Chapter 147 Family Gathering 2 The Gathering Begins
(This sentence will be deleted soon: 1,000 words of important content were added to the end of the previous chapter.)
Yesterday, Susan and the other woman talked so much about your friendships, and you thought they would specifically invite some Asian friends.
That makes sense, though, since their gatherings weren't entirely for you, and the two landlords didn't actually have any friends of other ethnicities in their social circles.
You frowned slightly, somewhat concerned about these things, but decided not to dwell on them for now.
You sit down, half confident and half cautious.
You've thoroughly investigated all the guests here—except, of course, the young men and women your age:
Betty, who lives in the third building from next door, is a retired teacher who loves gardening;
Josh, a programmer living alone in a small villa diagonally opposite Susan's house, is passionate about sharing satire and criticisms of politics.
Margaret, seemingly an old friend of Ellen and Susan, doesn't live in this neighborhood, but not far away either. She's completely different on social media than in real life; she seems warm and outgoing, and not as thin as she appears. She recently posted pictures of cakes she baked…
Kevin, from the same neighborhood, just two blocks from Susan's house, runs a real estate company and is close to Allen. However, he rarely posts on social media, so when you see him today, you can't help but compare his appearance and muscle mass with the other men present.
Adjust your perspective.
The long table was already covered with a softly patterned white and blue checkered tablecloth, and the yellow and white light bulbs everywhere illuminated the tarpaulin ceiling, casting a jumble of shadowy figures.
You sit on the side closest to Susan and Allen, while other guests busily search for seats.
On the table were apple pie brought by Margaret, a flower basket from Betty, a whole rib baked by Allen, and a bottle of red wine brought by Kevin, which had been opened and poured into a clear glass.
Susan raised her glass and started the conversation.
“Come on, it’s so good that we can all get together tonight. Thank you all for being here, especially this child—” She turned to look at you with gentle yet firm eyes, “It’s the best gift that you’re back here.”
The crowd responded.
You also raised your glass, politely took a sip, and smiled, revealing eight teeth, yet you didn't overlook any suspicious detail in a single sentence.
Her words were strange, as if this was the home you should be returning to—she had said something similar yesterday, but emphasizing it again in this setting just felt odd.
Allen, who was standing nearby, also said, "You need to know that this has always been your home."
You responded, "Thank you, you've taken such good care of me."
After exchanging pleasantries with the hosts, dinner officially began.
The plates were passed around, and Allen used an electric knife to cut the large piece of roast meat into thick and even slices, jokingly pretending to be a waiter as he served the food.
Susan served you mashed potatoes and specifically asked, "Do you want more gravy? Don't always eat so bland food; you need to grow—don't become as thin as those Yazhou kids." (A type of meat sauce)
"I'm so old now..." you chuckled awkwardly.
“In my heart, you’re still a child,” Susan quickly replied, her smile both warm and undeniable.
You lowered your eyes: "Thank you, then please have more."
Kevin, standing next to him, had already started loudly boasting about his company's sales volume, his bulging biceps barely visible as he swung his arm around the table.
He mentioned the recently opened housing developments, saying, "These people nowadays, especially new immigrants, like to have a safe fence. Quiet communities like ours are the best."
Susan nodded in agreement: "We have the best neighbors here, everyone is like family."
She looked at you specifically, as if to make sure you would respond.
You paused, then smiled and said, "Yes, it's very safe here."
At this moment, Kevin seemed to realize your presence, and turned to you with a smile, revealing his porcelain teeth: "Oh, sorry, I forgot there were our children here. I hope you weren't offended."
You didn't speak because your attention was diverted to the brachioradialis muscle in his forearm that he was subtly working.
And after noticing your gaze, he puffed out his large chest, which was enough to make the men in the room feel envious and ashamed.
Allen noticed the awkward situation and, after taking a sip of his drink, smiled and said, "Kevin, you've had too much to drink."
After shielding Kevin from his earlier remarks, he said to Kevin, "This kid used to say that there was nothing scary here, and that he could greet people wherever he went. Now that he's back, he still needs to learn to integrate."
Your heart skipped a beat.
"Yes." You nodded, quietly putting down your knife and fork.
You can be almost certain that something is wrong.
Your feelings won't lie to you. Putting aside the guests, the current Allen is completely different from the fatherly impression he gave yesterday.
Beneath his words of "concern," you only feel another indescribable sense of transgression and a slight, yet unsettling, feeling—yes, prejudice.
All I can say is that you knew all along that this meal wouldn't go smoothly; but you didn't expect that even though you hadn't done anything wrong and certainly hadn't broken any rules, "local" Allen still underwent a strange transformation.
What exactly is wrong?
You look at all the guests, everyone chatting and enjoying dinner, seemingly having a great time. It's your overthinking that seems a bit off.
Let's continue eating first.
However, the slightest sign of discomfort you showed was immediately noticed.
"Are you alright? Why are you so downcast?" Susan said, taking your hand.
Her eyes were no longer gentle and kind; instead, they held the calm madness you often see in the locals in the "scene."
You immediately get into the zone.
You yawned to distract her, then stretched out a big yawn, fully relaxing. You gestured excitedly, more like a true American than any other: "Oh, don't mind, Susan, it's just—" You glanced at the dining table out of the corner of your eye, "Dinner was so delicious that I forgot myself for a moment."
“Oh? Really?” Susan asked, her voice completely flat.
"So, tell me, which ones are especially delicious? And how are they delicious?" she asked.
She looks at you, you look at her, and the lively background noise seems to have drifted away from you.
You're momentarily speechless, unsure of what to say.
Praising food for being delicious is nothing more than talking about its taste and texture, right? What's so special about that?
"The saltiness is just right, the taste..." you said, noticing Susan's micro-expressions.
She frowned.
He was frowning, but the corners of his mouth were turned up.
No, that's not right.
Cold sweat trickles down your back, your brain races. If it's not the taste and texture of the food, then... what else is there to praise? What else...?
…Got it.
"The potatoes taste organic; I can taste that you washed them by hand, which adds soul to them. And the pork used for roast ribs is full of happy and blissful flavors. It must have grown up in a spacious shed listening to music and eating organic feed, and finally underwent absolutely humane treatment. Oh, and the other vegetables are the same. It's so wonderful. This kind of food is in line with our values."
I have to admit, after saying these words, you probably want to punch yourself twice first.
Even if those words sound like you're saying them in your sleep, as long as Susan is genuinely happy, that's all that matters.
“That’s wonderful, honey. I’m so glad you also appreciate organic and humane food and have your own opinions on it.” Susan nodded with satisfaction.
You said, "Hahaha!"
You finally rejoin the banquet atmosphere, and you busily follow the rhythm of others, continuing the dining process.
As the main course was gradually finished, Susan clapped her hands: "Alright, alright, let's change things up, dessert time!"
For dessert, it's naturally apple pie.
Margaret made it, so she stood up and carefully cut the apple pie into the neatest pieces you could see. She casually reminded you, "Be careful with the sweetness, don't eat it too fast."
You notice her fingers are stiff, yet she restrains herself as she pushes the pie she made in front of you: "Here, let her try it first." She doesn't speak to you, but to Susan.
You take the fork, look up and glance at the table where everyone is waiting for your reaction.
Here we go again.
They were all watching, all waiting.
...Could there be something wrong with the apple pie itself?
You reluctantly cut off a piece, put it in your mouth, and chew—it's really bland and tasteless.
In a split second, you hesitate: Should you praise him?
If you should give exaggerated evaluations that align with Susan's values to please her, what about Margaret?
Her social media persona is so different from who she really is. Could she be someone who enjoys fake reviews? It seems she's very proud of her baking skills.
So, as if you had tasted an unparalleled delicacy, you exclaimed in the same way a Korean would, "Ah~ it's really delicious."
Margaret raised an eyebrow, her cold expression softening slightly; you could almost hear the sound of a rusty fence suddenly opening a crack.
"Is that so?" she said slowly. "That's good."
You see, her originally taut skin seems to have smoothed out a bit, and the various lines caused by frowning and grimacing for a long time seem to have faded.
But then, the atmosphere was broken.
On the other side of the table, a little boy wearing a baseball cap and constantly scrolling through his phone—Betty's grandson—muttered with a pout, "I think this dipping sauce is awful."
The sound wasn't loud, but everyone fell silent instantly.
It felt like the pause button had been pressed.
Everyone turned to the boy, and the previously harmonious atmosphere was completely shattered.
You turned around too, but your expression showed curiosity and a desire to see what would happen.
Sometimes you might not understand why locals would break basic rules, such as this: praise brings happiness, and vice versa.
But now you understand, even locals need to learn. If they don't learn something or can't follow it, they'll end up like this little boy, his teeth falling out one after another. His once healthy, rosy face looks like it's been drained dry, turning gray and sunken. His eye sockets sag, his lips lose their color, and he looks like he's aged twenty years in just a few seconds.
His hand trembled, and the phone fell onto the plate with a "thud," splattering oil.
No one spoke. Not even his grandmother.
Only Susan spoke in an extremely gentle voice: "It's okay, darling, let's not talk about unhappy things, okay?"
The changes in the little boy stopped.
You suddenly realized.
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Author's Note: My tooth still hurts after being pulled TnT I really want to eat some fragrant and spicy fried chicken wings T. If I don't eat these things, I feel like my soul is being ripped out. By the way, I used some English words because I felt that direct translation wouldn't capture the cultural differences. This story aims to create a sense of being "in a foreign country"! Just to explain...
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