The Quiet Part of Marriage Nobody Posts About

Outside the Car Window, the Street Scenes Slowly Recede

At ten in the evening, Chen Yu parked the car downstairs from Zhou Ning’s office. She pulled the door open. Cold air came in with her. He didn’t ask why she was working late again. She didn’t say. He handed her the thermos. She took it, set it on her lap, and didn’t unscrew it.

The car merged onto the main road. Streetlights fell backward one by one. She looked out the window. His profile was reflected in the glass. Red light. He reached over and turned the air conditioning down. She pulled his jacket from the back seat and spread it over her legs. Green light. The car moved.

They had been married seven years. When they were dating, he gave her flowers, and she knitted him a scarf. Now they passed flower shops without stopping. The scarf had pilled. When her stomach hurt, he boiled water. When he worked late, she left a light on. They sat in the same car, watching the street scenes slowly recede, neither speaking, neither getting out.

At home, she got out first. He parked. In the elevator, she pressed the floor button, a medicine bag in her hand. He saw it and reached for it. She didn’t let go. He said, “Your stomach again?” She said, “It’s nothing.” The elevator arrived. They opened the door. The cat meowed at the entrance. She changed shoes. He went to the kitchen to boil water. The sound of water boiling. She sat on the sofa, looking out the window. He came out with water, set it in front of her, opened the medicine bag, and read the instructions. She watched him. He looked up: “I’ll take tomorrow off and go to the hospital with you.” She said, “No need.” He said, “I’ll take it off.” She said nothing more. He popped the pill out, put it in the bottle cap, and pushed it toward her. She took it.

He went to wash the dishes. Sound of water. She watched his back and said, “Chen Yu.” He turned around. She said, “You have more white hair.” He smiled a little: “Because you keep aggravating me.” She didn’t smile, but her eyes reddened. He came over and sat beside her. She leaned on his shoulder. He didn’t move. The TV was off. A car passed outside. Its lights swept across the ceiling. He said, “What do you want to eat tomorrow?” She said, “Porridge.” He said, “Okay.” The cat jumped onto the sofa and squeezed between them. He reached out and nudged the cat aside a little. She smiled. He said, “See you tomorrow.” She said, “See you tomorrow.”

That night, he got up to drink water and saw her phone lit up. On the screen was a search history: “early symptoms of stomach cancer.” He stood for a while. Back in the bedroom, she was facing away from him, breathing very lightly. He lay down and put his hand on her waist. She didn’t move. He didn’t either.

The next morning, he had breakfast ready. Porridge, eggs, a dish of pickles. She sat down, glanced at it, and said, “What time did you get up?” He said, “Six.” She said, “Was that necessary?” He said, “Yes.” She lowered her head and drank the porridge. He sat across from her, watching her. She drank half, looked up: “Don’t you have a meeting today?” He said, “I canceled it.” She said, “You didn’t have to.” He said, “I already did.” She said nothing more. After finishing the porridge, she put the bowl in the sink. He picked up the car keys. She said, “I’ll go by myself.” He said, “I’ll drive you.” She said, “You’re so annoying.” He said, “Annoying.” She smiled. He smiled too.

The hospital corridor was long. She sat on a chair. He stood in line. She watched his back. Years ago, he had stood in line like this at the cafeteria window, the first time he asked her out. His hair was black then. Now it was mostly white. She looked at her hands. She didn’t say any of this.

They had to wait for the test results. They sat on the steps outside the hospital. The sun was strong. She leaned on his shoulder. He bought two steamed buns, one each. She took a bite and said, “Terrible.” He said, “You didn’t say that earlier.” She said, “I hadn’t tasted it earlier.” He said, “Then give it to me.” She handed him the bun. He ate it. She looked at him and said, “Chen Yu.” He said, “Hmm.” She said, “Thank you.” He said, “For what?” She said, “For not running.” He didn’t answer right away. He said, “Where would I run to?” She said, “I don’t know.” He said, “Then just don’t run.” She said, “I won’t run.” He said, “I won’t either.”

He didn’t say any of that out loud. He took her bag and put it on his lap so she could lean back. She closed her eyes. The sun was warm. Wind carried the smell of osmanthus. He looked at the hospital entrance, then at her. He didn’t say anything.

She said, “Your phone is ringing.” He took it out and looked. It was the work group. He dismissed it. She said, “Go ahead and reply.” He said, “No.” She said, “Reply tonight.” He said, “Not tonight either.” She said, “Then what are you going to do?” He said, “Stay with you.” She said, “No need.” He said, “I want to.” She said nothing more. After a while, she said, “Tomorrow I want to eat the noodles you make.” He said, “Okay.” She said, “Add an egg.” He said, “Okay.” She said, “No scallions.” He said, “Okay.” She said, “All you can say is okay.” He said, “Then I’ll say not okay.” She laughed. He laughed too.

The test results came out: nothing wrong. She walked out. He stood at the doorway. She said, “It’s nothing.” He said, “I know.” She said, “How do you know?” He said, “Your face looks better than this morning.” She said, “You can read faces now.” He said, “I’ve been reading yours for seven years.” She said, “Annoying or not?” He said, “Annoying.” She reached out to hit him. He dodged. She missed. He reached out and took her hand. She didn’t pull away. They walked out. The car was parked at the curb. He opened the door. She got in. He went around to the driver’s seat. Started the car. Outside the window, the street scenes slowly receded. She looked out and said, “What are we eating tonight?” He said, “Noodles.” She said, “Add an egg.” He said, “Add an egg.” She said, “No scallions.” He said, “No scallions.” She said, “You remembered?” He said, “I remembered.” She said, “Then let’s go.” He said, “Let’s go.”

The car merged into traffic. Streetlights fell backward one by one. She put her hand on his leg. He glanced at it and said nothing. She said nothing either. They drove. The road was loud with other cars. They stayed in their lane.