The Last Reunion Dinner

At the New Year's Eve dinner, my dad said in front of all the relatives, "At your age, still not married? What a disgrace!"

My mom, while peeling shrimp for my brother, chimed in, "With you being this fat and not even passing the civil service exam, it's no wonder you can't find a partner!"

Amid the laughter of the whole family, my brother deliberately stuck a piece of bubblegum in my hair and taunted, "You fat pig! Nobody wants you!"

I pushed aside the pathology report I had just received and grabbed a piece of braised pork.

1

From behind the bathroom door, I could hear the TV singing, "Unforgettable tonight..."

I was hugging the toilet and throwing up violently.

I could no longer handle what used to be my favorite dishes: braised pork and oil-braised shrimp.

I didn't fully understand the pathology report but knew it hinted at stomach cancer.

Before I could clean myself up, my mom banged on the door and shouted, "You little brat! Did you fall into the toilet? Hurry up! Your aunt is introducing you to someone!"

I half-heartedly listened as she described a stranger: divorced, has a two-year-old son, thirty-four years old, earning five thousand a month.

"Emma, he's not bad; he has a stable job. The ex-wife took the kid away, so you won't have to worry about that. Just a bit short—only five feet six inches."

My cousin leaned over to look at his photo on her phone and rolled her eyes at me while spitting out sunflower seeds.

"He looks too shabby."

"You're still young; what do you know?" Auntie pushed her aside.

My mom nodded in agreement, "He's decent; it's a secure job. Plus, you're getting older and it's harder to find someone. With your job situation and average looks, you can't be too picky!"

I wanted to tell my mom that I was only twenty-seven, five feet seven inches tall, weighing one hundred and one pounds.

My monthly royalties were higher than his salary...

But in the end, I swallowed my words.

2

On New Year's Day afternoon, I made an excuse about a classmate reunion and went to a hair salon.

The bubblegum stuck in my hair just wouldn't wash out.

I cut off my long hair that I had kept for five years.

Tony asked me repeatedly before cutting if I would regret it.

I didn't regret it; just felt a bit sad.

My crush's ideal type was long silky hair.

My phone rang; it was an unknown number.

Even during the New Year holiday, spam calls were persistent.

I hung up.

The caller kept trying.

Fine, let's help him boost his sales numbers.

"Hello, Ms. Johnson? I'm your attending physician. If you're free today, please come to the hospital so we can talk about your condition. It's best if you bring a family member."

The hairdresser probably overheard me because she looked at me sympathetically and became gentler with her hands.

I smiled back at her.

When Doctor Shaw saw my new hairstyle, he asked why I cut it so short.

I joked with him, "Don't guys usually prefer long silky hair? Unfortunately, I'm going to lose it due to chemotherapy."

"Well, it's going to fall out anyway," I said.

After a ten-second silence he told me that chemotherapy might not be necessary after all.

Late-stage cancer. I had about three months left.

3

As soon as I got home, my mom grabbed me and started asking if there were any unmarried guys from school who were doing well.

She didn't even notice I had cut my hair.

I shook my head.

She complained that I was like a wooden block, unable to speak.

"They probably don't find you attractive; you should be more proactive!"

My brother came rushing in from the TV, snatched my backpack, and turned it upside down.

My newly prescribed painkillers fell out.

The label was all in German, and he couldn't understand it.

"What's this? Didn't you buy me any soda?" He threw my bag on the floor and started throwing a tantrum.

"Those are weight-loss pills," I lied.

Today was the first day of the New Year, and I didn't want Dad to think it was bad luck.

My brother picked up the pill bottle and smashed it against my head, then threw himself on the floor, rolling around.

"You better take them regularly; look at you! Boys these days like slim girls."

My mom hugged him to comfort him while I took a few slaps and promised to go buy some soda right away.

Nodding, I carried my thermos into my bedroom.

My stomach was hurting more and more; I needed to take my medicine.

4

The painkillers worked wonders.

I felt like a normal person again.

I quickly opened my laptop to write.

I had been on leave for a month due to the pain in my stomach.

My readers were probably furious with me.

I'm an online writer and have been writing novels since I started college.

That year, my mom gave birth to my brother.

My dad was overjoyed—he went back to our hometown to pay respects at the ancestral hall and threw a three-day banquet in celebration of the Johnson family's new addition.

When my brother was just a month old, my mom called me to discuss something.

"Emma, you shouldn't keep studying; you're not going to a good university anyway."

She suggested that I come home to help take care of my brother so that I could find a good husband and settle down sooner.

I had only been in school for two months at that point.

I loved the university campus and begged her not to make me drop out.

My mom replied, "What do you mean drop out? Nine years of compulsory education is all you get! I've supported you through high school!"

"Why are you so selfish? Mom works so hard, and you don't even want to help the family a little?"

This was the first time I stood up against her wishes and insisted on staying in school.

From then on, she never gave me another penny.

"You're capable enough! Support yourself," she said.

To continue my studies, I took on various jobs to earn tuition fees.

When my roommate complained about online novels in our dorm, that's when I learned that writing could also be profitable.

Using her computer, I started trying my hand at writing novels and gradually saved up some pocket money.

But I didn't dare let my family know because Dad had said everything in the house would eventually belong to my brother—including mine.

5

Sure enough, the comments section was filled with criticism.

"Is the author trying to scam us? Can I get a refund if you're not going to write anymore?"

"Taking a month off? Are you really sick or just pretending?"

One subscriber with less than 2% engagement called me out, "The female lead is so ungrateful, just like the author—total trash!"

Then they gave me a downvote.

I retracted my leave of absence and posted a new chapter I had written.

Within a minute, I received a new comment.

"How are you feeling, dear? No rush—take care of your health first and update when you can. I'll always be waiting for you!"

I replied with a big red envelope emoji.

My readers are so sweet.

Before I could close the webpage, my mom barged in.

I quickly slammed my laptop shut.

"Still on the computer? With all that time, you could be helping your brother with his homework!"

"Your aunt asked about that young man from last night; he's willing to meet you. I've set up a dinner for the two of you on the third day of the New Year."

I felt a surge of anger.

She always did this—making decisions for me without asking my opinion.

"You're not interested in finding someone yourself, so I have to worry about it for you."

"If only I hadn't let you go to school for so long! You've filled your head with useless knowledge."

"You should listen to me and get married soon; now you already have a second child."

As she spoke, tears began to well up in her eyes.

"Just thinking about you not being married keeps me up at night."

"Can't you let me off the hook for once?"

An impulse surged through me—I wanted to tell her that I wouldn't need to go on any more blind dates because I was sick, really sick.

My brother shouted from the hallway.

"Mom, I'm hungry! Make me instant noodles—hurry! Don't forget the egg and hot dog!"

She hurriedly agreed and went to the kitchen, warning me before she left.

"You have to go; I promised him."

I saw my brother kick her leg a few times as she walked away.

She winced but still smiled.

"Boys are just so strong."

I bit my tongue and stayed silent as my stomach began to hurt again.

The painkillers seemed to have lost their effect.

6

The smell of instant noodles wafted into my room, making me feel nauseous.

I used to love eating instant noodles when I was younger.

It seemed like all kids did.

Holding back my disgust, I lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

I remembered my sixth birthday vividly. After school that day, I saw a kid from the corner store slurping down a bowl of beef noodles that smelled amazing.

Back home, lunch was the same as always—steamed buns and stir-fried cabbage.

We didn't have much money; Dad was strict, and Mom worked hard every day to support our family and take care of me.

From an early age, I knew not to burden Mom with too many requests or ask for anything extravagant.

But it was my birthday!

I really wanted to try instant noodles just once.

Gathering my courage, I held my fork and carefully asked my mom, "Mom, can we have instant noodles for dinner tonight?"

She glanced at Dad, her face darkened, and then she slapped me across the face.

I didn't understand why she hit me and burst into tears out of fear.

She hit me a few more times.

"Crying again? We can barely afford food as it is; how can we waste money on instant noodles? Are you trying to make me mad?"

So, I held back my tears until they made me hiccup, and by the time school was over in the afternoon, I still hadn't stopped crying.

When I got home again, though, Mom surprisingly brought out a bowl of instant noodles with hot dogs and an egg on top—and even a small piece of cream cake!

She patted my head and said, "Emma, happy birthday!"

"Hurry up and eat before your dad gets back."

At that moment, I thought instant noodles were the best food in the world!

And my mom was the best mom ever!

7

On the afternoon of the third day of the New Year, I still went on the blind date.

I couldn't bear to see my mom cry; she had been through a lot too.

I didn't want her to feel embarrassed.

The first floor of the shopping mall was filled with jewelry stores, packed with people.

A young girl was tugging at her mom, insisting on going inside.

She said she wanted to use her first paycheck from her internship to buy her mom a gift.

The woman shook her head affectionately yet proudly, "You keep it for yourself. I'm too old for these things now."

My mom often mentioned that aside from a pair of silver earrings from Grandma as a wedding gift, she never had any jewelry after marrying my dad.

During my sophomore winter break, when my writing started picking up, I used the royalties I had saved for half a year to buy my mom a gold bracelet for her birthday.

She was very happy, but I never saw her wearing it.

Later, my brother had a big gold necklace around his neck.

After that, I bought a washing machine, dishwasher, water heater, and a 65-inch TV for the family so my mom could watch dramas on the old TV.

But I never bought her jewelry again.

She wouldn't wear it anyway.

Before I went upstairs, my mom called to remind me to be proactive.

That's when I realized this man's uncle was the deputy principal of a key elementary school, and my mom wanted my brother to study there.

The mall's heating was on full blast, making it very hot.

All the blood in my body felt like scorching lava rushing through my veins, heading straight for my stomach.

I felt like a cup of sulfuric acid had been poured into my stomach, mixing with the searing blood and erupting up my throat.

Everything went dark, the world spinning, and I collapsed onto the mall floor.