Yuan Gun Gun blow dried Hao Yan Che’s hair. He looked in the mirror and smiled smugly at their son.
‘Mummy, my hair is still wet,’ Na Liu Hao said.
‘When your mummy first dried daddy’s hair, you won’t born yet,’ Hao Yan Che said. ‘Stinky little boy.’
‘Uncle is a stinky old man,’ Na Liu Hao said.
‘What did you say?’ Hao Yan Che asked. ‘You need to speak louder. You sound like a mosquito.’
‘Uncle is a deaf old man,’ Na Liu Hao said.
‘Stinky little demon…’ Hao Yan Che said.
Yuan Gun Gun suddenly turned off the hair dryer and stood in between the duelling father and son.
‘I’m hungry,’ Yuan Gun Gun said.
Hao Yan Che scoffed and held Yuan Gun Gun’s hand.
‘Wait,’ Yuan Gun Gun said.
Yuan Gun Gun pulled her hand out of Han Yan Che’s hand. She walked to the bed, picked up Na Liu Hao and put him down next to Hao Yan Che. She wrapped Hao Yan Che’s big hand around Na Liu Hao’s small hand, and held Na Liu Hao’s other small hand.
‘We can go now,’ Yuan Gun Gun said.
Hao Yan Che held his son’s chubby hand. He was scared if he held too tight, his son’s hand would break.
Na Liu Hao couldn’t deny how warm and protective the old man’s hand was. He thought the old man was hateful, but he felt safe holding the old man’s hand.
In the dining room, Yuan Gun Gun was used to feeding Na Liu Hao on her lap.
Hao Yan Che picked up his son from Yuan Gun Gun’s lap and put his son on a chair.
‘You can’t coddle our son forever,’ Hao Yan Che said. ‘You should let him sit on his own chair.’