Chapter 19: The Cold War and Sesame Paste

The day after I yelled at her, she didn’t speak to me.

It wasn’t the kind of cold war we’d have out of spite; it was something quieter. She got up at 3:30 as usual to fry me an egg, put the porridge and steamed buns on the table as usual, and asked as usual as I left, “Is the kettle full?” But apart from these necessary words, not a single extra word.

No nagging. No complaining. No complaints that my clothes were dirty and needed changing, that my hair was too long and needed a cut, or that I…