Chapter 28 Sharp and not prickly

At noon, I followed the video to learn how to make cabbage tofu soup and millet pumpkin porridge. Because I pursued perfection, I kept making it almost ten times before I could barely achieve the taste I expected.

So I came to my mother's bedroom door with expectations, knocked on the door, and then gently turned the handle and came to the bedside with soup and porridge. My mother wrapped in a quilt and turned her back to me. I looked at the breakfast on the bedside table again, and after only two bites, I was very depressed and said:

Mom, I'll bring you lunch.

Well... Mom responded gently with me on her back, very powerless. I felt uncomfortable and said worriedly:

You didn't even have a few bites for breakfast. Is the food I made not to your taste, or is it...

OK.Mom interrupted me, then she sat up, glanced at me, and said weakly:

Let it be put here.

I shook my head and cried:

You eat it and I will leave.

This was quite a bit rogue. If it were in the past, my mother would definitely hit me in anger, but at this time she just smiled powerlessly because her smile was very far-fetched, which was even more uncomfortable than crying.

You go out, I will eat it.My mother gave in front of me for the first time, but I didn’t believe her. It’s been almost two days since my mother had eaten a little bit. I was very scared, afraid that something might happen to my mother.

I squeezed out a smile and said:

I don't, unless you eat me first and then leave, unless...unless you kick me out.

Are you upset?My mother's tone was so delicate that I had never heard of it before. Maybe she could only hear it when she was weak.

My mother's tone gave me confidence. I picked up the plate and knelt on one knee in front of her, as if I was paying tribute.

My mother hesitated for a moment, but she slowly picked up the bowl and ate it slowly. My mother opened her pale mouth slightly, picked up the spoon and put it next to her mouth and took a sip. It was very elegant. I couldn't help but regret it. It would be great if I just took one bowl, so that I would have the chance to feed my mother.

My mother was eating very slowly, and my hands were a little soft and sore. I gritted my teeth and persevered. It would be nonsense if it was because I couldn't hold on and destroy the rare atmosphere.

Finally, the happy and uncomfortable time passed for some time, my mother put down the spoon and said calmly:

alright.

I forced my hands to retract the plate, and drank more than half of the porridge and soup in the bowl, which made me very happy. I looked at my mother again. My pale face had a hint of blood and my complexion improved slightly. I couldn't help but say happily:

I'll cook for you in the future.

My mother looked at me with a complicated look, and then became a little helpless, and said sarcastically:

Then you can go to New Oriental to study in the future.

Although it is a sarcasm, it is also a joke. This joke represents that the relationship between me and my mother has eased a little. I suppressed my inner joy and said sincerely:

No, I just want to cook for my mom.

Even if it's done for a lifetime.

I haven't said the following sentence, nor can I say it, but I'm sure it's definitely my truth.

Listening to my words with three-point affection but no loopholes, my mother looked complicated and sighed:

OK, go out.

……

I was very happy that my mother was finally willing to talk to me, which meant that she was gradually forgiveing ​​me, as if everything was developing in a positive direction.

In the afternoon, I changed my taste and made two dishes and one soup for my mother. Just like noon, I knelt on the bed and served my mother for dinner. During this process, I really wanted to make trouble, but I didn't know what to say.

Three days passed in a flash. Every day I would exchange my mother for different flavors of food. I was happy that my mother's appetite was getting better and better, and she became more and more natural when facing me, but my mother's face seemed to be weaker and pale, as if she was suffering from a serious illness.

On the afternoon of the third day, I was serving my mother for dinner, when suddenly, she put down her chopsticks, and looked a little sad. I couldn't help but ask:

Isn't it to your liking?Or should I make another one?

Mom sighed, looked at me with melancholy and sad eyes, and said softly:

How great it would be if...you should take care of me as your son!

Listening to the expectation, relief and sadness that my mother said, I couldn't help but feel sad. I casually put the plate aside, knelt on the ground with tears in my eyes, and cried in my low voice:

I...I am your son Ah, I will always be your son.

Yeah?

Just two short words, but very sarcastic, right?If so, then what was the thing I did that day, what was my mind thinking?

I couldn't answer my mother's mocking question. I felt a pain in my heart, and my hands on the ground kept trembling. I couldn't face my mother, so I lowered my head and let tears fall on the floor.

I have been thinking these days... Mom's tone turned to calm.

What is wrong in your growth path?

When you were a child, you were the pride and the hope of your mother.

I have to admit that your arrival did bring me a lot of joy during that period.

My crying sound became louder and louder, my mother ignored me and continued to speak quietly on her own:

Since you were in middle school, your mother has become strict with you.

I hope you can put your mind into your studies, so start to control your entertainment hobbies.

What makes me very pleased is that although you are a little naughty, you are still obedient.

Perhaps it is precisely because of my stimulus to grow and harsh education that your heart gradually distorted.

Finally it became what it is today.

After all... it was the evil I committed myself...

Every word my mother said was inserted into my heart like a knife. I couldn't stop crying. I looked up at my mother and felt the pain at the extreme. At the corner of my eyes, two lines of clear tears flowed down silently.

I was very scared, I was afraid that my mother would no longer recognize me as her son, I was afraid that my mother would not think about anything stupid, I was afraid... I stretched out my arms and put them into the quilt and held one of my mother's hands tightly, preventing her from leaving.

It's not your business. You do better than any mother in the world. It's my fault. It's me who is obsessed with it, and I'm sorry for you...

I wailed loudly, and my mother stared at the front in a daze, as if she had lost her soul. I held my mother's hand and couldn't help but exert force, as if I never wanted to let go.

My mother turned her head and looked at me, and she was a little calm and asked:

Tell your mom, what exactly do you think?

What do you think?

Do I want to say that I love you, I like you, so I want to sleep with you?

These are all things that cannot be said, at least not now, I stopped crying and just faced my mother's eyes, silent.

Suddenly, my mother stretched out a hand and stroked the face that she had slapped countless times. It was cold and gentle, reminding me of the feeling of acting coquettishly in my mother's arms when I was a child, she gently stroked my face.