In the evening, I returned to find Nathaniel cooking, which came as a surprise. Previously, he either ordered takeout or resorted to instant noodles, with the occasional fancy meal prepared by one of his buddies.
He had made my favorite dishes: Caesar Salad and Meatloaf.
"Uncle, when did you learn to cook?" I asked, astonished.
"What's so hard about it?" he replied nonchalantly.
"If it's not hard, why haven't you learned it in your first 31 years?" I countered.
"It's not that I couldn't learn, but there was no need to," he corrected.
"So, there's a need now?" I asked with a smile.
He looked at me, hesitating before saying, "Seems like there isn't any need after all."
"Oh, but there is," I countered, hugging him from behind. "You made all my favorites; aren't you waiting for me to come back and eat them?"
"Let me go," he commanded, brandishing the spatula at me threateningly. "Who said I cooked this for you?"
"I won't," I insisted, holding onto his waist tightly. "In my heart, it is."
"If you don't let go, do you believe I'll..." His threat trailed off.
"Will you hit me?" I challenged, grinning at him.
"Let go. Didn't you say you liked someone else? Let him cook for you. Who wants to cook for you?" His words were laced with a sting.
He held grudges quite well.
"Alright, then I'll leave," I said, releasing him and started walking out of the kitchen.
"Get back here," his voice boomed from behind.
I couldn't help but chuckle and obediently walked back, offering to help him with the cooking.
"Put that down, be careful not to cut yourself," he warned, his gaze following me.
"I'll wash the vegetables then," I suggested, putting the knife aside and moving to the sink.
"Don't, let me do it," he immediately stopped me.
"What's wrong with washing vegetables?" I asked.
"It's not that...aren't you...not feeling well?" he hinted, looking at me meaningfully.
My heart skipped a beat.
How did he know?
It took me a moment to recall that ages ago, one night, my period arrived unexpectedly, and I had no supplies.
After much hesitation, I went to him for help, and he rode out in the middle of the night to get them for me. Even though shops were closed, he borrow it from his friend's wife.
I never imagined he would remember such a small incident, and for so long.
No wonder, during those few days each month, he never allowed me near water, not even for washing the car.
"Uncle, do you remember every girl's...those days?" I asked, blushing.
He shot me a disapproving look. "Why would a man like me keep track of that?"
"But...you remember mine?" I pressed.
"Because you were in pain that night, crying quietly all night, keeping me awake too," he sighed. "This old house has terrible; I could hear you the slightest whimper."
"Really?" I exclaimed.
"Before, I wanted to ask you why you sometimes call out my name at night. I'd worry something happened and check on you, only to find you sleeping soundly," he stared at me intently. "Were you cursing me in your dreams?"
"What did I curse you?" My heart raced.
"You told me to get lost."
My face flushed red.
He heard that? And said it me?
I wished for a hole to swallow me up.
"Well, you were quite fierce back then," I stuttered an explanation.
"That's just how I talk. Honestly, have I ever hit you? Do you have any conscience?" he challenged.
"I...," I was at a loss for words under his scrutiny.
My heart pounded, and I couldn't bear to look at him anymore.
After dinner, we watched TV together.
"Tonight, you sleep inside," After he took a look at the sofa in the living room. he said,
"Huh?"
Sleep inside?
What did he mean by that?
"You're grown up now, it's not convenient to sleep in the living room," he explained.
"Well, if I sleep inside, will it be convenient for you?" I queried.
"What are you thinking? I'll sleep in the living room. Why, do you want to sleep with me?" He chuckled.
"Of course not," I denied swiftly.
"We've shared a bed before, what are you afraid of?" He grinned mischievously.
"I don't want to sleep where someone else has slept," I thought of his ex-girlfriend and felt a pang in my heart.
"Who has slept here? That bed has only seen me," he denied.
"You're lying. Didn't your ex-girlfriend come over?" Irritation bubbled within me, and I lashed out without thinking.
"Who fed you these lies? She never came. That bed, apart from you, hasn't seen anyone else," he insisted.
"Who are you trying to fool? Your house is so clean; she didn't clean it?" I accused.
He stared at me, barely suppressing his anger. "I cleaned up for weeks, waiting for you to come home every week, and you have the nerve to question my motives? Where's your conscience?"
"Right, you're always hanging out with boys from school. How could you remember to come home?"
I stood frozen. "Uncle, were you waiting for me?" I asked softly.
"What else? Even a dog I raise would know to come home occasionally. But you, the ingrate, haven't come home in months. And the moment you do, You annoyed me," he ranted, visibly agitated.
He peeled off his shirt and stormed off to shower, leaving me standing there, staring blankly at his retreating figure.
My heart, which had long been dead, stirred once more, reigniting with hope.
He must have liked me a little, right?
But later, neither of us dared to breach the subject.
