At this time of year, Guangdong Province was not yet truly hot, but it was stifling and muggy. It was the damp season, an indoor-and-outdoor humidity and stickiness that frayed the nerves.
Back home, Fu Ying turned on the fan. Though she preferred air conditioning to electric fans, at least there was a breeze; any moving air helped drive away the dampness.
The rice cooker—she knew how to use it. She measured out two cups of rice per person and set it to cook.
She cut the garlic sprouts into thumb-length strips, pulled apart the lettuce leaves, and washed away the grit and mud. Tomatoes—should she scald them to peel off the skins? According to the cooking habits Fu Ying and her boyfriend shared, tomatoes were meant to be scalded, scored with a cross, and peeled. But Fu Ying remembered that at home, they never peeled them. Her family simply washed the tomatoes, removed the stems, and sliced them directly for stir-frying. Fu Ying ultimately decided to respect her parents' living habits: unpeeled, cut into small cubes so the tomato juices would release more easily during the stir-fry.
It was only ten-thirty by the time she finished prep. Fu Ying weighed whether to slump on the couch and do nothing or tidy up the living room, choosing the latter because cleaning might not earn her praise, but failing to clean would definitely draw nagging.
In truth, there wasn't much to tidy—just sweeping the floor, mopping, putting scattered items back in their proper places, and making sure the house looked orderly. Since there was hardly any stuff to begin with.
By eleven-twenty, the dishes were all cooked. Fu Ying dished out rice for Mom Fu, Fu Ying, and Fu Zhe first. Dad Fu wouldn't get off work until noon, so his bowl would be filled later.
Little Black Charcoal was still asleep. How could anyone sleep this much! Fu Ying didn't feel like climbing the stairs, so she did what Mom Fu always did, shouting loudly from the foot of the stairs on the first floor:
"Fu Zhe! Fu Zhe, hurry up and come down to brush your teeth and eat!"
"Coming!"
Little Black Charcoal answered, but five minutes passed and he still hadn't come down. Fu Ying didn't even bother going to the stairs this time; she sat right in the living room and yelled, "Fu Zhe."
"Yeah, I heard you."
A moment later, Mom Fu arrived home and asked her customary question, "Where's Fu Zhe?"
Fu Ying pointed upstairs, and Mom Fu joined in shouting, "Fu Zhe, are you still not coming down to eat?!"
With a heavy *thud*, someone stamped on the upstairs floorboards, followed by the clattering *pat-pat-pat* of footsteps rushing down the stairs. Little Black Charcoal sat down and prepared to eat, only for Fu Ying to swat him on the shoulder. "Go brush your teeth!"
By the time Fu Zhe returned, Mom Fu and Fu Ying had already started eating. Fu Ying picked up a spoon to eat with, and Mom Fu smacked the back of her hand with a chopstick.
"Where are your chopsticks? Why are you copying people and eating with a spoon? You're too grown-up for that, use your chopsticks!"
Reluctantly, Fu Ying picked up her chopsticks and awkwardly plucked at her food. It wasn't that she didn't know how to use chopsticks, nor that she didn't want to—it was just that sometimes there were no dishes that actually needed picking up, and eating with a spoon was much more convenient. When Fu Ying ate with her boyfriend, eight times out of ten she used a spoon.
"How much money do you have left from grocery shopping?" Mom Fu asked between bites.
Fu Ying fished out the remaining 6.5 yuan. Mom Fu glanced at it, figured they wouldn't need to buy groceries that evening, and took the whole amount.
After they finished eating, Mom Fu went off to take a nap. Fu Ying scooped a bowl of rice for Dad Fu and waited for him to come home for lunch.
Once both Dad Fu and Mom Fu were asleep, Fu Ying washed the dishes and cleaned up. Little Black Charcoal finished eating, yelled out that he was going out, and darted back outside to play. Fu Ying considered going to her older sister's house, but her brother-in-law would be resting at noon, and going over there would disturb them. Besides, Mom Fu forbade anyone from visiting Fu Yu's place at midday; soon Dad Fu and Mom Fu would be heading back to work, leaving the house empty, so someone had to stay behind to watch it.
When Dad Fu and Mom Fu left for work, Fu Ying checked the clock: 1:20. An hour and ten minutes remained—a bit agonizing, and she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.
After a moment's thought, she shut the old wooden front door and headed up to the second floor. The bed was a bit messy; with nothing better to do, she might as well tidy things up to make the time pass faster.
She took in the dry laundry. It was a bit hard to tell whose clothes were whose. The colorful, paint-chipped hangers she pulled down were set aside to be taken downstairs later. The school uniforms belonged upstairs—undoubtedly hers and her younger brother's—while the blue work jumpsuit belonged to Mom Fu. The rest would just have to be brought down for her mother to sort out.
Looking at the bedsheet, Fu Ying felt tempted to wash it. Then she reconsidered, unsure whether a certain memory had been a dream or reality, and plus, the weather made drying things too difficult. Better to just give it a quick shake and smooth it out.
The old wooden floor had seen too many years; moisture and long-term stains had obscured its original color and grain. Mopping was out of the question, so she could only sweep away the dust and debris.
Little Black Charcoal's bed consisted of nothing more than a woven mat, a single bedsheet, and a pillow, so it didn't need any tidying.
That left only the electric fan, which hung suspended from the main roof beam by a rope wrapped around it. It probably hadn't been cleaned in at least a year; the blades were caked in black grime, no longer just dusty. Standing on a stool to reach it, she grabbed a rag, scraped off the thick layer of filth, and wiped it down several times until it looked much better.
Using water, dish soap, and a scouring pad would have gotten it truly clean, but she let it slide for today.
She wasn't sure, and she didn't care to do any more.
She glanced around the second floor—it was good enough. She went downstairs to check the time. If it was still too early, she would just wait a little longer.