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Jiang Cheng picks at his lunch, digging out bits of pork from under a heap of steaming noodles and vegetables and making a pile at the side of his bowl. Occasionally, he takes a piece and puts it in Jin Ling’s bowl, taking only a few bites himself.
Jin Ling sets his chopsticks aside and glares at his uncle. He may only be fourteen, but he knows something’s wrong.
“Jiujiu,” he says as Jiang Cheng drops a particularly choice bit of crispy pork into his bowl, “I have my own food.”
Jiang Cheng startles, as if waking from a dream. He looks at this nephew and then their bowls and puts on a gruff expression. “So? I promised your mother I’d look after you.”
“For the weekend,” Jin Ling replies, rolling his eyes. “And I do know how to feed myself.”
Jiang Cheng snorts and drops a chunk of broccoli in Jin Ling’s bowl. “So?”
Jin Ling sighs. “You’re as bad as Uncle Wuxian.”
“Brat,” Jiang Cheng responds on instinct. “No I’m not. Take it back. What are you talking about?”
Jin Ling sighs and rolls his eyes and sighs again. “You are,” he says, jabbing a finger at Jiang Cheng. “You’re just as dopey as him. And Dad.”
“You dare—“
“Whenever Mom’s out of town without him, he gets all sad and, like, listens to sad music and bakes a lot of sadness cookies. Uncle Wuxian stays in his pajamas when Uncle Wangji’s gone. Sizhui says he has to fight him to change into his good sweatpants. And you —“ he pauses to stuff a dumpling in his mouth —“you turn into a grumpy robot whenever Uncle Huaisang’s gone.” He swallows his food and takes a swig of Coke. “It’s sad, really. You guys are, like, so whipped, it’s not even funny.”
“Yeah?” Jiang Cheng steals a dumpling from Jin Ling’s plate. “You confess to A-Qing yet?” He thrills at the stab of vicious glee that runs through him as Jin Ling stutters his denial that he does not like that girl, or any girl, or any person, and Jiang Cheng can kindly shut the fuck up.
“I thought so,” Jiang Cheng says, electing to ignore the cursing. Because Jin Ling’s right. He misses Huaisang, who’s away with his brother this week, helping an elderly aunt move house. And though he’d rather die than admit it to anyone, he misses Huaisang’s habit of kissing him on the cheek when Jiang Cheng brings him coffee in the morning and kissing the nape of his neck when Jiang Cheng brushes his teeth before bed. No matter what else they get up to in between, those two points of contact anchor Jiang Cheng, give balance to his days.
“You should, you know,” he says when Jin Ling’s sputtering tirade subsides, “tell her, I mean. If you’re ready. If you want to.”
“Yeah, sure, because actually talking about things works so well.” Jin Ling blushes and looks away.
Jiang Cheng has to laugh. “Kiddo, don’t follow my lead, or your dad’s. Or literally any of your uncles’, except maybe Xuanyu. I think we used up any luck this family had. You juniors are gonna have to learn how to communicate.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jin Ling replies, rolling his eyes again, for good measure.
Jiang Cheng reaches out and ruffles Jin Ling’s hair. “Sorry, nephew mine.” He pushes his bowl aside. “You done? I need dessert.”
“Yeah, alright.”
As they walk down the street to the nearest ice cream parlor, Jiang Cheng slings an arm around Jin Ling’s shoulders and drops a kiss on the top of his head. Jin Ling grumbles — he’s almost too tall for it — but he doesn’t pull away, and Jiang Cheng vows to keep up the habit as long as he can.