Then, turning to his mother, he added, "Mom, stop pressuring Lila. We’re already planning for a baby. Maybe she’s already pregnant."
The old lady beamed with joy.
She eagerly ladled me another bowl of soup. "Lila, drink more! You’ll need the strength to give me a big, healthy grandson."
"Don’t worry about the wedding. Leave everything to Marcus. You just focus on resting and being a beautiful bride."
She was practically glowing, as if I were already pregnant.
What a joke.
"Grandma, I’ll go help at Uncle’s house!" Vivian chirped, her tone far too eager.
Ever since she moved to the city, she had been itching to live in our house.
"What can a child like you possibly help with?" The old lady muttered, debating whether to let her go.
Vivian pouted. "I’m not a child! I’ll be nineteen soon. I know how to pick a wedding dress, decorate the venue, even prepare a wedding speech—I’ve studied it all!"
Her eyes sparkled with excitement, as if she were the one getting married.
The old lady was so overjoyed she could barely keep her mouth shut.
"Alright, after your uncle gets married, it’s time for you to start thinking about love too. The old lady from next door has her eye on you—she wants to set you up with her grandson."
"Grandma, I already have someone I like," Vivian murmured, sneaking a shy glance at Marcus—so obvious she nearly said his name outright.
I nearly choked on my chicken soup.
Disgusting.
Marcus quickly handed me a glass of warm water, gently patting my back. "Lila, are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
The old couple exchanged glances.
The old man, grinning ear to ear, took a big sip of wine.
They had been dreaming of a grandson for so long—how could they not be ecstatic?
The old lady smacked the old man’s arm with a scolding tone. "Drink less! You’ll be a grandfather soon."
At that, the old man quickly put down his glass. He had to quit drinking. He had to live long enough to meet his grandson.
Vivian suddenly muttered, "The chicken soup is too oily. I feel a little sick too."
No one responded.
No one cared.
The old lady, still buzzing with excitement, rushed to the kitchen and came back with a plate of freshly sliced lemons.
"Lila, eat something sour," she urged, her voice filled with old wives' wisdom. "Sour means a boy, spicy means a girl!"
Marcus, knowing full well that I hated lemons, gently pushed the plate aside.