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The doorbell rang.
Xiao Xingchen frowned, setting down his cup of tea.
Now who could that…
“Gege!” A-Qing’s voice rang out from the front hall, “Song-gege is here to steal you again!”
Zichen was here? Why was Zichen…
Oh. Oh no.
Suddenly it all came back. Song Lan had mentioned wanting to see some movie or other. Xiao Xingchen didn’t really know what it was, some sort of psychological, horror, action, something, but Zichen had seemed excited about it. Xingchen had casually mentioned that he hadn’t been to the movies in ages, that maybe they should go when it came out. Zichen had eagerly and instantly taken him up on it.
XIngchen usually didn’t go anywhere on weekdays, choosing instead to make sure a-Qing got to bed on time on a school night. But Zichen had been able to get them opening night tickets, had even gone to the trouble of calling the theatre to make sure that they had the capacity to provide described services.
But opening night was on the 16th. And the 16th was on a Thursday. And today was a Thursday. They were supposed to go out today. Right now.
Xiao Xingchen started, almost knocking his cup of tea over in the process, as this clicked into place. How had he forgotten?
He wasn’t ready. Was wearing his loungiest of loungewear – sweatpants and an old tee, his apron still tied loosely around his waist, not having bothered to pull it off while the soup bubbled on the stove, forgotten about it by the time he pulled the pot off and spooned out the servings.
As he dashed out of the kitchen, the apron was of course the first to go. Then he was on his phone, finding Yanli’s name and tapping it perhaps harder than necessary.
The doorbell rang again.
This wasn’t how he had wanted them to meet but… He chewed his lip. He couldn’t very well leave Song Lan standing out in the chilly autumn air...
“A-Qing! Answer the door!” He shouted, as he ran upstairs, T-shirt already hoisted over his head, taking two steps at a time. Yanli’s phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. He was in his bedroom as the rings switched to voicemail. He heard the door unlatch. Heard a-Qing’s childish voice shout “Come in!”
He heard a gentle muttering. The tones of the man’s low voice made him blush even as he rooted through his closet, frantically searching for something, anything, passable.
He strained his ears as he listened, trying to catch any of the words being exchanged downstairs. Had he hurried out of the room because he thought at least it was better for them to meet without his interference? Or was he simply being a coward, leaving the defining moments to others?
This would be the first time a-Qing or Zichen saw more than a photo of the other. Xingchen and Song Lan had gone out on just enough dates for Xiao Xingchen to acknowledge them as dates, but not enough that he thought it necessary to introduce him to his family yet.
Each time he and Song Lan had gone out, Xiao Xingchen had made sure to have a babysitter lined up. A-Qing would already be occupied with whichever aunt, uncle, or grandparent was free by the time Song Lan was meant to pick him up. Xingchen would wait on the porch, or if the weather was bad, by the window, peering out until he saw the lights of Zichen’s car pull up.
He had had a plan. He was going to first have a more serious conversation about “dating” with a-Qing. He would set her expectations, be sure she understood both why Xingchen was bringing a stranger into their little household, and also explain that dating might not be something permanent – that he was introducing her to Zichen in part to check how well he got along with a-Qing. He wanted her to know that no matter the butterflies in his stomach, no matter the easy comfort he felt with Song Lan, no matter how long he could sit quietly with the other, hands intertwined, no matter how well he could see building his life with this man, he needed a-Qing to know that ultimately, she came first. And if a-Qing didn’t like Zichen, didn’t see him as a positive addition to her life, Xingchen would, no matter his personal feelings, always choose her over anyone else.
But he had not yet had that talk with her.
And now he had left Song Lan – who dealt with nervousness through the veil of a cold demeanour – alone with a-Qing – whose seven-year-old mind judged easily and never changed a first opinion.
The phone had now clicked to Jiang Cheng’s voicemail as well.
Xingchen pulled his softest long sleeve shirt over his head, now hastily dialing his mother, who would certainly not pick up, but hoping anyway. Only by the time he was almost done combing his hair did someone finally pick up, answering Wei Wuxian’s phone.
“Mnm.”
“Wangji!” Xiao Xingchen said breathlessly into the phone, relieved, “I’m sorry this is so last minute but… I have a huge favour to ask…”
He was on the stairs minutes later, trying to hide that he was panting, still trying to hear what was going on. At the lack of exuberant shouting, of a coerced game of tag or hide and go seek, he worried that a-Qing might have already rejected him. He worried that Song Lan might, ever an honest man, confess that he couldn’t do this. That actually, after meeting a-Qing, he realized he didn’t like children. Xiao Xingchen shuddered even at the thought.
Zichen just felt so right. He desperately wanted this to work out. But a-Qing was his life. Her misery would always outweigh his own.
He breathed deep, trying to settle into an at least arguably calm state.
He avoided looking too hard in the direction of the only sound in the room. He was afraid that even his deteriorating eyesight would see something he wouldn’t life, that he’d lose this moment of possibility, where there was at least the chance that this would go well.
He adjusted his hair, checking the bun neatly wrapped at the back of his head, “Ah, I’m so sorry, Zichen! I completely forgot we wanted to go out tonight!” he confessed, “the babysitter should be here any minute now, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too…”
He turned towards the dining room, the sounds of previously inaudible voices suddenly discernible. He cut himself off.
“Do you want some more water, Song-gege?” A-Qing had apparently taken her role as host seriously. Xingchen saw the flash of her unmistakeable bright blue plastic teapot, which she pouted gently into the nodding Song Lan’s little cup. Zichen’s serious expression indicated that he, too, was taking his role as a guest deadly serious.
The two were set up by a-Qing’s play table – Xingchen able to make out the colourful chairs, the stuffed toys, and an unusually patient a-Yang (likely bribed with a promise of the good cat food) all seated around.
Xiao Xingchen chuckled at the scene. He tried to stifle it, but he had already caught their attention.
“Song-gege!” A-Qing groaned, pouring water all over the table as Song Lan inadvertently turned his whole body towards Xingchen, cup alongside him.
His eyes widened, “S-sorry…” he said, lifting the hem of his jacket and using it to mop up the mess.
“Pfft,” Xingchen finally. His relief to find, not a brawl, not a tantrum, but a tea party making the whole scenario seem even more hilarious than it probably actually was. His laughs grew deeper as he clutched his side, knowing full well that he was asking for a cramp, hoping he could avoid the ordeal hiccups would bring.
“Mrrow!” a-Yang leapt off his chair and ran towards Xingchen, who was now using the railing to support him as he laughed.
“S-stop it a-Yang!” Xingchen giggled as the cat wrapped himself around his legs, making it impossible for Xingchen to proceed down the stairs without tripping on the cat.
Song Lan still sat silently, a gentle flush working its way up his cheeks.
“Song-gege wanted to have a tea party!” A-Qing explained gleefully.
Xingchen nodded, grin stretching from ear to ear as he carefully stepped around the cat, scratching him behind the ears briefly in an attempt to fulfill his bid for attention, “I can tell.”
Zichen nodded, “I was glad to be invited.”
“Any time!” a-Qing beamed, “You’re a much better guest than a-Yang,” she frowned in the direction of the cat, who hissed and dodged behind Xingchen’s legs, “He’s always jumping on the table or leaving without saying goodbye.” She stuck her tongue out at the cat, who ignored her in favour of a bath, “Song-gege would never do that!”
She paused. Xingchen could feel the quick calculations passing through her head, “Will Song-gege be allowed to visit again?”
“Any time.” Xingchen repeated gently, reaching the dining room and holding out an arm to Zichen, “Can we still make it?” he asked worriedly.
Song Lan smiled, glancing quickly at his watch, and smiled at the other man, ”We’ll even have time to get popcorn if we leave soon.”
“And Twizzlers?” Xiao Xingchen asked, glancing sideways at his date.
“And Twizzlers.” Song Lan agreed.
“I changed my mind!” A-Qing shouted, inserting herself between the two and looking up at them both, pushing them apart lightly, "You’re just as gross as Xian-shushu and Lan-gege.”
Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen exchanged a quick glance, before both falling into laughter again.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang once again. They were just in time.
Soon, a-Qing was curled up happily on the couch, listening as the aforementioned “gross” Lan-gege read her favourite story aloud. Xian-shushu, leaning back in a cozy armchair, feet rested on the low coffee table, brought a finger to his lips and motioned to Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen that they could leave, could escape before a-Qing had quite registered that their goodbyes had actually meant they were leaving.
Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen complied, slipping away towards Song Lan’s car.
“So… what did you think of a-Qing?” Xingchen asked nervously, scratching lightly at his pant leg as Song Lan engaged the ignition and backed out of the driveway.
Song Lan was silent for a few agonizing moments before answering, “She takes after you,” he smiled lightly to himself, but Xingchen greedily accepted it for himself, “In all the best ways.”
“Zichen?” Xingchen said after a beat more of silence.
“Mnm?” came the answer.
“What did I ever do to deserve you coming into my life?”
A pause as Song Lan’s face, ever focused on the road, reddened from chin to brow, “Agree to go to psychological thriller premieres that will definitely be full of pretentious and obnoxious film majors and might give you nightmares?”
Xingchen leaned back, comfortable enough to close his eyes as he smiled, “Oh yeah. That.”
It was early days still. Xingchen couldn’t risk making promises. Not to himself. Not to Zichen. Not to a-Qing. But that image – the image of Song Lan patiently awaiting his turn for carefully poured water, waiting until after the stuffed bunny and grumpy cat had had theirs, served by the energetic a-Qing? As much as Xingchen thought it smarter, more cautious, more in line with everything his mother had told him, to try convince himself that he couldn’t be sure, he couldn’t help the only word that came to mind at the thought of the tea party:
Family.
