Numbers Over Heart

My boyfriend said he had been connected to a system that let him see how much other people needed him. The first thing he did was ask me with tears in his eyes, "Your number is only 30. Don't you love me?" I told him, "Just because I don't depend on you doesn't mean I don't love you." After that, whenever it rained, he would hold an umbrella over his secretary and even drive out of his way to take her home. When I asked him about it, he would say, "Don't overthink it. Her number is high, so I know she needs my help." One day, I was sick and stuck in bed, but he chose to go shopping with his secretary. "Your number is low, but she's in more urgent need of me. I'll go shopping with her first, then come back and take care of you." He closed the door. I closed my eyes and took a moment to calm myself before picking up my phone. "Mom, I'm the only one coming home for Christmas this year." Chapter 1 I didn't know how long I had been asleep. I woke up because I was thirsty. Just then, I heard the fingerprint lock click open, but I didn't turn around. Eason Caldwell changed into his slippers and walked in. He stopped a short distance behind me. "How are you feeling? Why didn't you reply when you woke up?" I didn't answer. He came closer and reached out to touch my forehead. When I caught the faint scent of perfume on him, I turned my face away. It was the perfume his secretary, Queenie Easton, always wore. His hand froze in midair for a moment before he lowered it. He said coldly, "Right. Your numbers look fine, anyway." He looked at my face, then, as usual, his eyes went to the top of my head. My voice was painfully hoarse as I asked, "Can't you turn off those numbers and just look at me for once?" I remembered him saying that the feature could be turned off. Eason was silent for a few seconds. Then he simply put the bag in his hand on the table. "These should help bring your fever down. Take them." I was silent for a moment before walking over to the table and crouching down. With slightly shaking hands, I tugged at the knot on the bag several times. "Queenie got these for you. She heard you weren't feeling well, so she bought them for you on her way here." I kept opening the bag. If this had been the old me, I would have pushed the bag back and told him I could buy them myself. But I felt so awful today that even untying the bag seemed like a struggle. He stood beside me for a while. When he saw that I wasn't saying anything, he reminded me again, "Try to be nicer to her. She's just a simple girl who hasn't been working for very long. She's not as sharp as you are." When I finally opened the bag, I found a box of ibuprofen, a box of cold medicine, a pack of cooling fever patches, and two pieces of paper. One was the receipt from the drugstore. The other was a receipt for a luxury-brand necklace. The payment had been made at 4:24 p.m., and the amount was huge. I stared at the receipt for a while before quietly putting it back at the bottom of the bag. I tore open the fever patch and stuck one to my forehead. The cool feeling eased the pain in my head. I stood up and walked toward the bedroom. "I'm tired today. You can sleep in the guest room." I didn't wait for his answer. I closed the door and lay back down in bed. The house fell silent again. I don't know how much time passed before I heard the phone in the living room ring. Eason answered in a low voice. I heard him laugh a few times, and then his voice slowly faded away. A moment later, I heard the door open. I turned over to face the wall and pulled the blanket over my head. Then the phone under my pillow vibrated once, but I didn't check it. Chapter 2 My fever was gone the next day, but my throat was still hoarse. I leaned against the headboard and picked up my phone. It turned out my mom had sent me a voice message last night. I tapped it and listened. "Eason isn't coming home with you? Is he busy? That's okay. It's not a bad thing to be busy. Maybe you two can find some time to visit next time. I'm not in a hurry." She paused several times as she spoke, but her voice lifted at the end as if she were trying to sound cheerful. I stared at the chat for a long time before scrolling up. She had sent several pictures, including some selfies she had taken in front of the mirror. She rarely bought clothes for herself, but this time, because she was going to meet her son-in-law, she had bought four new outfits and sent pictures of all of them to me. She had also taken several close-up pictures of the dishes she had made. Eason had mentioned on the phone that he liked pot roast, so she had been making it for several days in a row. "I keep getting better at it. He's going to love it." I could hear the smile in her voice when she said it. I pressed my lips together and played today's voice message again. In the end, I only replied, "He's been a little busy lately." When I walked out of the bedroom, Eason was already gone. The bag on the table had been taken away, and the medicine had been laid out. Beside it was a bun and a glass of milk. As I walked closer, I happened to notice a crumpled shopping receipt sitting on top of the trash. There was a note on the table that said. "Remember to eat breakfast." It had been a long time since he had bought breakfast for me. Ever since he had been connected to that system, he seemed to think that meeting my needs was a waste of time. But now, he had done it again. I reached out and touched the food. It was already completely cold. I put it in the microwave to heat it up, but I still found it hard to swallow. I frowned and forced myself to finish it while standing there. When I drove to work and parked, I saw Queenie getting out of the passenger seat of Eason's car. She was holding a breakfast bag, but it was so hot that she kept switching it from one hand to the other. She also blew on her hands to cool them down. After locking the car, Eason walked beside her, but neither of them looked my way. When the elevator doors opened, they walked in together. I stayed busy with work all morning, but around lunchtime, I ran into Queenie in the hallway. She seemed to have been waiting for me. She walked over with a bright smile, grabbed my arm, and asked, "Wendy, Mr. Caldwell asked me to pick out a gift for an older family member, but I'm not very good at choosing things. Can you help me take a look?" She handed me her phone. The screen showed her chat with Eason. She had saved Eason's contact as "Boss" with a blowing-kiss emoji after it. I said nothing. She scrolled up and showed me the messages one by one. Under several screenshots of shopping pages, she had asked Eason questions like, "Would this be good for Wendy's dad?" and "Does her mom like red or teal?" Eason had replied casually with things like, "Okay," "Sure," or "You decide." I glanced at the prices and realized that all of those gifts together cost less than the amount on the receipt in the trash. When she scrolled to the top, her finger slowed down. Eason had sent one message. "Just buy anything. Older people don't need anything too expensive." Queenie's finger stopped. Then she pretended she had only just realized that I had seen it and said awkwardly, "Mr. Caldwell just wants to save money for the family. It's not easy for him to make money, after all." I looked at her face. She was forcing a smile. "He really does have it hard. So don't buy the gift," I said. Queenie froze. I walked around her and kept going. When I got home after work that evening, Eason was sitting on the couch in the living room. His phone was resting on his knee, and the screen had just gone dark. He asked, "Did you give Queenie a hard time today?" My hands stopped as I took off my shoes. I looked at him from across the living room. "Did she tell you that?" "She said you told her not to buy the gift. She took her time picking it out, and you told her not to buy it. Don't you think that's kind of throwing her kindness back in her face?" He sighed. "I really don't understand why you have to be like this." Chapter 3 As I straightened up and put my shoes in the cabinet, I noticed two paper bags sitting on top of it. The logo looked familiar. They were the two cheapest items from the shopping pages Queenie had shown me that afternoon. She had already bought them. "Kindness? She was picking out gifts for you during work hours, wasn't she? Didn't you pay her for that?" Eason frowned. After walking into the living room, I asked, "Besides, those gifts are for my parents when you visit them. Why did you have someone else pick them out?" He was silent for a few seconds before answering, "I just think women pay more attention to details. They also know what older people like." He paused, then said in a low voice, "Besides, I asked you last month what you wanted to give your parents. You said anything was fine. Your number was only 34 when you said that. Wendy, Queenie's number was already 70 when she only wanted me to buy her a drink. You never really wanted me to buy gifts for your parents. Don't you think it's ridiculous to bring this up now?" I looked at his face. He was staring at the space above my head. He had changed so much lately. And he kept bringing up those numbers. He was no longer the boy who used to be proud of me no matter what happened. I clenched my hands. He used to know why my number was "34." My biological father was an alcoholic. When he got drunk, he became violent. He had slapped my mother once so hard that the corner of her mouth split open. She needed two weeks to recover. After that, I learned to watch people's moods. My mother later remarried. My stepfather was a kind man. He didn't drink, and he never raised his voice. But I still couldn't bring myself to bother him. When I was in high school, I went to school in another state. I was always careful about spending money. One day, I was sitting in the bleachers eating a piece of bread when I heard some people talking about me. "She’s so fake. I tried to help her carry her textbooks, but she said no and walked away right after. She acts like the whole world owes her." "She’s always acting so high and mighty." "Didn't you know? Her father is a drunk, and the kind who gets violent when he's drunk. Her mother divorced him and married another man." "No wonder she's so weird." "She’s always alone. She doesn't have a single friend. How could anyone even like her?" They didn't say my name, but they had to be talking about me. Then I heard Eason's voice. "But she gets the highest grades in the class every time. She made it this far all on her own. Don't you think that's impressive? I admire her. If you were in her shoes, could you have done the same?" Later, we got together, and I told him about everything I had been through. Once, he lifted me off the ground like I was a little kid. I was half a head taller than him, so I had to look down to see his face as he looked up at me. He looked into my eyes and said, "You're so mature because you've been through so much. Wendy, I'm proud of how strong you are. I want to treat you well, so do whatever you want. You don't have to explain yourself to me." He paused, then added, "I'll always support you." I remembered those words for years. Even though I wasn't that little girl anymore, I still found it hard to rely on other people. Eason was the only person who ever made me willing to ask for help. But he had forgotten all of it. All because of that system and those numbers that had appeared six months ago. I didn't explain anything. I looked away and walked toward the bedroom. But as I passed the couch, Eason grabbed my wrist. His grip was tight, but his fingertips were trembling slightly. "Wendy, why has your number dropped so much?" There was a hint of panic in Eason's eyes as he looked at me. I paused and asked, "How much did it drop?" After a moment, he answered, "15." "So it's still 15..." I looked down at the wrist he was holding, but I didn't move. Instead, I asked, "Is there really any difference between 15 and 30 to you?" He fell silent. The air between us grew heavy. Then he let out a cold laugh. "You're right. There isn't much difference. Didn't you ask me yesterday to turn off your number? Fine. I can turn it off. There's nothing worth looking at anyway. All it does is cause me trouble. From now on, you don't need to tell me when you need anything." When he finished, he stared at me as if he were searching for something. "Okay," I said. His grip on my wrist suddenly tightened. The veins on his hand stood out. I frowned from the pain. "Are you done? Can you let go of me?" He said nothing. I told him again, "Let go of me." He looked at me, and I met his eyes. After a while, he finally released my wrist. I turned around. "Do you still want me to go meet your parents during Christmas?" he suddenly shouted. I stopped with my back to him. "I was planning to go after I finished this project. But if you're still going to treat me like this, then I won't go." He paused, as if waiting for something. Chapter 4 When he saw that I wasn't saying anything, he kept talking, and his words came faster. "Queenie can't handle that project by herself. I already feel bad making her work overtime during Christmas. Just thinking about it, I can guess that her number will probably..." "Probably go over 80, right?" I finished for him. He fell silent. I stared at the white wall at the end of the hallway. The wall was perfectly smooth, with no shadows or bumps under the light. Even though I had already bought a ticket to go home alone, I still felt hurt when I heard him say he wouldn't spend Christmas with my parents. I still remembered how he had held me around this time last year, resting his chin on top of my head. The tips of his ears had been red. He had asked when he could officially visit my parents. He had even asked when I planned to make our relationship public. Back then, I had laughed and teased him for being more impatient than I was. But now... I closed my eyes for a moment, then turned around and calmly asked, "Eason, if one day her number gets so high that she wants to sleep with you, would you do it?" He said nothing. After a moment, he gave a short laugh, looking shocked by my question. His voice turned cold. "Wendy, do you even know what you're saying?" I didn't answer. "Queenie and I are just boss and employee. She works hard and is always willing to help, but you say she's trying to seduce her boss. I just look after my employee from time to time, and you think I'm cheating on you?" Was it really only from time to time? Holding an umbrella for her, driving her to and from work, buying her drinks, bringing her breakfast, giving her luxury gifts... Those were only the things I had seen. Who knew how much I hadn't seen? "I was only asking about the number. If that day ever comes, what would you choose?" He laughed angrily. "You're asking me what if? Then let me ask you a what-if question too. If you weren't so suspicious all the time, would we even be fighting like this today?" He stepped closer and continued, "Can't you show a little empathy? Put yourself in her shoes. How would a young woman who just started working feel if her boss gave her a hard time every single day?" I looked up at him. "But you never asked how I felt." "Because I can see how you feel! Your number is this low. What am I supposed to do? Do you expect me to comfort someone every day when she doesn't even want me to?" he said angrily. I had known it for a long time. To him, that number was everything. "Is it really that hard to give me a straight answer?" He was still breathing hard. He stared at me for a few seconds. "No! There. Are you happy now?" He hurried to the door. After quickly putting on his shoes, he grabbed the two paper bags from the cabinet and slammed them onto the floor. "I'm going on a business trip for two weeks. I won't be back before Christmas." After opening the door, he warned me, "If you still want to see me back in your hometown, you'd better think carefully about what you're going to do." He slammed the door so hard that the whole wall seemed to shake. It took a long time for everything to become quiet again. I stared at the door for a while before finally turning around. Maybe it was better that he left. I sat back down on the edge of the bed and opened my hand, then turned it over to look at my palm. I had been clenching my hand for so long that the color wouldn't return to my palm right away. It felt a little numb now, but it would get better after a while. Then I started folding my clothes. I had lived in this apartment for two years, but everything that belonged to me could fit into a few storage bags. The next day, I submitted my resignation to the company. The HR manager came over and joked, "Are you going back home to be a housewife?" I only smiled. I didn't explain. I just said, "Don't tell him about this yet." I continued working as usual for the rest of my notice period, so no one noticed anything strange. On my last day, I used up my remaining vacation days. During the day, I went to the mall to pick out gifts for my parents. When I returned to the apartment that evening, there was only one suitcase left to take. I walked to the door and pressed a few buttons on the electronic lock. "Fingerprint deleted." The system's soft voice sounded. I looked back once. The cushions on the couch were neatly arranged, and the box of fever medicine was still sitting on the table where I had left it. I left everything he had given me behind. I didn't take a single thing. I pulled my suitcase outside and gently closed the door behind me.