs were mismatched. Nick led me to a table for two along one wall and helped me out of my jacket. A woman approached us with a pot of tea and a couple of menus. She filled the little handle-less teacups on the table and handed us each a menu. I opened it and was relieved to find that it was written in both Chinese and English.
    â€œI have a few suggestions, if you’re interested,” Nick said.
    I let him order, which turned out to be a good decision. Within twenty minutes we were sampling our first dish. The restaurant started to fill around us. All of the other customers appeared to be Chinese.
    â€œThat tells you something about the place,” Nick said. “If Chinese people eat here, you know you’re getting authentic Chinese food.”
    â€œWhat does that say about the cuisine at McDonald’s?” I said.“That it’s authentic North American food?”
    Nick laughed. “They have McDonald’s in Europe and in Russia now. I think they even have McDonald’s in China. Do you think that means it’s authentic
global
food?” He poured me another cup of tea from the pot the woman had left on the table. We dug into a platter of shrimp, another of chicken in black bean sauce, and a dish of stir-fried vegetables. I couldn’t believe how hungry I was.
    â€œYou want the last of the chicken?” Nick said finally.
    â€œAre you kidding? If I eat another bite, I’ll explode.”
    â€œMe too,” Nick said. But that didn’t stop him from polishing off the remains of the chicken and the last of the shrimp. When he had cleaned all of the platters, he raised a hand and signaled the woman. She brought our bill and a couple of fortune cookies. Nick took one, broke it open, and grinned at me.
    â€œâ€˜Love will bless your day,’” he said. Maybe he didn’t think I believed him because he handed me the little slip of paper so I could read it myself. “What does yours say?”
    I cracked open my fortune cookie and pulled out a slip of paper. “‘Be careful who you trust.’” I glanced across the table at him. “Good thing I don’t believe in fortunes.”
    Nick popped his cookie into his mouth and was chewing happily when I noticed an older Chinese man staring at him from the door to the kitchen.
    Nick must have caught my expression. “Something wrong?” he said.
    I nodded at the kitchen door. Nick turned. The Chinese man met Nick’s eyes and held them a moment before disappearing back into the kitchen.
    â€œWhat do you think that was about?” I said.
    Nick shrugged. He took out his wallet.
    â€œLunch is on me,” I said.
    â€œNo way,