Chapter 3 — Eighteen People, One Meal, One Divorce

Then I turned around, went straight to the bedroom, and opened the closet. On the left are my clothes, on the right are his, clearly divided like two parallel worlds. I pulled out the twenty-four inch dark pink suitcase, placed it on the floor, and opened it. I started packing things inside, item by item, slowly and carefully as if doing a ritual. Underwear, sweaters, coats, pants, socks, scarves, all neatly folded and placed in the suitcase. I went to the bathroom to get my personal items, toothbrush, toothpaste, facial cleanser, and towel. There's not much makeup, just a small bag is enough, so light it makes people laugh. I went back to the bedroom, pulled out the dressing table drawer, and inside was a small red velvet box. Opening it was a gold necklace, a gift he bought on his wedding day. He once said that every year he celebrates, he will give me an extra piece of gold jewelry. But last year, that day passed quietly, he didn't mention it, and I didn't ask. I closed the lid of the box, put it back in its original place, and didn't take it with me. On the dressing table is our wedding photo, placed in a bright silver frame. In the photo, I'm wearing a white wedding dress, he's wearing a suit, both of us smile carefree as if we've never been tired. At that time, I thought marriage was just two people living together, sharing together, and understanding together. Now I understand, after marriage, the one who understands is always me, the one who gives in is also me. And he has his whole family standing behind him, and I have to try my best to understand his whole family. I picked up the photo frame and looked at it for a moment, then put it back in its original position, placing the photo face down on the table. I opened the nightstand drawer and took out a paper bag containing documents. Inside were two marriage certificate books, red covers, compact but heavy. I took out my book, but his book remained in the bag. I put my book in my crossbody bag and zipped it up tightly. Then close the suitcase and zip it firmly. The wheel rolling on the floor made a "clacking" sound, clearly heard in the quiet house. I dragged my suitcase to the door and changed my shoes. The red snow boots I bought in Hangzhou last year were properly used for the first time today. I put it on, tied the laces, then stood up, one hand on the doorknob. I turned my head to look back at this house one last time, the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom door, every single thing was familiar to the point of boredom. Sofa, tea table, TV, wedding photos hanging on the wall, a plate of unfinished oranges, a pan still soaking a burnt egg in water. Everything looked exactly the same as it did two years ago when I moved in. But it's completely no longer that place. I turned the lock on the door, stepped out, then closed it behind me.

There was a "click" sound, this time clearer, as if a piece of life was cut off.

The hallway was quiet, the sensor lights hadn't turned on yet, only dim darkness. I dragged my suitcase down each floor, the wheel hitting the stairs made a heavy sound. Down to the third floor, the lights turned on, pale yellow light shining down the stairs. I kept going down, without stopping. Arriving on the ground floor, I pushed open the door of the building, a cold wind immediately hit my face. I pulled up the collar of my jacket, conserving what little warmth I had left. Early in the morning of New Year's Eve, there weren't many people in the apartment complex, and the ground was still covered in red firecracker confetti. In the distance, there were a few children wearing new clothes running and jumping, laughter resounding in the cold air. I pulled my suitcase towards the gate, my steps were not fast but still not slow. The suitcase was quite heavy, but I didn't feel tired. At the gate, a taxi stopped to drop off passengers. I quickly walked over and the driver lowered the window and asked.

“Are you going?”

"Go." I replied, my voice calm.

I stuffed my suitcase into the trunk and sat in the back seat, the car door closed like a barrier. The driver was a middle-aged man, looking quite gentle. He started the engine and glanced at me through the mirror.

“You still go out on New Year's Eve?”

“Go back to Mom's house.” I said, my voice still steady and unwavering.

He was stunned for a moment, then laughed, as if he understood something.

"It's right to return to my mother's house. Coming back on this day has its own meaning."

After he finished speaking, he didn't ask any more questions, the car rolled out of the apartment complex and onto the main road. On both sides of the street, most of the shops have closed rolling doors and posted red paper saying they are on holiday for Tet. Only a few shops are open, hanging lanterns and posting red couplets, looking very bustling. The Tet atmosphere is so clear, but inside my heart is so empty that I can no longer feel anything. The phone in my pocket vibrated repeatedly, once, then twice, then three times in a row as if refusing to let go. I didn't take it out to see, because I knew clearly who was calling. It vibrated for a while then stopped, but less than a minute later it vibrated again, this time it was an incoming call. The ringtone was set by Trieu Khai, a very loud song that I never liked, he said it made it noisy. At this moment, the music playing in the car became unpleasantly shrill, like something deliberately breaking my rare silence. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his voice a bit curious: "Didn't you hear?"

"Unheard."

I answered briefly, my eyes still looking out the glass window as if nothing had happened. The phone rang for a long time and then hung up, but not long after it rang again, so persistently that it made people tired. I finally took out my phone and watched the name "Trieu Khai" light up then turn off, turn off then light up again. On the third call, I pressed accept, my voice was so calm that even I felt strange. Trieu Khai's voice rang out, there was the sound of the wind, he was probably driving.

"I picked up my parents, my oldest sister and I came in the same car."

"We'll be home around ten thirty. How are you cleaning up? Is the living room empty yet, has the tea table been moved yet?"

He talked non-stop, as if everything had been planned and I just had to follow along. I interrupted, my voice neither high nor low: "Trieu Khai, I ask you, which house does the food you ordered come from?" The other side was silent, only the sound of the wind and the music of the car echoed mixed together. About five seconds later, he laughed twice dryly and replied.

“Well… that place at Phuc Man Lau, I already told you.”

I did not hesitate: "Fuc Man Lau is not open on New Year's Eve. I called to ask, they are closed until the fifth day, and the semi-finished products have long been sold out, no delivery."

“Trieu Khai, you haven't placed any orders yet, right?”

Another long silence, this time longer, heavier. About ten seconds later, his voice lowered, carrying a bit of unconcealed frustration.

“Vu Ninh, don't be so picky, okay, I admit I haven't ordered yet, but I can still go buy it now, the supermarket is definitely still open!”

“Walmart and Dai Nhuan Phat are all open, go buy it now, bet I'll buy all the meat and vegetables and bring them home."

“Hurry up and go home, we can still make it in time for the two of us!”

He spoke rapidly, as if he was comforting me and also as if reassuring himself. I slowly asked again: "You prepare food for eighteen people alone?"

“That's right, I…”

He suddenly stopped, clearly understanding what I meant. Eighteen people is not a meal for two, but a full banquet table with cold dishes, hot dishes, soup, rice, fruit and all sorts of miscellaneous things. From preliminary preparation to presentation, even two people cannot complete it in three hours, not to mention that it is almost eight thirty now, and people are already at the door at ten thirty.

“Then come back and help me!”

Trieu Khai's voice suddenly rose, carrying impatience.

“Vu Ninh! You are my wife, there are relatives coming, where are you running to?"

“Hurry up and go home, we'll both make it in time!”

"Last year, didn't you cook for more than a dozen people? This year, you're overdoing it with just a few pairs of chopsticks?"

He said, his voice full of reason, as if it were a matter of course. As if it was my responsibility, a duty I had to bear, something I had to do because I was his wife. As if last year I did it once, this year, next year, and all the years after that I have to continue doing it. Until I no longer have the strength, or get so old that I can't do it anymore. Then there will be someone else to replace me, my daughter, or my daughter-in-law, whoever it is, there must be someone standing in the kitchen. I squeezed the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white from the force.

“Last year you tricked me the same way.”

My voice is very calm, neither high nor low, but every word is clear.

“You said you called someone to clean up on time, but in fact no one came.”

“I made sixteen dishes and washed fifty-eight dishes by myself.”

“And you, your father and your brothers-in-law were sitting outside in the living room drinking and talking.”

“My mother, my sister and the grandchildren sat around watching TV and eating snacks.”

“No one could help me pick up a single vegetable.”

"After eating, my mother still said a word, the women cleaned the kitchen, the men talked."

“I cleaned alone until after eleven o'clock at night.”

“After that, he asked me to boil water to make tea.”

“Trieu Khai, last New Year's Eve, it took me more than an hour to lie down.”

“The next morning, he said just one thing, 'it's been hard'.”

"Done."