14
Mateo frowns. But now is not the time to argue with Lincoln, so he looks at Lincoln, then slightly lifts his chin towards the door, "Take your sister-in-law out first."
"Yes, sir." Lincoln pulls my arm and leaves this troublesome place.
We rest at the café next to the hospital. The waiter brings coffee, Lincoln takes a sip and places it on the table.
"I haven't seen you all morning. I missed you."
I look around in panic, completely forgetting that from our appearances alone, no one could tell we are sister-in-law and brother-in-law.
Lincoln wraps his arm around me, his nose gently brushes my neck, "You fucked me, and now you look like you've been wronged."
I frown and push him away, holding the juice on the table with both hands to cover my face and ease the embarrassment.
But Lincoln's thigh gently brushes against mine. He's doing it on purpose.
We're facing the glass window, people bustling on the street outside. I stand up in panic and sit down in the chair next to me.
But Lincoln sits in the chair I just left, closing the physical distance between us again.
Seeing how embarrassed I am, he smiles, "Let me take you somewhere else."
He takes the cup from my hands and places it on the table, pulling me back to the hospital.
Mateo's room is on the top floor, and Lincoln takes me to an empty room next to Mateo's.
Through a white wall, he holds me recklessly, kisses my jaw and the corner of my mouth, and his fingers lightly touch my nipples through my shirt and bra.
I push him away in panic, whispering urgently, "my God, are you crazy? Not here...!"
"Then where to go?" Lincoln chuckles as he rubs my cheek, "You decide, I'm good with anything."
He presses me into his arms. I struggle, so he wraps his arms around my waist and neck from behind, chuckling softly, "Don't move, you're about to wake up my cock... you know, he gets excited easily."
I don't dare move anymore and can only plead softly, "Lincoln... let me go."
"What did you call me?"
"Lincoln."
"What do you call me in bed?"
"Honey, baby, sweetheart." I blurt out, hoping he lets go quickly.
Lincoln chuckles softly, "Still not enough."
"Then—then what should I do?"
"Let's make love here, like in a Pornhub video."
My heart suddenly starts beating fast. I blink, asking him what he means.
In today's internet age, I've heard a theory. Some men prefer married women over single ones because married women are more open, saving men the trouble of having to teach them; and when men want to break up, women, due to their marital status, wouldn't dare cling to them.
I know there are also men and women who naturally enjoy the thrill of public sex, having such a fetish. But I'm not one of those enthusiasts.
Lincoln's question makes me feel disrespected, and I can't hold back my tears.
"Don't cry..." Lincoln suddenly releases me in a panic. He wipes my tears, kisses my cheeks, and takes a tissue from the bedside table for me to blow my nose.
"I was joking."
"I was wrong."
"If you don't like it, I won't say it again. Really."
The door next door suddenly opens, and footsteps echo in the hallway. Through the door crack, I see Luna's pink figure. She almost runs away crying.
I turn to look at Lincoln and decide to go back to Mateo's room.
Mateo is having the brunch he didn't finish earlier in bed.
Lincoln walks in casually with his hands in his pockets, sits on the sofa, "Brother, are you really going to make that woman abort the child?"
Mateo takes a sip of soup without looking up, "I won't allow a mistress to give birth to a bastard."
"Then why didn't you use protection?" Lincoln pauses, then suddenly sits up straight, "Hey, are you mocking me?"
I sit on another sofa.
Mateo looks up at me and beckons, "Come here."
I am still shocked by the drastic changes in Mateo's personality.
He once had the opening dance with Luna at our anniversary banquet and even slapped me for not having night cream for her when she wanted to stay over.
Now he acts like he never wants to see her again, making a pregnant woman cry and run away.
"Come here," Mateo says to me again.
"Oh, okay." I obey instinctively.
When I sit by the bed, Mateo suddenly looks at me closely, "you cried?"
"I—" I stammer, unable to speak.
"Brother, your pregnant mistress just came to confront you. Of course, my sister-in-law cried." Lincoln's voice comes from behind me.
"I will compensate you," Mateo says to me.
I swallow.
"You should indeed give my sister-in-law some compensation for emotional distress," Lincoln continues, "But first, clean up the women around you. Who knows when another pregnant one will show up, especially since you hate using protection."
Mateo frowns, about to argue, but he holds back because he is still weak from just waking up.
He points to the soup on the table and says to me, "Feed me."
I feel that Mateo and I don't have that kind of relationship, but since he's a patient, I pick up the spoon for humanitarian reasons.
Lincoln gets up and leaves the room, closing the door with a snap.
I have class in the afternoon. As I leave the hospital, a silver Bentley is waiting for me at the entrance.
"Ali, are you trying to annoy me?"
"Next time, don't feed him. Otherwise—"
"Otherwise what?" I sit in the passenger seat, giving him a sideways glance, still a bit angry.
"Otherwise, I'll cry in front of you," Lincoln replies.
The car stops near the school. He insists I kiss him before he lets me go.
"Just one kiss." He holds my hand.
Teachers and classmates could appear at any moment. I bite my lower lip and give him a perfunctory kiss.
"Not perfect, but already something."
I grab my bag and leave.
After class, I go straight to the nursing home to see my mother.
Today, my mother is in high spirits, unusually sitting up in bed.
She sees me enter and says, "Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon, mom."I notice the pen in her hand, " are you drawing?"
"Thanks for bringing me these supplies last time. Otherwise, I would be so bored," my mother says gently.
"What are you drawing?"
"A sunset."
She hands me the sketchbook. She has drawn a window with holly bushes outside and a sunset floating above them.
Sunsets are hard to draw because the clouds change every second.
This is what my mother told me when she taught me to draw as a child.
I can't help but wonder if Lincoln and I should end things too.
From the moment he kissed me in the theater in Las Vegas to our entanglement in bed.
Because I have a legal contractual relationship with another man.
The days ahead should return to normal. I will have to start pleasing my husband again, living in constant fear of being thrown out of home at any moment.
The struggling sunset will eventually be swallowed by the endless clouds.
As I carefully look at the drawing, my mother falls asleep sitting up. She seems to like her drawing of the sunset, smiling in her sleep.
"Mom, this position will hurt your neck. Let me help you lie down." I put the sketchbook on the bedside table and gently nudge her.
She doesn't respond.
"Mom? Mom??"
I press the emergency call button.
As my mother is taken for emergency treatment, I can barely breathe.
Her spirits had been better recently. Even the doctor said that as long as she had regular dialysis, she could live for another ten years.
I often fantasized about graduating, earning a lot of money, buying a house with a garden, and planting her favorite jasmine flowers. I would pick the most beautiful flowers and bring them to the nursing home for her.
Lincoln suddenly shows up. He gently strokes my shoulder and says, "Don't be afraid."
How could I not be afraid?
I stare at the red light above the operating room, not daring to blink.
"Ali, there's something I haven't told you," Lincoln says.
I don't look at him. I can't imagine anything being more important than my mother's life.
"Actually, your mother's health has been very poor since she arrived at the nursing home. Her test results have never been ideal."
I turn my head and murmur, "What kind of joke is this?"
I know that kidney failure is like a one-way street with no end in sight; you can only move forward, and it gets darker as you go. The symptoms only get worse, like severe swelling, difficulty breathing at night, and even confusion.
So I learned to read my mother's medical reports. I know many professional medical terms, from blood urea nitrogen to retinol-binding protein, and their proper levels.
"Her condition has been stable," I tell Lincoln.
That's what the scientific data told me. Even when I nearly had a fight with my aunt last time because she took my mother home without permission, I didn't forget to check my mother's latest medical report.
"Ali, data can be falsified," Lincoln sighs softly. "Actually, after your mother moved into the nursing home and had a full-body check-up, I wanted to tell you."
"Why?" I take a deep breath. "Why didn't you say anything?"
When my mother was suffering from physical pain, where was I?
I was in class, I was making love to a man.
I was flitting around like a social butterfly at the London Design Festival, leaving my mother alone in ward.
"She didn't want me to tell you," Lincoln replies. "She said she hadn't seen a carefree smile on your face for a long time and wanted you to be a little happier."
I suddenly think of that sunset painting. Mom was painting herself.