Chapter 4 — Eighteen People, One Meal, One Divorce

I said each word, slowly but decisively, as if each word was cutting off something behind. On the other end of the line, there was only the sound of breathing, heavy and compressed, as if trying to suppress anger.

“So this year, I won't be coming back.” I said, my voice calm and cold.

"This reunion meal, whoever is quick to accept it will go and do it."

“I don't do it anymore.” After I finished speaking, I immediately hung up, not giving him a chance to interject a single sentence.

I ended the call very decisively, without listening to explanations, without leaving any gaps for him to maneuver around. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, raised my head to look out the window, the car had left the city center and was rushing onto the overpass. Houses on both sides of the road gradually thinned out, replaced by stretches of rice fields, and in the distance were gray mountains, with a hint of white on the tops. The sky was so blue it looked like a glass that had just been cleaned. The driver turned on the radio, which was broadcasting the opening program for New Year's Eve, the MC's voice rang out brightly.

"Dear listeners, today is New Year's Eve, wishing everyone reunion, happiness, and prosperity..."

Reunion, happiness, well-being, every word sounds clear but feels extremely strange. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the seat, and let the car drift steadily on the highway. The distance between me and the house I've lived in for two years is getting farther and farther. The distance between me and my parents' house is getting closer and closer. The distance between me and the house waiting for eighteen people to come eat is getting farther and farther. The distance between me and the warm little house with only my parents is getting closer and closer. I know there will be many more calls behind, from Trieu Khai, from her mother-in-law, from her sisters-in-law. They will blame, beg, and use every word to force me to return. But I'm not afraid anymore, I'm really not afraid at all. I opened my eyes and looked at the sky outside the glass window, so blue that it calmed my heart. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling like something was pulled out of my chest. Very light, so light that my whole body feels more comfortable. The taxi continued to run, towards my mother's house, towards a place that belonged to me. Looking forward to a new year where I no longer have to struggle to cook for eighteen people. The phone vibrated again, this time not a call but a continuous WeChat message. The ting ting sound echoed loudly in the quiet space of the car. I didn't open it, because I knew clearly who it was and could guess what they would say. The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, wanted to say something but stopped, just turned up the radio volume. Happy music filled the car, but I could still feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. Every beat, every beat feels like a heartbeat, but it's not my heartbeat. My heart rate is very stable, so stable that I even find it strange. The car turned off the overpass and entered a familiar street. On both sides of the road are rows of leafless field corn, with only dry branches pointing up to the sky. There were more people walking around, everyone carrying big and small bags, their faces full of the busyness of Tet. This is where I grew up, where my parents lived in the front building, sixth floor, with no elevator. I lived here for twenty-six years, then got married and moved to a new house with an elevator and heating, but it was as cold as a model apartment.

“It's here, miss.”

The driver stopped Car, turn around and remind me. I glanced at the meter, scanned the payment code and said thank you. He smiled gently: "No need to be polite, have a happy new year."

“Happy New Year.” I responded then opened the door and walked down.

I pulled the suitcase out of the trunk, the wheels rolling on the cement floor made a clacking sound. A few neighbors passing by looked at me a bit surprised.

“Gia Ninh, you're back, are you having Tet?” is Ms. Vuong on the third floor, the person who watched me grow up.

“Yes, I'm coming back for Tet.”

I smiled back, my voice natural as if nothing had happened.

“Where is your husband? Is he not coming with you?”

“He… will come later.” I lie, very smooth.

It turns out lying is just as easy. Ms. Vuong nodded, did not ask any more questions, carried the basket and continued. I pulled my suitcase towards the door of the house, stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up. Sixth floor, window on the left, on the pedestal there are a few potted plants with leaves still green even in winter. That's the tree my mother planted, and it lives very long, just like her. I took a breath then pulled my suitcase up the stairs. The old hallway is narrow and dark, the light is dim yellow, the walls are peeling off in pieces, revealing the cement layer inside. The blue-painted iron handrails have faded and become patchy over time. I walked up step by step, my suitcase was heavy but I didn't feel tired. When I reached the third floor, I was a little out of breath so I stopped for a moment. The phone vibrated again, this time it was a call. I took it out and looked, it was still Trieu Khai. I pressed silent and stuffed it back into my pocket, without hesitation. Then continue climbing, fourth floor, fifth floor, then sixth floor. Finally reaching the destination, on the front door was a brand new red couplet, my father's familiar strong handwriting, the sentence "Thien increases, years and years increase, people increase longevity, spring is full, universe is full of happiness" standing out among the red background. Above is the banner "Welcoming the new spring", every year he practices his writing just waiting for this day to show off once. I raised my hand to knock on the door, three "knock knock" sounds rang out clearly in the quiet hallway. Inside there were footsteps coming, the door opened, it was my mother, Ton Tu Cam. She was still wearing an apron and holding a cooking shovel. When she saw me, she froze, her eyes as if she hadn't had time to react.

“Gia Ninh?” She blinked, then reflexively looked behind me, the hallway was empty without a single person.

"Mom..." I called out, my throat was hoarse, then let go of the suitcase and went up to hug her.

The shovel was hard on my waist but I didn't let go, just buried my face in her shoulder, inhaling the familiar smell of smoke oil and lotion. That is my mother's smell, the smell that I have only touched in the past two years during hasty visits. Every time he returned, he was forced to leave before he could warm up, because Trieu Khai always said not to go to his mother's house too much, lest people get angry. He said that if I got married, I must be part of his family, and if I ran back to my mother's house, there would be no union. So the number of times I returned became less and less, from once a week to once a month, then only once every two months. Every time I was in a hurry, I didn't dare to stay too long for fear of making him uncomfortable, for fear of my mother-in-law talking about it, for fear of my sisters-in-law gossiping behind my back. And now, I hug my mother, my nose suddenly stings, my eye sockets burn like fire.

“What's wrong, child?” My mother patted my back, her voice mixed, clearly worried.

"Is something wrong? Did you quarrel with Trieu Khai?"

I didn't say anything, just shook my head, tears falling and wetting her apron every dark streak.

“Let's go home first, let's go home first.” Mom pulled my hand, then turned around and tried to pull the suitcase inside.

The door closed, the warmth in the house immediately enveloped, making people feel like they were being embraced. The living room is covered with soft feather cushions, the table is full of melon seeds, peanuts, candies, and the TV reruns old programs with bustling laughter. My father came out of the kitchen, still holding two cloves of garlic, and when he saw me, he stopped.

"Gia Ninh? Why are you back? Where is Trieu Khai?" he asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

"Dad..." I couldn't hold back as I called, tears falling more.

He put down the garlic, wiped his hands on his apron and walked forward, his voice not high but completely softer.

"What are you crying for? It's not lucky at the beginning of the year and the beginning of the month." he said so but his eyes were full of worry.

He's not good at saying he cares, but I know he's very impatient.

“What happened in the end?” Mom pulled me to sit on the sofa and gave me paper to wipe my tears.

“Is Trieu Khai bullying you?”

I wiped my tears, took a few deep breaths to try to hold back, but as soon as I opened my mouth my voice was still shaking.

“Trieu Khai… he called the whole family over to my house for a reunion dinner, a total of eighteen people.”

“His parents, three sisters and their families, and uncles and aunts.”

"He didn't say a word in advance, he only announced it this morning."

"He said he had already ordered a party, someone would bring it, you didn't need to cook, but that was a lie, he didn't order anything."

"He's going to pick up his parents right now, it's half past ten, there's nothing prepared at home."

“Mom, I really can't stand it anymore.” I spoke in one sentence, a little confused but enough to understand.

After listening, my mother's face changed clearly, from worry to surprise to anger.

"Eighteen people? Without saying anything in advance?" Her voice trembled, not from fear but from anger.

“Is he going to leave me alone to take care of meals for eighteen people?”

“Didn't he do that last year too!” I held my mother's hand tightly, her hand was cold, my hand was even colder.

“Last year he said he would hire someone to clean, but no one came.”

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

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

“After eating, his mother even told me to boil water to make tea.”

“Mom, that day it was after one o'clock in the morning when I was able to lie down.”

"Trieu Khai just said one sentence 'it's been hard' and that's it."

“That's all.”