Amidst

Sunday night is a time of parting. When I was young that was the time Dad would leave Mom and me. Now it’s the time I have to leave them.

This weekend I stayed with them, the first time in almost half year. I had the idea of doing so because over the past few weeks, I barely visited my mom, despite being home most of the time. Now Dad was coming for a weekend, a good excuse for spending more time with her, too. I thought it was the right decision when Dad asked if I’d come for lunch or dinner, and Mom said of course lunch and dinner – “it’s not easy for the three of us to get together.”

The moment I stepped in the door, which had been wide open, Dad got up from the couch with a big smile on his face. He went straight into the kitchen – they’d been waiting for me to start cooking lunch. Various fruits were laid on the table, including the expensive kinds we don’t normally buy when we aren’t all together.

Once I sat down in the couch my two-day princess life started. Tea, snacks, mango yogurt. I never needed to ask for them. My dad was more particular. He needed to make sure I had tea of just the right temperature next to me all the time. If not I was dehydrated. I don’t actively drink enough water. To them that was one of my worst problems.

To me I have far worse problems than being dehydrated most of the time. For years I wished they paid more attention to those. And my problems, of course, were not unrelated to their problems, our problems. Mom asked to see my recently published essay. I showed her, though reluctant. After scrolling down the page little by little and finally finishing reading the 1500 words in 20 minutes, she said, “It’s just your journal. What’s special about it?”

They gave me more food than recognition, when I thought I was much more in need of the second. But that was her. I said nothing this time. That was my mother who wouldn’t easily let out her appreciation.

A few hours later I saw her comment under my social media post about the essay, basically rephrasing my English message in Chinese – she wanted my family to see my achievement. That, too, was my mother.

David joined us in the afternoon. We went for a badminton game in the neighborhood. Then David and Dad played some Chinese chess at the table outside – a combat between two men who never communicated otherwise. It grew dark as they played. I didn’t expect either of them to have that patience. But they did. My dad won, but he said a few times, it’s impressive enough David plays Chinese chess.

David and I accompanied Dad to the market to get the ingredients for dinner. We stopped by a fruit stand. Some cherries caught my dad’s eyes. Cherries are among the fruits I don’t even bother looking at – they are perpetually overpriced. Seeing the wrinkles on the fruit, Dad asked for some better quality ones. The shopkeeper took out an unwrapped box of cherries, which were double the price of those displayed outside, and filled a small bag with some. 70 kuai, what I’d pay for two meals. I told Dad it was unnecessary. He paid and took the bag and we left.

I told him it was unnecessary to buy the fruit because I knew he would buy it anyway. And he knew I told him not to buy it knowing he would buy it anyway. I had to say it, and he had to buy it, and I had to let him buy it. It was like as a girl, I had to accept the fancy dresses he brought me every time he came to visit. I didn’t even like them. From the fact that I barely wore them he probably knew I didn’t like them. But the next time he brought more dresses. which I didn’t want to wear nor to throw away. I kept them in my closet for years.

The market was closed earlier than usual because of the recent virus. We went to another place looking for the fish we wanted for dinner. All the fish tubs were empty by the time we arrived. “Pork would do too,” I said carelessly. “Okay,” Dad responded, and the next minute he was ready to pay 90 kuai for a bag of chopped pork ribs. I insisted on paying. “Let me pay,” he said. “You already paid for the cherries.” “Isn’t it the same you pay or I pay?” It was a question, but the way he frowned when saying it made it a command. I withdrew and let him buy me yet another thing.

Walking between my boyfriend and my dad felt awkward – I didn’t know whether to hold this hand or circle that arm. I did neither. I walked between them, uncertain yet safe.

Dad asked how my Hunan Grandpa was, my mom’s father whom I had just visited. “He’s fine, just without much energy. He walks slow and falls asleep whenever he sits down.”

“87 now…”

“87?!” In my mind he was still in his early 80s.

“Yeah, born in 34, same as your Zhejiang grandparents.” He was referring to his parents, whom I hadn’t called for months, since I visited them last time after Nainai’s heart attack.

“All of them?”

“Nainai probably in 35.”

“Even born in 1934 they are just 86 now! We are in 2020… Not even! Grandpa was born in September, so 85.” I was justifying my miscalculation, as if that would actually change anything.

“Almost 87.”

“Maybe you were talking about the nominal age.”

“Elderly people should be considered for their nominal age.”

We let that conversation end without coming to a conclusion, as we were about to enter the elevator. It was one of those topics you could mention but not come to a conclusion with.

David left after dinner. That night I slept with Mom, and Dad slept in my room, the way it had always been. Mom’s bed was big enough that we didn’t need to touch each other. As a kid I needed to hold her hand to fall asleep. After living with my boyfriend for a while, it felt strange to touch anyone else on a bed, even though she was my mother.

The next day was again nothing special – breakfast, lunch, and after lunch we went for a walk. I walked a few meters ahead of my parents as they talked to each other. I was uninterested in their conversations. They either talked about real estate or the stock market or my mom complained about my unemployed cousins. The good thing about Dad visiting was he, instead of I, could take her complaints. Maybe for that, or for something else, my steps became lighter than usual, lighter than when I walked with either one of them. I took some small leaps as I marched forward on the sidewalk. The afternoon sun was on my face, behind me my parents.

While Dad was cooking in the kitchen and we were waiting for David to come for dinner, Mom lay down on the couch for a nap. A little too close to me, who was sitting there trying to load the social media page where I shared my published essay.

“Good David brought oranges this time,” she commented on the fact that he bought some fruit on his way here yesterday.

“Of course, thanks to my good training.” I joked, though it was true I had tried to help him understand it’s good to bring small gifts as a guest in China.

“But he probably doesn’t usually spend much money on others?”

“What do you mean?” I sensed the onset of my mom’s speculation. My eyes stayed on the screen.

“For example, we spend a good amount of money buying food you like and giving to your grandparents, your cousins…”

“Well, he spends money on other things.” I hated that I had to turn on my defending mode again, though what I said was true, I supposed. “He may not care much about food, but he could spend hundreds of kuai on books and pens. Everyone attaches different value to different things.”

“True, everyone’s different, but when you give to others you give them what they appreciate, not what you appreciate.”

“He does do that as well. He’s been buying groceries and cooking meals.” I didn’t know how many times I needed to convince her.

“And it’s not just about buying things, but buying things for others.”

“People’s views of money are different.” I liked the new argument that I just came up with. “This is how we think about money in China, but in another country they might not be used to spending so much money on others.”

Once I said that I knew what she would say next, the same examples she always used – her foreign colleagues were all very generous, and then I would have nothing to argue back with.

But she paused. I lifted my head from my laptop. At the other end of the couch her eyes were closed, covered by one of her hands. She hadn’t turned the light off because I was working.

“I just want to make sure he’s good to you,” she said.

“He is.”

That debate ended more calmly than expected.

“Mimi,” she called my nickname after a while, eyes still closed.

“Yeah?”

“When you miss Mom come to see Mom.”

She sounded sleepy. Was she awake?

“Okay,” I responded, my fingers tapping the keyboard.

I wasn’t too affected.

After dinner I went home with David, with the bags of food my parents had prepared for us. “The bamboo shoot and pork dish is for lunch tomorrow, the fish for the day after,” Mom said when handing me the boxes.

I thought about staying with them for another day. With the virus situation our work schedule was more flexible, but in the end I refrained from bothering my boss on a Sunday. I should probably be back in my own home anyway.

I shouldn’t feel guilty for something I was supposed to do, for living my own life.

They didn’t say much as I stepped out of the door. When Dad stepped out of this door after his visits, I never said much either.

We went straight to sleep after getting home. Back in bed with my boyfriend, I felt something was fading away. The world had shifted. A slight fear of that something actually fading floated in the air.

I wanted to be touched, to feel a touch of care. I asked him to touch me. “Like this?” As he ran his fingers lightly over me, tears came down my face.