Just as I was thinking about how to comfort her, Mom instead asked weakly, "Boy or girl?"
"Huh?" I was taken aback.
Mom slowly opened her eyes, then couldn't help but smack her forehead, smiling bitterly. "You scared me. I thought I'd given birth again."
"Having me alone is enough for you to worry about. If you had another one, it would exhaust you. Honestly, even Beibei was one too many."
I wanted to use my specialty—talking—to lighten the mood.
Mom shot me a glare and tried to pull her hand from my grasp, but she was too weak and had to give up, turning her face away instead.
Mom's hand was cool and soft, lying weakly in my palm. I couldn't bear to let go.
"Mom, when you gave birth to me, was it really painful?"
After a moment of silence, Mom said, "Excruciating."
I smiled and asked, "I heard from Dad that you kept cursing him as a bastard in the delivery room, even going through eighteen generations of our Ling family ancestors. The doctors and nurses found it hilarious."
"Hmm, at the time, I thought I'd divorce your dad right after giving birth." There was a hint of teasing in Mom's tone, not as cold as before.
"Then why did you have Beibei later?"
"Who knows."
I sat down in the chair by the bed and said, "There are some things I've never told you."
Mom turned her head to look at me.
I smiled. "Actually, when I was little, I really hated Beibei. I disliked her all the way until I graduated from elementary school."
"Why?"
"Out of jealousy," I lowered my head, unconsciously playing with my mother's slender fingers. "I've always felt you dote on her so much, but never seem to care about me."
"I dote on her? Don't I dote on you? I've spoiled you to the heavens." Mother pulled her hand away forcefully, turning her face aside. She let out a soft sigh and muttered, "I've spoiled you so much you think you can do anything you want."
I'm realizing I'm really getting worse at conversation. Even during dinner just now, I shouldn't have brought up that night again. Even trying to explain would only make Mom recall that unpleasant experience.
Actually, the best approach is to try to cheer Mom up and ease the tension.
Mom is a dignified person with a strong inner resilience. With time, she can heal herself. Constantly bringing it up again and again is like repeatedly picking at a scab—completely counterproductive.
I should have thought of this much earlier.
In the evening, I returned to the hotel to check out, collected my luggage, and went back to the hospital ward.
Since Mom wasn't talking to me, I quietly stayed by her side, reading and studying.
When she was uncomfortable, I adjusted her position and tucked in the sheets for her.
Although it was a private room, there was no sleeping arrangement for accompanying family members.
At night, I could only sit on a chair, leaning my upper body on the bedside table. Even if I changed positions, I could only lean back against the chair—it was incredibly uncomfortable.
Because I kept shifting around, the chair made noise. Mom sighed impatiently and complained, "Can't you be quiet?"
"I'll be quiet, I'll be quiet." I adjusted myself, leaning back against the chair with my feet propped up on the windowsill.
In my drowsiness, I started to feel sleepy. My body unconsciously leaned back, and suddenly I toppled over with a loud clatter.
"Are you crazy? I finally managed to fall asleep," Mom yelled angrily, then groaned, frowning. "That hurt so much."
"It wasn't on purpose," I said awkwardly, getting up from the floor with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, sorry. Go back to sleep... please go back to sleep."
"Sleep? How can I sleep now?" Mom sighed, looking at me with disdain. "If it's really too much, just go back to the hotel."
"I can't do that, Mom. You just had surgery and are suffering here in the hospital. How could your son go back to that five-star hotel and enjoy the ocean view room? I'd feel too guilty, too awful."
Mom's expression was blank, her tone mechanical. "Having you here makes me feel worse."
I straightened the chair and sat back down, hesitating for a moment before saying, "How about... how about I tell you a joke?"
Mom glanced at me sideways, then turned away with a look of disdain.
I cleared my throat and began earnestly: "There was a new nurse who wasn't good at giving injections. Patients often cried out in pain. The head nurse gave her an idea: find a sleeping patient to practice on. If she could give the injection without waking the patient, it meant she had mastered the skill. The nurse found a sleeping patient, gave the injection, but missed. The patient didn't wake up. She tried again, missed again, and kept going. After thirty-some attempts, the patient suddenly sat up and shouted, 'Do you think I'm dead?!' The nurse ran away in terror. The next day, the hospital director called her in, shook her hand excitedly, and said, 'You're amazing! You managed to wake up a ten-year coma patient with your injections!'"
After finishing, I chuckled to myself, but seeing Mom's stern face without a hint of a smile, I coughed twice to cover my embarrassment.
"That joke is a bit outdated, not very funny anymore. How about this, let me tell you another one. Question: What is the thing a patient fears hearing the most during surgery?" I asked cheerfully, "Mom, do you know?"
Mom gave me a sidelong glance and didn't answer.
"Mom, could you play along? Do you know or not?"
"I don't know," Mom replied impatiently, glaring at me.
"What a patient fears hearing the most is... huh? Where did the surgical scissors go? Hahahahaha... uh..."
After a burst of laughter, I saw Mom staring at me with a livid expression. My smile gradually stiffened, and I shook my head, saying, "I just wanted to make you laugh."
"Make me laugh, and then have my incision split open, is that it?"
Only then did I remember that it really wasn't appropriate. I scratched my head awkwardly, "Well... that is quite dangerous. But luckily, my joke wasn't very funny. See, you didn't even laugh."
Mom ignored me and picked up her phone to read the news. After a while, she asked, "Have you told your dad?"
"Told him what?"
"That I had an appendectomy."
"No."
"Tomorrow, I'll contact your dad and have him come stay with me."
My heart sank, and I felt a bit dejected. I fidgeted and said, "You... don't want to see me at all anymore?"
Mom said weakly, "Your senior year of high school starts early. I'll be staying here for a while longer. Have your dad come over, and you hurry back to the country. Don't miss the start of school."
Hearing Mom say that, my mood improved a bit. Mom really does care about me after all.
I couldn't help but smile, and Mom caught me. She asked coldly, "What are you smiling about?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking that I need to work hard and try to get into a good university."
Mom hummed in acknowledgment and didn't say anything more.
Suddenly, I had an idea and thought this could be a topic to get closer to her. I leaned in and asked quietly, "Mom, which university do you think I should apply to?"
Mom looked at me and asked in return, "What are your plans?"
"Our province's University of Finance and Economics is pretty good, and the Agricultural University is okay too. If all else fails, I could just go to the Normal University in our city."
Mom turned to face me and glared, "Is that all you aspire to? Can't you aim a little higher?"
"What's the use of just aiming high? I want to go to Tsinghua, I want to go to Peking University, I even want to get into Harvard." Seeing Mom glaring at me with a stern expression, I quickly corrected myself, "Of course, having aspirations is important too."
"Have you decided on a major?"
"Haven't we discussed this before? I wanted to study archaeology, but you and Dad said that major isn't very useful. So now I don't know what to study."
Mom sighed, "Study whatever you want."
"Really?"
"Do as you please."
"Ah~! Thank you, Mom!" I grabbed Mom's slender, fair hand and gave it a big kiss.
Mom was startled, then jerked her arm away, scolding, "Let go~!"
Only then did I realize I had gone too far. I quickly let go of Mom's hand and stepped back, muttering timidly, "Sorry, I... I got carried away."
I used to joke around with Mom like this all the time, and we've had even more intimate gestures without ever crossing any awkward boundaries. But now...
The hospital room fell into silence again. Looking at the time, it was already two in the morning, but I didn't feel sleepy at all.
After a long while, Mom suddenly said, "Let me tell you a joke."
"Huh?" I was caught off guard.
"When you were little, your dad and I used to argue a lot. Every time we fought, I'd smash things, and your dad would say I was wasting money. Back then, our family wasn't well-off, and we couldn't afford to break things. So your dad suggested that next time we argued, instead of smashing things, I should find something sturdy to take my anger out on. I thought about it and agreed. After searching high and low, I finally found something tough enough. Every time we argued after that, I'd take it out on that thing. From then on, we never smashed anything in our house again."
Was that supposed to be a joke? I scratched my head, puzzled, and asked, "What was so sturdy?"
"You," she said, and then burst into laughter.
It finally dawned on me, and I chuckled, "Well, if I could contribute to our family's harmony, I guess it was worth getting beaten up."
Mom covered her mouth with her hand, laughing uncontrollably. As she laughed, tears suddenly streamed down her face. She discreetly wiped them away with her fingers, sniffled, and turned her face aside.
My heart ached with an indescribable sadness. For my own momentary pleasure, I had pushed my mom into an endless abyss—a wound that might never heal.
Thinking of this, I remembered the song Mom used to sing to me when I was little, and I couldn't help but hum it softly.
"I know the stars at midnight sing, on nights when I miss home, they sing along with me.
I know the afternoon breeze sings, the cicadas of childhood always harmonize with the wind.
When I hold prosperity in my hands, my heart grows desolate, only then do I realize everything in this world can change.
When youth is left only in diaries, black hair turns to white, the only thing that remains unchanged is that song, echoing in my heart.
The stars in the sky don't speak, the child on earth misses her mom, the eyes in the sky blink and blink, Mom's heart is like a lupine flower.
The tea garden back home is in full bloom, Mom's darling is far away, every night I think of Mom's words, glistening tears like lupine flowers."
Mom lowered her head, covering her eyes with her right hand, softly sobbing. The more I sang, the sadder I felt, tears welling up in my eyes.
Just as I reached the climax of the song, a nurse pushed the door open and, in a hushed tone, warned me in English.
I quickly stood up to explain, but my spoken English wasn't particularly good, and the nurse's English was rather unusual. We ended up gesturing at each other for a long time, almost like a chicken talking to a duck—neither of us understanding the other.
My awkward and flustered appearance actually made Mom laugh. She gently explained the situation to the nurse.
After the nurse left, I couldn't help but give a thumbs-up and praise, "Mom, your English is amazing, even better than a native speaker's."
Mom teased, "It's your English that's terrible. With skills like yours, forget about Peking University or Tsinghua—you should go grill skewers instead."
"Ah!" An idea struck me, and I leaned in with an eager smile. "How about this—you help me review English?"
Mom glanced at me and said coldly, "I don't feel like talking to you right now. Stay away from me."
"Oh," I replied dejectedly, sitting back down. I couldn't stop blaming the nurse in my mind—she had completely ruined such a touching moment.
Mom sighed, turned over with her back to me, and said softly, "Alright, hurry up and go to sleep."
...
Although Mom didn't agree verbally, the next day she started helping me review English.
My spoken English might be terrible, but my grades are actually passable. Asking Mom for help with review was just an excuse to get closer to her, so I pretended not to understand much, hoping she would explain things to me.
To be honest, I really enjoyed leaning close to Mom, smelling her sweet fragrance—it was intoxicating.
But I kept warning myself in my heart: she is my mother. I've already hurt her once; there absolutely cannot be a second time. I shouldn't even think about it.
In the afternoon, I took a practice test. Maybe I overdid the act—my score was a mess, and Mom was so angry she almost threw it in my face.
In the end, she waved her hand dismissively and said irritably, "I don't want to see you right now. Get out of my sight."
I quickly tried to comfort her, "Mom, don't be angry. This... it's just a slip-up. My grades aren't usually this bad."
"Alright, alright, stop explaining. You've made my incision hurt from anger. Ugh... just get out."
I looked at her, feeling both wronged and helpless, and asked, "When can I come back then?"
"Come back after dinner."
"Then I'll go out for dinner now."
"Eight o'clock."
"Okay."
I left the ward pitifully and wandered around outside the hospital. Even though Mom had kicked me out, upon second thought, her attitude seemed a bit strange, as if she had deliberately sent me away.
Could it be that Mom saw I had been cooped up in the ward for a day and a night and wanted me to go out and relax?
Although it was just a guess, the events of the past two days had clearly eased the tension between Mom and me. Basking in the sunlight, my heart felt warm and content.
After strolling along the road and grabbing a quick bite to eat, on my way back to the hospital, I passed by a flower shop. After a moment's thought, I went in and bought a bouquet of carnations.
When I entered the ward, I deliberately hid the flowers behind my back. Mom was receiving an IV drip, her eyes half-closed, and she didn't look too well. Seeing me return, she said unhappily, "Had fun outside, huh?"
For a moment, I didn't know how to respond and stammered, "It... it was... okay, I guess."
Mom struggled to turn over and muttered, "Your mom is suffering here, and you're out having a good time."
"Huh? But you told me to go out."
"I told you to go out, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't come back. I said come back at eight. What time is it now?"
I checked the time and replied, "Six-thirty."
Mom glanced at me and fell silent.
I walked over with a grin and brought out the carnations I had hidden behind my back, hoping to surprise her. But she only glanced at them before turning her head away.
I frowned slightly, feeling a bit disappointed. "Look... your son brought you flowers, and you're not even happy."
Mom turned back to me, forcing an awkward smile, and said coldly, "I hate carnations the most."
"Alright, I'll bring you roses next time." As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized the meaning behind roses and felt it might be inappropriate, so I quickly added, "They suit your beautiful and noble temperament. Is that better?"
Mom snorted, "You don't even know what flowers your own mother likes."
I thought about it and realized she was right.
"So... what flowers do you actually like?"
"Morning glories," Mom replied impatiently, brushing me off.
"Alright, you're joking now. Looks like you're recovering well." I placed the carnations into the vase on the cabinet, leaned closer to her, and grinned. "Next time, I'll bring you cotton."
Mom shot me a sidelong glare. "Stay away from me. I don't want to talk to you right now."
"Fine, I'll go study then."
I happily retreated to the side to read my book.
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