A Voice Between Them

Shuqiao brings dinner in a paper bag that has gone soft at the bottom.

“Hold it from underneath,” she says, handing it to Shuyin. “The soup’s leaking.”

Shuyin takes the bag with both hands. “You could’ve called first.”

“I did. You didn’t pick up.” Shuqiao steps inside and kicks the door closed. “I was already downstairs.”

The apartment smells faintly of laundry detergent and the rice Shuyin made before work. She puts the food on the table and finds a plate for her sister. Shuqiao has brought dumplings, greens, and a container of soup. She has also brought two plastic spoons, though there are proper ones in the drawer.

“Did you eat?” Shuyin asks.

“On the way.”

“You mean you had one dumpling in the car.”

“Two.” Shuqiao takes off her coat. “I’m not a child.”

They eat at the kitchen table. Shuqiao tells her about a neighbor who keeps leaving parcels outside the wrong door. Shuyin tells her the office heater is still broken. Neither story needs much from the other, and the conversation moves along without a pause that needs filling.

When they’re done, Shuyin packs the leftover greens into a container. Shuqiao rinses the bowls, then glances at the phone on the table.

“You’ve been saving the recordings?”

Shuyin dries her hands. “Yes.”

“Have you listened to his?”

“Once. Not today.” She picks up the phone and turns it in her hands. “I haven’t listened to mine again.”

Shuqiao gives the bowls a final rinse. “Do you want me to hear his?”

The question is plain. It leaves Shuyin room to say no.

She unlocks the phone and opens the saved message. Her thumb rests over the play symbol for a moment, then presses it.

Yanqiao’s voice comes through the speaker, softened by the small phone. “The lock’s sticking again. I’ll come by after work and have a look. Don’t force it, okay? I can carry your bag too, if you’re still bringing all those books.”

The message ends. A brief hiss of room noise follows before the recording stops.

Shuqiao dries her hands on a dish towel. “He always said he’d carry your bag.”

“He did carry it.”

“I know.” Shuqiao sets the towel down. “I’m just saying.”

Shuyin keeps looking at the phone. The message is still there, small and ordinary, with no music behind it and no grand last words. Just a lock that sticks. A bag she had been carrying. An offer he made as if there would be time to make good on it.