Chapter 20 — My Wife Is Not An Outsider

I turned around, put the fruit on the shoe cabinet, pretended to tie my shoe laces, and squatted down for a moment. By the time I stood up, that choking feeling had passed.

“Let's eat.” I said: "The food is cold now."

My mother let go of Wen Duong, wiped her face with her sleeve, and muttered: "Let me warm it up if it's cold."

“There's no need to heat it up, mom, it's delicious when eaten hot.” Wen Duong pulled out a chair and sat down: "Mom's food, even if it's cold, it's still delicious."

My mother was stunned. Then she laughed. Not a social smile, nor a "winning" smile. It's the smile that relieves the burden after crying, accompanied by a sniffling voice. Four people sat around the table. Four sets of bowls and chopsticks. My mother ladled soup for Wen Duong — she did it on her own initiative, not because I asked. A bowl of soup was placed in front of Wen Duong. White porcelain bowl, milky soup, hot steam rising.

“Drink a lot, my ribs will be simmered for three hours.” my mother said.

On Duong held the bowl and took a sip.

“It's delicious.”

——

Three months later. New Year's Eve. This year's New Year's Eve meal is at our new house. The apartment was more than seventy square meters, filled with six people — me and On Duong, my parents, Luc An An, and my grandmother. I drove to pick up my grandmother. The old lady wore a brand new cotton shirt and was in extremely clear spirits. The first thing she did when she entered the door was to walk around the parade room.

“Very good, clean and tidy.” She sat down on the sofa: "Even brighter than the old house."

On Duong is busy in the kitchen. My mother wore an extra apron next to her. Two women crowded in front of the small kitchen counter, one chopping vegetables and the other stirring the pan. When Wen Duong gave the bottle of soy sauce to my mother, she took it and wiped away the sauce on the kitchen counter. The movements were as natural as if they had been working together for a long time. Luc An An was assigned to set up bowls and chopsticks. Six sets of bowls and chopsticks, six chairs. It kept wandering back and forth in front of the dining table, counting and re-counting twice.

“Brother, I'm missing a pair of chopsticks.”

“There are new chopsticks in the cupboard.”

“Which cabinet?”

“Under the kitchen counter, second compartment on the right.”

He squatted down and rummaged for a while, holding out a bundle of bamboo chopsticks: "This kind?"

“That's right.”

He pouted and put it on the table, took a step back to look at it, then carefully adjusted the direction of the two pairs of chopsticks so they were in line. My father sat outside on the balcony, rarely smoking. He held a cup of tea and looked out the window. Fireworks exploded in the distant sky, clusters of bright red, blue, and yellow flowers. The explosion echoed loudly.

“Let's eat, everyone—” On Duong poked his head out of the kitchen.

On the table are twelve dishes. Braised pork, steamed seabass, steamed garlic shrimp, rib soup, sweet and sour sirloin, spicy stir-fried dried cauliflower, stir-fried asparagus with smoked meat, boiled cabbage, fried spring rolls, spicy beef with water chu, wood ear salad, red apple sticky rice cake. Sizzling hot. The whole table was full. Grandmother sat in the chair position. My parents sat on both sides. Luc An An sat in the innermost corner — "The youngest brother in the family, I sit on the edge." Wen Duong and I sat in last. Six people, six sets of bowls and chopsticks. Not one extra, not one missing.

“Wait—” On Duong stood up again, ran into the kitchen and brought out a small clay bowl: “I almost forgot, there's also a pot of beef brisket stewed with radishes.”

She placed the clay bowl on the table and opened the lid. The heat blew into my face, and the fragrant smell of beef stew spread to my nose.

“Okay, okay, sit down quickly.” I pulled her hand.

“Wait a minute more—”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Wine.” Luc An An took out two bottles of red wine from behind his back: "I bought it with my first month's attendance bonus."

He placed two bottles of wine on the table, puffing out his chest proudly.

“Two hundred and eighty a bottle, it's my hard earned money.”

My mother glanced at it, the corner of her mouth twitched, and said nothing. Wine is poured out. Grandma doesn't drink alcohol so she was given juice.

“Okay.” I looked around once.

Six people were present. Food is hot. Full bowl and chopsticks. No one is missing.

“Open the party.”