Chosen Last

The Cost of Four Minutes The Wuding Road diner was busy enough that everyone wanted something at once. Construction workers grabbing late meals, students bent over textbooks, retirees lingering over a single cup of tea. Xia knew all of them by order, most by face, none by name. Learning names was something you did when you had energy left over. Xia balanced a tray on one hand and a fresh pot of tea in the other as she moved between the tables. She turned to answer a customer calling from the next booth. Her elbow caught the handle of the teapot. Hot tea splashed across the sleeve of the man in the grey suit before she could stop it. He shoved his chair back so hard it scraped across the floor. “Are you blind?” Every conversation in the diner seemed to pause. Xia quickly set the pot down and grabbed the towel tucked into her apron. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see—” “Of course you didn’t.” He looked at the stain spreading across his sleeve. “Do you know how much this jacket cost?” “I’m really sorry.” She heard herself apologizing before she’d even thought about what to say. She bowed her head. “We’ll pay for the cleaning.” “You?” He let out a short laugh. “With what?” The manager hurried over. “Sir, I sincerely apologize. We’ll take care of the dry-cleaning bill.” The man snatched the towel from Xia’s hand without looking at her. “Next time, pay attention instead of wandering around in your own little world.” Her face burned. She wanted to explain that another waiter had stepped into her path, that she’d only turned to avoid crashing into him, that it hadn’t been entirely her fault. But she knew none of it would matter. Customers didn’t come for explanations. They came expecting good service, and she was the one standing there with tea on his jacket. “I’m sorry,” she said again. ‘If apologizing could turn back time, she would have done it a hundred times already.’ The man walked away without another glance. The manager had already followed him. Around her, conversations picked up again, chopsticks clinked against bowls, and the diner slipped back into its usual rhythm. She realized she was still standing there, apologizing to people who had already stopped listening. “Go get another pot,” her manager called over his shoulder. “Yes.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry.” Xia picked up another teapot and returned to work. Few minutes later, her phone buzzed. Baba flashed across the screen. She stepped into the back corridor. “Electricity and the building fee,” her father said. “Both due Friday.” “I sent money on Monday.” “That was for groceries.” He paused. “This is different. Eighteen hundred for both.” She had already started doing the math. Thursday’s paycheck would be fourteen hundred before the uniform fee. Two hundred sat in her main account. The other account had three thousand four hundred and twenty yuan. Eleven months of saving a little whenever she could. Forty yuan one week, sixty the next. She had promised herself she wouldn’t touch it unless she had no choice. “Thursday night,” she said. “Friday morning. First thing. Don’t be late,” her father said. “I know.” She ended the call and stayed where she was for another second, staring at the dark screen in her hand. Eighteen hundred yuan. Three thousand four hundred and twenty in savings. She had been on her feet for six hours. Her arches ached inside her shoes, but she didn’t slow down. She still had three more to go. She sighed, then put on a smile — the one she'd worn since she was eighteen, the one that asked for nothing and expected less. That was when the thought came, as it always did when she was tired enough to stop resisting it. Xia had been born four minutes before Mei, but inside the Liang household, Mei had always come first. After their mother died, their father had poured himself into one daughter and left the other to make herself useful. Whether grief had started it no longer mattered. *** By the time she got home, it was 11:40pm. Her father was asleep in his chair. Mei’s shoes sat near the entrance, blocking half the path to the kitchen, abandoned for someone to step around. Two bowls were drying by the sink with two pairs of chopsticks resting next to them. Xia looked at them, suddenly too tired to feel annoyed. She poured herself a cup of water and drank it standing there in the dark kitchen. "Did you transfer it?" Her father, half-awake. "Thursday," she said, turning off the kitchen light. She went to her room to get the white blouse she wore to work whenever the other one was in the wash. She opened the wardrobe and found the hanger empty. She stared at it for a moment longer than she needed to, as if it might explain itself. ‘Please don’t let it be what I’m thinking.’ Then she walked to Mei’s room and knocked twice. Mei opened the door in her robe, her phone still in her hand. “What?” “My white blouse. Did you take it?” “Oh.” Mei blinked. “Yeah. I borrowed it.” “That’s the one I wear to work.” Mei frowned slightly. “I needed something nice for photos with my boyfriend. Mine didn’t look right.” “It’s my only good blouse, Mei.” Mei glanced down at her phone. “You can wear the one you wore today. I was going to put this back.” She shrugged. “You’re overthinking it.” Silence stretched between them. She wanted to ask why it was always her things that could be borrowed without permission. But she already knew the answer. Xia didn’t argue again. She turned and went to her father’s room. “Mei took my blouse,” she said. Her father didn’t open his eyes fully. “Then wear the one you used today, or figure something else out, Xia. Don’t wake me up over small things.” Xia felt something rise in her chest, quick and hot, but she swallowed it down. ‘If Mei had been the one standing here, he would’ve listened.’ She stood there for a moment longer than necessary before returning to her room and closing the door quietly. She lay down on the edge of her bed still in her work clothes, staring at the ceiling without really focusing on it. After a while, she closed her eyes and eventually fell asleep without noticing when it happened. Morning came anyway. *** By 6:30, Xia was cracking eggs when her father came in and sat at the table. He reached for his chopsticks before he spoke. “You’re twenty-four,” he said. "Working at a diner. No career, no savings worth mentioning. It worries me." She slid the eggs onto his plate and stayed at the counter. "I'm managing," she said. “You are surviving,” he said quietly while he ate. "Mei has an opportunity now. Her boyfriend, Huang Jain, comes from a prestigious family, they are very rich. If things work out between them, her life could finally move forward. I need to know you're covering costs while that happens." She looked at him. He spoke about Mei like she was already the center of everything. Xia wasn’t sure whether that made it easier to forgive or harder. "Just say you need the money," she said. He blinked. "That's not—" "It's fine." She put on her jacket. "I'll send it Thursday." "Xia." He said it to her back. "Life turned out this way, that’s all I'm saying." Xia tightened her grip on the doorknob but didn’t answer. She walked out. *** It was almost evening when Xia got home. The living room was still bright. Her father sat in his chair wearing the kind of smile she rarely saw, while Mei was kicking off her shoes and talking over herself. "Huang Jian is interested," her father said, leaning back. "His mother approved. If this moves forward, everything changes." Mei laughed as she pulled the pins from her hair. “She kept asking about my hobbies,” she said. “I told her I like cooking.” “You?” Their father laughed. “ I know” Mei grinned. “ I’ve never cooked a proper meal in my life.” Xia stood by the doorway for a moment. Neither of them had noticed she was home. “ That’s good,” she said at last, turning towards the hallway. They both looked up. Mei blinked. “When did you get home?” Mei asked “Just now.” “Oh.” Mei said. She gathered her hair with one hand and stood up . “There’s soup in the pot, I think. Unless Baba already had it,” she said as she disappeared into her room. Xia went into the kitchen and ladled what was left into a bowl. She stood at the counter in the dark and ate alone. She was almost done when her phone buzzed. A message from her father. “Come home early tomorrow, before your shift. We need to talk.” Xia read it twice. Her father didn’t text. If he had something to say, he simply said it and expected people to listen. Xia stood still for a moment. The room felt quieter than it had a moment ago. She locked her phone, still holding it like she hadn’t decided what to do with it yet.