Woman In Irish Linen Shirt

The key was hung on the coat rack in the hallway according to her usual habit, followed by the sound of the mask being stuffed into the trash can—Is the bag just taken off and left? Miss Pande's footsteps disappeared for a moment, she passed the carpet, footsteps reappeared, and I turned my head in due course.

"It's nice to see you before dinner." I smiled faintly.

Originally, I didn't intend to force myself, but she-no one could see such a pair of eyes and kept her face expressionless, my melancholy wandering like mist couldn't help but fade away, and escaped into the air.

"What are you doing?" Miss Pan De leaned on one arm and raised her head towards the room again. "Your phone seems to have received new news."

In response to the first half of her sentence, I pushed my hands on the sculpture and found that I couldn't move it, and said, "Is this hollow or solid?"

Miss Pan De dumbly: "What did you say?"

"My curiosity has been here for a long time." I resumed my original posture, but when I gave my weight to the sculpture, I was obviously more relieved. "This is some kind of copper material, right? If it's a solid sculpture , Its weight can reach several tons, I don’t understand how it was shipped. I also tried to push it or knock it to listen to the sound it gave me back, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence that it is hollow. "

Miss Pan De's expression has been freed from the confusion and transformed, becoming richer and more fascinating, as if she had discovered something interesting. She pulled the hair from her forehead to the back of her head: "How about I call the artist who made this sculpture?"

I looked at her for a while and pointed to my lips: "Would you like to kiss your birthday girl first?"

Miss Pan De laughed for a while: "I haven't washed my hands yet, just come home. Wait for me to change clothes first."

I followed her back indoors and closed the door.

Miss Pande shut me out of the cloakroom. The sleeves of my shirt were wet, and there was a very legitimate reason to change clothes, but she still wouldn't let me in.

Although there are boundaries between skin-to-skin blind people, the boundary is often not in the naked/naked body. I guess she might have to change some dress, trying to amaze me-but at this moment, I have no time to guess the details.

I am absent-minded.

People's courage is usually difficult to maintain for a long time. It is originally an intangible concept that depends on adrenaline. If the substance does not last, how can the spirit survive?

I do think I have a safe home, I have a firm foothold in an unfamiliar city, I have a home and a harbor that can be called "home". I do think that Miss Pande’s suggestion is correct and I should go Unpack some packages and try to be a free man; if not, at least be a man who tries to keep his inner peace.

My heart can't calm down.

I have stage fright.

Miss Pan De's voice came from inside the door, which seemed a little dull because of the barrier between the wall and the door: "I'm going out."

"I thought you'come out'?" I hid a smile and played a homophonic stalk about coming out. "At least it's'coming out' to me."

She turned the door open: "Not funny."

I looked at her up and down, very surprised, and didn't forget to point to my mouth: "I just made an appointment."

"Who made an appointment with you..." Miss Pande wrapped around my neck.

She tapped my lips twice like the first bite of marshmallows I ate in the summer, pressing her forehead against my forehead: "Happy birthday, Yao."

I couldn't help holding her.

Miss Pan De sighed, and her right hand shrank: "Oh-it's too cold. Go and change your clothes. Now the cloakroom is vacant for you."

I didn't hold back a laugh, and wanted to tease her, but the wet sleeve was farther away from her.

At this time, my phone vibrated one after another on the table, crawling slowly and noisily on the table, like a rigid hour hand.

Miss Pande rubbed my head: "Then we will eat later? I'll go to the study first. You can have the entire living room, cloakroom or other places. I will stay in that room and wait for you."

"I will video with him in the living room." I was silent, and took her hand, "Don't worry. All you can do for me is to help, no negative gain will come from you. "

She dragged her body in the opposite direction, and the two straightened their hands. Miss Pande hooked me with her fingertips and frowned slightly: "Is that your love story?"

I smiled and nodded.

She didn't say anything, just hid her smile and slowly let go of me.

Miss Pan De changed to home clothes, a waffle cashmere sweater suit, beige, which made her very energetic. I didn't see the expected costume attendance, but my tense nerves relaxed.

This is the birthday I want: I wake up naturally and cook according to the recipe, and she rewards me with a kiss.

I called my dad back to the past video.

Before connecting, I straightened my hair in front of the screen. A little bit of Miss Pande's lipstick was on my lips, and I subconsciously touched it with my thumb. The color of the lips suddenly became vivid, and then I realized what I had done, and I was about to get up and look for a tissue to wipe it off—

The video is connected.

I was in a hurry when I saw my dad who was stunned by the camera, and the latter was startled. I don't know what caused me, my panic, or his strangely angled face.

More than three years. My dad looks more vicissitudes of life than in the photos of Moments.

"Dad." I opened my mouth, choked in my throat and couldn't speak, my mind was blank, and said, "Have you eaten?"

"Not yet. I'm cooking noodles later, and I'm not hungry now. I just came back from talking about business outside." My dad helped his glasses. The skin on his hands looks a little strange, and many places are red. It should be because he has used alcohol to disinfect and wash his hands too many times. My skin follows my mom, so it’s not easy to be allergic, but it’s a disaster.

"Have you eaten?" My dad asked for a long time.

"Nothing." I told the truth.

We are relatively silent, and today's network conditions are unsatisfactory, and we can't even find a small chat topic derived from lag. I have become accustomed to the low-quality and delayed chat tempo of the past. At this moment, I am imprisoned by the high-speed network, and I am actually an anchor doing social death live.

Why didn't he dye off the white hair on the sideburns? My dad looks stable enough, and his assistant is also very dignified. The photos in the summer are also in suits and shoes. It shouldn't be done deliberately for the image of business talks. The shirt collar is very crisp, and the gloss does not look like non-iron fabrics. Does he iron the clothes himself? It's impossible for my dad to hire a nanny. If he doesn't iron himself, would he send all his clothes and socks to the dry cleaner? Dry cleaning a piece of clothing is not cheap now, but I can’t imagine my dad ironing a shirt with an iron.

What noodles is he going to eat tonight? Are you full?

"Yao Yao today..." My dad said, "Ah, what do you want to tell dad?"

He really didn't remember my birthday.

"I want to ask you something." My tone became calmer, "Are you still in touch with that aunt?"

My dad pressed his lips tightly, his face changed slightly. He was silent for a moment, straightened his glasses, and said, "No. I'm living well by myself now."

"What was the matter with you at the time, can you tell me?" As I spoke, I secretly felt that he would be silent in the next moment. He would turn a deaf ear to what I said, and would never confide in his own little voice. .

But I still said, "Why were you like that back then, Dad?"

As I expected, my dad constricted his face, the muscles on his face looked a little stiff, as if every fiber was twisted, to maintain a certain face, a certain majesty, something invisible and intangible. The image of an iron man given by others. When I was very young, I always felt that this was how my dad was angry: after all, he hardly blushed with anyone, and he was just sulking at home, not rashly angry.

Regardless of intellectuals or senior workers, there are always some neighbors who like to throw bowls and scold their mothers. I know that many people envy my parents, and I used to think that this kind of relationship is the best.

I thought so before he cheated.

I said, "If you feel offended, you don't need to talk about it."

The iron man moved. My dad covered his lips with one hand, and looked down, reminding me of him working overtime at his desk late at night to draw pictures. Even the photos of a family going to the park sandwiched between glass plates seemed vivid.

His eyebrows were raised, revealing fatigue that I had never seen before. My dad said indifferently: "What offends the two of you. I have also pondered this matter. There is nothing I can't tell you."

I tried to stay calm: "Did you figure out anything?"

His hands are still habitually pressing the skin under his nose, as if doing something difficult. I knew I couldn't wait for a long talk, but I didn't even think about it. My dad only said a word.

"I was too lonely at the time." My dad said. His tone is very plain, neither is it like doing a review, nor is he sympathetic, his tone is purely a statement of facts.

I froze for a while.

They were a weekend couple at the time, and I was not by my father's side. To say lonely, it was true.

I thought I could blurt out and asked him something. I thought I always remembered the confusion and anger in my heart when I broke this incident. I thought that even if I was not justice, I should be a partner of justice. I should instinctively ask him, question him, and accuse him without thinking.

I can not.

My perplexity has been at stake since the day I was born, as if the spear would be turned towards me in the next instant.

"Is it because I went to school in Beijing?" I sounded like I was squashed, and even myself was taken aback, "Just to take care of me in school, my mother—"

"Nonsense!" My dad interrupted me, his voice was not loud, but his tone was firm, "This is my mistake, it has nothing to do with you, and it has nothing to do with Lao Yao."

"But……"

"Your mother likes to do academic work and doesn't like to do technical jobs. You know that. We have also talked a lot about where you were educated. You know the situation in Beijing and the situation in our oil industry." My dad was faint. Yes, "As for me and Lao Yao, that is our problem-mainly mine. Your dad just didn't control himself. This is a shame and shame."

He hesitated for a second: "Did you talk to your mother about this recently?"

"No, no," I denied. "Uh, I don't talk to her much."

He nodded slowly, and then suddenly said: "Then you are, you have made a mistake in your mind?"

"No, no, how is it possible." I took a breath, "Why didn't my subject make a mistake?"

He thought for a while: "I don't think you can bear this anger."

I looked at him.

He really doesn't look like someone's father at all. In my imagination, if any father hears that his daughter has been deceived so much, he will probably be furious. Those who are slow-tempered can ask for details, and those who are quick-tempered have already brought the guy to rush over.

Is my dad competent?

For a long time, I haven't been able to come up with a definite answer in my mind.

"Yao Yao," my dad asked slowly, "have you made friends now?"

My heart lifted up.

"I'm at my girlfriend's house right now." I looked at him. "She's in the next room. Would you like to see me?"