Is Work More Important Than Me?

The wind at Houhai blew her hair across her face. She didn’t push it away. She stared at him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Once, twice, three times. He took it out. On the screen: “Project group @everyone.” He muted it. The screen stayed lit.

“Say something,” she said. “Is work more important, or am I?”

He opened his mouth. The phone lit up again. The boss’s name. He answered.

She turned and walked along the railing. A duck dove in the water, tail up, ripples spreading. He followed three steps behind. On the phone: “Finish revising the proposal tonight.” He said, “Okay.”

They had been together three years.

They first met at a convenience store. She was buying stomach medicine. He was buying coffee. There was a line at the register. He picked up two cans of iced Americano. She glanced at him and said, “Doesn’t your stomach hurt?”

He stopped. She put a box of antacid next to his coffee. “This one. Buy one, get one free.”

He didn’t buy it. The next day, he went to the same convenience store, bought coffee, and also bought a box of stomach medicine. The cashier said, “No promotion today.” He said, “It’s fine.”

Later she moved into his apartment. She didn’t have much: a pothos, a box of stomach medicine, a keyboard cover. She said his keyboard was too greasy. He watched her put the cover on, align the edges, and smooth out the bubbles with a card. He said nothing and set his phone to silent.

That night, the project group @him seven times. He didn’t reply once.

She had never seen him mute it before.

Another time, a weekend. She dragged him to Beihai Park. On a bench by the lake, she pointed at a group of people in work uniforms and said, “Look, workhorses holding a meeting.” He smiled a little and looked down at his phone. She held the ice cream to his mouth. He took a bite. His stomach clenched. She took stomach medicine from her bag and broke off two tablets. He said, “How do you have everything?” She said, “Because you don’t know how to do anything.”

The wind blew her hat off. He ran after it and picked it up. There was grass on the brim. He brushed off the grass and put it back on her head. She looked up at him. He took a step back and said, “The wind is strong.”

Another time, her birthday. He said they’d go to Houhai. She waited until seven. He sent one line: “Emergency meeting.” She took the subway alone and wandered around Houhai. She took a photo and captioned it: “Walked around Houhai. Must be that age: all I see are workhorses holding meetings.”

When he arrived, she was sitting on a bench by Yinding Bridge, holding two roasted sweet potatoes. One was already cold. He took the cold one and said, “I’ll take it.” She smiled, eyes curved. He looked down and peeled the sweet potato. His fingers got sooty. She reached out and wiped the soot off the back of his hand. He stopped.

Wind came off the lake. Her scarf came loose. He reached out and wrapped it back, slowly. His face came close. Her eyelashes trembled. His phone rang.

The boss.

He answered. She stepped back, sat back on the bench, and bit into the sweet potato. It was hot. She didn’t make a sound.

That night he walked her home. Downstairs, he said, “I’ll make it up tomorrow.” She said, “No need.” He watched her go upstairs. Light on, light off. He sat in the car until the small hours. The project group was still ringing. He turned off his phone.

Later she asked, “What are you afraid of?”

He said, “I’m not afraid.”

She said, “You’re afraid to stop. You’re afraid that if you stop, you won’t know who you are.”

He didn’t speak. She pulled the suitcase out from under the bed. He stood at the door and said, “Don’t be like this.”

She said, “I’m not.”

He reached out to pull her over. She pushed him away. It wasn’t much force, but he took a step back.

She said, “Every time you say it’s for me. It’s for yourself. You’re afraid that if you stop, I won’t need you anymore.”

He said, “That’s not it.”

She said, “Then turn off your phone now.”

His hand was in his pocket, holding the phone. The screen was lit. He didn’t move.

She left. The door didn’t slam. It closed softly.

The apartment was half empty. The pothos was still there. Its leaves were starting to yellow. The keyboard cover was still there, corners peeling up. There were two boxes of stomach medicine in the fridge. Every day he opened the fridge, took water, saw the medicine, closed it. When the project group @him, he replied quickly. The boss said, “Efficiency’s up.” He grunted.

On the weekend he went to Houhai. Alone. The ducks were still there. He sat by Yinding Bridge and bought two roasted sweet potatoes. He ate one. The other sat beside him and went cold. A girl ran over and pointed at the sweet potato: “Mister, are you still going to eat this?” He shook his head. The girl took it. The wind wrinkled the lake. He sat for a long time.

He didn’t post a long message. He didn’t go to her company to corner her. He set an auto-reply on his work phone: “Off work. Talk tomorrow.” The boss called. He said, “I’m taking annual leave.” The boss said, “What about the project?” He said, “Find someone else.” He hung up.

He went to the convenience store she had mentioned before. Bought coffee, bought two boxes of stomach medicine. The cashier said, “No promotion today.” He said, “It’s fine.” He went to the building of her company. The front desk knew him. He put the bag down and said, “For her.” The front desk said, “She quit last week.” He stood for a moment. Asked, “Where did she go?” The front desk said, “I don’t know.”

He went to Beihai Park. On a bench by the lake, someone was wearing work clothes. He sat for a while. A sweet potato cart passed by. He bought two. He went to Houhai. By Yinding Bridge, she was sitting there. The scarf was that one. A sweet potato in her hand.

He walked over and sat beside her. She didn’t look at him. He held out the sweet potato. She didn’t take it. He said, “I took annual leave. One month.” She bit into her own sweet potato. He said, “Is work more important, or are you?”

She stopped.

He said, “You are.” She turned her head. He said, “But before, I only said it. Now I do it.” He took out his phone and put it on the bench. Screen down. The wind blew her hair onto her face. He reached out and brushed it aside. She didn’t dodge. He said, “See you tomorrow.”

She stood up and left. After a few steps, she turned back and said, “The sweet potato is cold.”

He said, “I’ll buy a hot one tomorrow.”

She left. He sat there. The ducks in the lake dove, tails up. Ripples spread. He peeled the other sweet potato and took a bite. Cold. He finished it. It got dark. He stood up and walked home.

The pothos was still there. He watered it. The keyboard cover was still there. He peeled it off and threw it away. The phone rang. He glanced at it. Project group @everyone. He muted it. The screen went dark.

He lay down. The ceiling was white. He remembered her asking, “Is work more important, or am I?” He opened his mouth. No sound. He closed his eyes.

Tomorrow was Wednesday. On Wednesdays she used to not work overtime. He set an alarm. Seven o’clock. To go buy hot roasted sweet potatoes.