Just after dinner, I was about to return to my room to continue playing games when Mom suddenly poked her head out from the kitchen.
“Oh, right, it seems Qixi Valentine's Day is coming up soon. Are you going on a date?”
The chopsticks in my hand almost fell to the ground.
After a full three seconds of stunned silence, I finally managed to blurt out: 'Who am I supposed to have a date with?'
Mom let out an 'oh,' her expression as natural as if discussing what to eat tomorrow, and then said:
“Then if you aren't going out to have fun, stay home and keep watch that day. I'll go out with your dad.”
After saying that, she went back into the kitchen to continue washing dishes, leaving me alone in the living room, my mind replaying the conversation on a loop.
...so this is the legendary “checking whether you have a partner, when really they’re arranging for you to stay home”?
The next day, Dad casually mentioned at the dinner table, 'If you're free on Qixi Festival, help keep an eye on the door. Your mom and I haven't gone out for a meal in a long time.'
I stared at the braised pork on my plate and suddenly felt it was a bit salty.
On Qixi day.
I reported for duty on time.
Mom and Dad went out in the afternoon. Before leaving, Mom specifically reminded: 'There's watermelon in the fridge, don't forget to feed the dog, and help sign for deliveries when they arrive.'
The moment the door closed, the room suddenly became so quiet that I could hear the sound of the air conditioner.
I sat on the sofa scrolling through my phone. My social media feed was full of people showing off their love, Weibo was all 'wishing all lovers become couples,' even the system mail in the game was sending 'Qixi gift packs.'
I replied with a few 'Bless you both,' then placed my phone face down on the coffee table.
A little after 7 p.m., my parents sent a photo: the two of them sitting by the window in a restaurant, with candles and roses on the table, their smiles more natural than all my ID photos taken this year combined.
I replied with 'Take care of yourself,' then went to add some food for the dog.
The dog wagged its tail and looked at me, its eyes seeming to say, 'Bro, are you even worthy?'
I squatted down and patted its head: 'Don't look at me. Tonight, both you and I are on house duty.'
It was already eleven at night before Mom and Dad came back. As soon as Mom came in, she handed me a box of cake: “I brought it for you. We couldn’t finish it just now.”
I took it and glanced at the packaging—it was still from that shop I said last time I wanted to try but was too lazy to queue for.
“How was it, did you have fun today?” I asked.
While changing her shoes, Mom said: 'Not bad. Your dad insisted on ordering the most expensive set meal and halfway through started complaining he was full. By the way, I saw you signed for the package, thanks.'
Dad added fuel to the fire: 'If you still don't have a partner by next Qixi Festival, you'll continue house-sitting. That way, we two can save on finding someone to feed the dog.'
I took a bite of the cake; it was so sweet it was almost cloying.
“Sure,” I replied vaguely, “anyway, I’m used to it.”
Mom and Dad smiled at each other and went to wash up.
I sat in the living room, watching the Qixi special program still playing on TV, and suddenly felt that even though I was the only 'single person' left in this house, it wasn't so unbearable.
At least the dog is still here.
At least the cake is real.
At least when they go out, they think of bringing me a share.
I fed the last bit of cake to the dog, then turned off the light.
In the darkness, I whispered to the air:
“Happy Qixi Festival, the one watching the house.”
The dog wagged its tail and didn't speak.
But I feel that it understood.
After wagging its tail, the dog lay back on its mat, yawned, and soon emitted even breathing sounds.
I sat in the dark living room for a while longer, until my phone screen lit up—a message from Mom: 'Was the cake good? If it was, I'll buy you another one tomorrow.'
I stared at that line of text for a few seconds, and replied: 'It's delicious, no need.'
After sending it, I threw the phone aside and leaned back on the sofa with my head tilted up. The air conditioner was blowing softly, the TV had already been turned off, and the whole room was left with only the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the dog’s murmurs in its sleep.
I suddenly remembered the Qixi Festival many years ago.
Back then I was still in college, and Mom would ask the same question: 'Are you dating anyone?' At that time, I would still make excuses guiltily, saying I had class gatherings or projects to rush. Now it's different; I skip the excuses and directly say 'watching the house.'
From “dating or not” to “staying home and minding the house,” what lay between them was not just a few years, but also the fact that I was gradually accepted by the family as single.
The next morning, Mom and Dad woke up naturally. After getting up, the first thing Mom did was check if the dog had been fed properly. The second thing was to ask me, 'You didn't go out last night, right?'
“No.” While pouring soy milk, I replied, “Just stay home and keep watch.”
Mom nodded, seeming quite satisfied: 'That's good. Your dad insisted on walking at night yesterday, I was afraid he might fall.'
Dad shouted from the living room: 'I won't fall! You're the one who doesn't watch where you're walking.'
The two of them started tearing into each other again, as if they had completely left yesterday’s candlelit dinner behind. Listening to their voices, I suddenly felt that this kind of everyday life was more real than any rose.
After Qixi, life quickly returned to normal.
The hype of showing off affection on social media feeds faded, the store's promotional posters changed to new themes, even the Qixi Festival gift packs in the game were taken down. Only I still occasionally think of that night's conversation, and the words I said to the dog, 'Happy Qixi, home watcher.'
Once at a class reunion, someone asked about my recent situation. I casually said, 'Pretty good. Just completed an important task the other day—house-sitting for the family.'
At first everyone was stunned, then they all burst out laughing. Someone slapped the table: "This is the Qixi Festival arranged by your parents!"
Another person chimed in: “At least you’re better off than me. I was still working overtime on Qixi Festival and didn’t even have a dog to keep me company.”
Amidst the laughter, holding my wine glass, I suddenly felt that being "assigned to house-sit" wasn't so bad after all. At least someone remembered to ask me "wanna go on a date?", at least someone would remind me to feed the dog and sign for packages before heading out, at least when I turned around, the lights at home were still on.
In the blink of an eye, it was the eve of the next year's Qixi Festival.
Mom brought it up again during dinner: 'This year's Qixi Festival... do you have any plans?'
This time, I was smarter and answered directly, 'No. Do you need me to look after the house?'
Mom was stunned for a moment, then smiled: 'Look at you. If you want to go out and play, just go, we'll find someone to feed the dog.'
“No need.” I shook my head, “I’ll stay home. You two go out.”
Dad listened nearby, pushing up his glasses: 'What, volunteering this year?'
“I’m used to it.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t have anyone else to make plans with. Rather than being a third wheel outside, I might as well be the doorkeeper at home.”
The two said no more, only glancing at each other.
On Qixi day, they still went out. The place changed to a newly opened restaurant; in the photos there were still candles, only the roses had been replaced by lilies. As usual, I stayed home, fed the dog, signed for two deliveries, and also wiped the living room floor.
A little after 10 p.m., they came back with two desserts.
“One for you, one for the dog.” Mom put the box on the table. “The boss said it was limited; it wasn’t easy to get a turn.”
I opened the box; inside were two small cakes with the words 'Happy Qixi' written crookedly in chocolate.
The dog came over, sniffed, and wagged its tail.
I broke off a piece for it and ate the other portion myself. The sweetness was just right, not cloying.
“How’s it going?” Dad asked.
“Pretty good.” I answered seriously, “Better than last year’s.”
Mom laughed beside her: 'So, will you still be house-sitting next year?'
I looked at the dog that had already lain down again, then looked at the two of them, and nodded:
“Look.
Anyway, with me here, you can all go out without worry.”
It's late at night, and the lights are being turned off one by one.
Lying in bed, listening to the faint cicada chirps outside the window, I suddenly felt that the phrase 'house duty' wasn't so negative after all. It wasn't proof of being left behind, but a way of being trusted—my parents entrusted the house to me, the dog to me, the most ordinary daily life to me.
And I, during those nights of house-sitting, gradually learned to make peace with my singlehood.
The dog scratched lightly at the crack of the door twice. I opened the door to let it in. It jumped onto the bed, circled around my feet twice, and then lay down.
I reached out and patted its head, saying softly:
“Next Qixi Festival, it'll still be just the two of us.
'How is it?'
It wagged its tail and didn't speak.
But I feel that it understood.
It has always understood.
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