Chapter 11 — Cooking for you for the rest of your life

"He doesn't use that card, he eats meals every day cooked by a programmer with a monthly salary of twelve thousand like you. What do you think?"
There was silence at the table. Kieu Mong's chopsticks tightened. Her father looked at her mother, seemingly wanting to say something but not opening his mouth. I put down my chopsticks.
“Miss.”
"YES."
“You can't give her an unlimited pass.” I said. “But I can guarantee that every day when she opens her lunch box, the food is still hot, the flavor is what she likes, and the dish is not repeated.”
"Lifelong?"
"Lifelong."
Her mother's eyes fell on my face. Very heavy. It's like pondering when a person says the words "lifetime", how much weight there actually is in that. Silence for about ten seconds. Then she picked up her chopsticks. Pick up a piece of ribs.
“The stewed ribs are quite delicious.” she said. "Next time, add some goji berries, my daughter's body is cold."
Kieu Mong kicked me under the table. I bowed my head. She is smiling. Eye sockets are slightly red. But the corners of his mouth curled up. I picked up chopsticks and added a piece of fish belly to her bowl.
“Eat a little more.”
"Yes."
That afternoon, when we left, her mother was standing outside the door.
“Come again next week.” she said. Not an invitation, but an announcement.
"Yes."
"Bring your braised chicken with chestnuts. Just add some salt."
"Yes."
Walking to the car door, I turned my head to look. Her mother stood under the porch. Dark red jacket, still serious expression. But she nodded slightly at me. The amplitude is very small. But I saw it. Kieu Mong opened the door and sat in the driver's seat, smiling brightly at me.
“I told my mom would like you.”
“The way she expresses 'like' is quite different from normal people.”
“Mom telling me to come again next week is the biggest recognition.” She started the car. “You don't know what kind of attitude she had when I brought a classmate home before.”
“What's your attitude?”
“Not even a cup of tea.”
“…So what is today?”
“Today—” She thought. “Mom ate four of my ribs.”
“So what?”
"Normally, she can't eat a single bite. She complains about how much oil there is."
I leaned against the back of the passenger seat. Ginkgo leaves outside the window rotate in the wind. The December sunlight is not too warm, but when it shines inside the car, it is just right.
“Ky Hoan.”
"YES."
"Thank you."
“Thank you for what?”
“Thank you for making an extra portion of rice that day.”
I tilted my head to look at her. Her face was covered in a layer of warm gold by the sunlight. The corner of the mouth has a gentle curve.
"Nothing." I said. “But you have to pay for the remaining eight months of food.”
“How to pay?”
“Marry me.”
Her steering wheel shifted to one side. The car shook slightly.
“Ky Hoan, you—don't say things like that while driving.”
“It's you who's driving, not me.”
“But because of you, I swerved the steering wheel.”
“Then stop on the side of the road and talk.”
She didn't stop. But she stretched out one hand, grasping my fingers that were resting on the middle armrest. The palm of the hand is a bit hot. Hold very tight.
“No need to get married.” She said, her voice a little muffled.
“So how to pay?”
“Cook for me to eat for the rest of my life.”
“I said it before.”
“That's enough.”
Enough. Eight months ago, I thought I was feeding a stray cat. Now that cat has moved into my life. Furthermore— Also carry an unlimited black card. Her mother's coat. And the food of a lifetime. I look at the road ahead. Sunshine So beautiful. It's warm in the car. Her hand is holding mine. Enough.