Chapter 10 — From the Day I Didn't Ask

He looked at me.

"If you go out and feel angry, whether you're happy or sad, you have to tell me too. Don't come home and play games, don't say 'nothing' about anything'."

“Okay.”

"If you see me doing something bad, tell me directly. Don't say it in front of outsiders."

“Okay.”

“Wherever you go from now on, you are not allowed to make fun of me anymore.”

“Never again.”

I turned my head to look at him. He also looked at me. His eyes were red, his nose was red, his jaw was stiff. It's been three years, this is the first time I've seen him with this expression. It's not a flippant "okay, let's not make a fuss anymore" kind of thing. Not the “is it worth it” kind of impatience. It's about seriousness, fear, and caution. It was as if I was afraid that the next second I would push the car door open and leave.

“I'm not going anywhere.” I said.

He took a deep breath and let out a heavy breath, as if he had been holding it for a long time.

“But we have to start over.”

He nodded.

“It's not about going back to the old days. It's about starting over from the beginning.”

"Okay. Tell me how to start."

I pondered.

“First, go home and wash those dishes from two days ago.”

He was stunned for a second. Then burst out laughing. A very soft smile, carrying a nasal voice, tears still not dry. He started the engine and backed the car out. I leaned back against the passenger seat, watching the scenery outside recede. Sunlight poured in from the front, and there was a thin layer of dust on the windshield. He raised his hand to wipe the water lever, sprayed glass cleaner, and wiped it twice. Vision immediately became clear and clear. I thought, maybe that's the case. It's not forgiveness, it's not turning the page and letting everything go. It's about wiping away the layer of dust that separates you, so you can see each other clearly again. Once you see clearly, you can decide whether to continue holding hands or not. When he got home, he went to the kitchen first. The sound of the faucet running. I stood in the living room, looking at the slightly wilted bouquet of flowers on the dining table. I found a vase, collected the water, and then put the flowers in. Then walk to the kitchen door. He was rolling up his sleeves and busy washing dishes, soap bubbles splashing.

“What do you want to eat tonight?” He turned his head and asked me.

In the past, this was always the question I asked him. I leaned against the door frame, thinking for a moment.

“You decide.”

He smiled.

“Okay.”

*(End)*