I Said “It’s Fine” Until the Empty Medicine Box Broke Me

When he lit a cigarette in front of her, she was crouching on the floor, wiping it.

The lighter clicked. The flame touched the cigarette paper. He took a drag, and the tip glowed. The rag in her hand paused for a second, then kept moving.

“Can you...” she said.

He looked down at her.

“Never mind, it’s fine.” She turned the rag over. “You can smoke. I’ll open the window.”

He stubbed out the cigarette. He pressed the butt into the ashtray twice. It wasn’t completely out, and a thin thread of smoke kept rising. She stood up and opened the window. As she passed him, she said, “You can smoke. I’m fine.”

He said, “I’m not smoking.”

She said, “Oh.”

That night she brushed her teeth three times. After the mint faded from her mouth, she lay in bed and thought: Why didn’t I say “Can you not smoke in the room”? She thought for ten minutes, turned over, and thought again: And even if I had said it, so what? He’d think I’m making a fuss.

The next day he bought an air freshener, lemon-scented, and put it on the coffee table. She saw it and said, “Thanks.” He said, “Mm.” What she wanted to say was “I didn’t want air freshener, I wanted you to ask me ‘Were you uncomfortable just now?’” But she didn’t. She put the air freshener in the cabinet, next to the unopened one he’d bought last year.

The first time she spoke up was on the subway.

She typed a message: “About yesterday, next time can you tell me in advance.” After typing it, she read it twice, changed “about yesterday” to “about you changing the time on me yesterday,” then thought it was too long, deleted it, and changed it back to “about yesterday.” Her finger hovered over send. The subway passed one stop.

After she sent it, she locked the screen, put the phone in her bag, then took it out again. He replied quickly: “All right.”

She stared at “All right.” She scrolled up. The last time he’d said “All right” was when she asked “Is noodles okay for dinner?” Further up, it was him asking his mother, “Which medicine should I buy?” She put the phone face down on her leg, picked it up two stops later, typed “I was a little sad yesterday,” looked at it for three seconds, and deleted it.

That night he asked her, “Why so quiet today?” She said, “I missed my stop on the subway. A bit tired.” He said, “Then go to bed early.” She said, “Mm.”

She said the thing face-to-face on Saturday afternoon.

She sat at one end of the sofa, he at the other, a cushion between them. The TV was on, playing a variety show she’d never seen, laughter in waves.

“That thing you promised to ask your mom about, the insurance,” she said. “You didn’t ask.”

He turned to look at her. “Which thing?”

“Last month. You said you’d ask on Wednesday, and then you didn’t. I didn’t push you, but I thought about it for three days.”

“You should’ve said something earlier.”

She smiled a little. “Mm.”

Then she got up and went to the kitchen and washed a cup that was already clean. The faucet was turned on very low. She watched the water overflow the rim, her hand rubbing the side of the cup. He came over and stood in the kitchen doorway. “I’ll ask now.”

She said, “No need. I already asked.”

He said, “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

She said, “I did tell you. Just now.”

He said, “I mean back then.”

She said, “Back then I was afraid you’d think I was nagging.”

He didn’t say anything. She turned the cup upside down on the dish rack, dried her hands, walked past him, and picked up her phone. She sat on the sofa and scrolled short videos for five minutes. She didn’t take in a single one.

The day she exploded, it was over stomach medicine.

She’d asked him to pick up a box of stomach medicine on his way home. He said okay. That night he came back empty-handed and said, “I forgot. I’ll buy it tomorrow.” She said, “You’re always like this.” He said, “Can you not make a big deal out of everything?” She said, “I’m making a big deal? Last month I asked you to ask about the insurance and you forgot. The month before I asked you to pick up a package and you forgot. Do you think the things I say don’t matter?” He said, “There you go again.”

“There I go again?” She dug the medicine box out of the drawer, empty, and threw it in the trash. “Fine. I’ll buy it myself from now on.”

“You’re like this every time,” he said. “You hold it in and don’t say anything, and then suddenly blow up.”

“I hold it in? Didn’t I say something? Did saying it do any good?”

“Is what you’re doing now doing any good?”

She stood in the kitchen doorway, clutching the empty medicine box. She clutched it for two seconds, let go, and threw it in the trash. Then she said, “Forget it. I won’t say anything from now on.”

He said, “You say that every time.”

She didn’t answer. She went into the bedroom and closed the door, didn’t lock it. She sat on the bed for a while and heard him turn the TV down in the living room. A while later he knocked and said, “I’m going downstairs to buy the medicine.” She said, “No need.” He said, “I’m already going.” She heard the door close, then heard the elevator ding.

She sat on the bed and went back over what she’d just said, sentence by sentence. When she got to “You’re always like this,” she buried her face in the pillow.

The next few days went on as usual.

He poured her water and set it beside her hand. She said thanks. He didn’t ask if it was too hot. Before, he used to ask “Too hot?” and she’d say “Just right.” Now he just set the cup down and left.

She texted “Working late today.” She’d originally typed “Don’t wait for me,” then deleted it, and only sent “Working late.” He replied “Okay.” She looked at that “Okay” and felt it was different from “All right.” At least “All right” had two words.

One day she got home and found a box of stomach medicine on the coffee table. New. Next to it was an unopened lemon air freshener. She put the medicine in the drawer and the air freshener in the cabinet, next to the other two.

At dinner he said, “I bought the medicine.” She said, “I saw.” He said, “Mm.” She wanted to say “Thanks,” but it felt too distant, so in the end she said nothing. He pushed the dishes toward her and said, “Eat more.” She said, “Mm.”

The next time she was unhappy was on Thursday.

He suddenly said he had to work late and couldn’t pick her up. She stood downstairs at her office, looking at her phone screen. She typed “It’s fine, I’ll go back myself,” deleted it. Typed “Just work late,” deleted it. What she finally sent was: “I’m a little pissed off right now, but I don’t want to fight over text. I’ll tell you when I get home tonight.”

He replied: “Okay.”

She looked at that “Okay.” Still only one word. But when she put the phone in her bag, her hand wasn’t shaking.

When he got home that night, she had already cooked noodles. They sat at the table. She ate two bites, put down her chopsticks.

“When you suddenly said you couldn’t pick me up today, I was pissed because I was waiting downstairs at five thirty and didn’t get your message until six ten. I don’t need you to pick me up. But can you tell me half an hour earlier?”

He said, “Got it. I’ll pay attention next time.”

She waited two seconds. He didn’t say “There you go again,” and he didn’t say “You should’ve said something earlier.” He asked, “What do you want to eat tonight?”

She said, “Aren’t we eating right now?”

He said, “I mean tomorrow.”

She said, “Whatever.”

He said, “Then noodles.”

She said, “Okay.”

She looked down and kept eating. The noodles were a bit soggy, but she didn’t say anything. He picked the egg out of his bowl and put it in hers. She didn’t refuse, and she didn’t say thanks. She took a bite of the egg. The yolk was a little dry. She took a sip of soup.

After eating, she washed the dishes while he stood beside her wiping the table. She said, “Stop buying that air freshener. There are still three boxes in the cabinet.” He said, “Got it.” She said, “I still haven’t opened the lemon one you bought last time.” He said, “Then use that one first.” She said, “Okay.”

After the faucet was turned off, the kitchen was quiet for a few seconds. She wiped the stove with the rag. When she got to the corner, he said, “Next time you’re unhappy, just say it like you did today.”

She said, “I said it like that today, and you didn’t get angry.”

He said, “Why would I get angry?”

She said, “You got angry last time.”

He said, “Last time you threw things.”

She thought for a moment and said, “Then you stop buying air freshener too. If you buy it, I won’t want to use it.”

He said, “Fine. I won’t buy it.”

She hung up the rag and said, “Noodles tomorrow, okay?”

He said, “Okay.”

She walked out of the kitchen. As she passed the coffee table, she saw that the three boxes of air freshener were still in the cabinet, unopened. She thought, tomorrow I can take one out and put it in the bathroom. Then she thought again, forget it, leave them for now.

She sat on the sofa, picked up her phone, and sent him two words: “Thank you.”

From the kitchen, he replied with a voice message. She tapped it open. It was him, washing dishes as he spoke: “What are you thanking me for? You paid for the noodles.”

She smiled and put the phone on her knee. The TV was still on, the same variety show as last time. This time she watched it.