Just after finishing dinner, as I was about to return to my room to continue gaming, Mom suddenly poked her head out from the kitchen.
“By the way, it seems Qixi Valentine’s Day is coming 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 would I have a date with?'
Mom went 'Oh,' her expression as natural as if discussing what to eat tomorrow, and then said:
“Then if you’re not going out to have fun, just stay home and watch the house 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 “caring whether you have a partner is actually 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 the delivery when it arrives.'
The moment the door closed, the room suddenly became so quiet I could hear the sound of the air conditioner.
I sat on the sofa scrolling through my phone. My social feed was full of people showing off their love, Weibo was all 'wishing all lovers become couples,' even the system emails in the game were sending 'Qixi gift packs.'
I replied with a few "Bless you," 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 this year combined.
I replied with a "Take care of your health," 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 crouched down and patted its head: 'Don't look at me. Tonight, both you and I are on house-sitting duty.'
At eleven o'clock at night, my parents finally returned. As soon as Mom entered, she handed me a box of cake: "Brought this 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 I wanted to try last time 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 he started complaining he was stuffed. 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 keep house-sitting. We'll save ourselves the trouble of finding someone to feed the dog.'
I took a bite of the cake; it was a bit too sweet, almost cloying.
“Sure,” I replied vaguely, “anyway, I’m used to it.”
Mom and Dad exchanged a smile and went to wash up.
I sat in the living room, watching the Qixi special program still playing on TV, and suddenly felt that although 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 to bring me a portion.
I fed the last bit of cake to the dog, then turned off the light.
In the darkness, I whispered softly to the air:
“Happy Qixi Festival, the one keeping watch at home.”
The dog wagged its tail and didn't speak.
But I think it understands.
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—it was 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, 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 blew gently; the TV was already off, and the whole room was left only with the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the dog's murmurs in its sleep.
I suddenly remembered that Qixi Festival many years ago.
Back then, I was still in college, and Mom would also ask the same question: 'Are you dating?' At that time, I would still nervously make excuses, 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 to keep house," what separates them is not just a few years, but also the fact that I was gradually being defaulted by the family as single.
The next morning, Mom and Dad woke up naturally. The first thing Mom did after getting up was to check if the dog had been fed properly, and the second thing was to ask me, 'You didn't go out last night, did you?'
“No.” I said back while pouring soy milk. “Just honestly staying home and watching the house.”
Mom nodded, seemingly quite satisfied: "That's good. Your dad insisted on walking at night yesterday, and 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 started tearing each other down again, as if they had completely put last night’s candlelit dinner behind them. 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 love on social media faded, the store's promotional posters changed to new themes, and 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, house-sitter.'
Once at a class reunion, someone asked about my recent situation. I casually said, 'Pretty good, just completed an important task a few days ago—house-sitting for the family.'
Everyone was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter. Someone slapped the table: 'This is a Qixi Festival arranged by your parents!'
Another person chimed in: “At least you’re better off than me. On Qixi Festival I was still working overtime, with not even a dog to keep me company.”
Amid 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 leaving, 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.
Once again, Mom spoke up during dinner: 'This year's Qixi Festival... do you have any plans?'
This time I learned to be smart and directly replied: 'No. Do you need me to watch the house?'
Mom was taken aback 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 watch the house. 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 date. Rather than being a third wheel outside, I might as well be a door god at home.”
The two said no more, only glancing at each other.
On Qixi Day, they still went out. The location was changed to a newly opened restaurant; there were still candles in the photo, only the roses had been replaced with lilies. As usual, I stayed at home, fed the dog, signed for two deliveries, and even mopped the living room.
After ten in the evening, when they returned, they brought two desserts.
“One for you, one for the dog.” Mom put the box on the table, “The boss said it's a limited edition, and it was hard to get a turn in line.”
I opened the box; inside were two small cakes with the words 'Happy Qixi Festival' 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 is it?” Dad asked.
“Pretty good.” I answered seriously, “Better than last year’s.”
Mom laughed beside her: 'Then will you still house-sit next year?'
I looked at the dog that had already lain back down, then at the two of them, and nodded.
“Look.
Anyway, with me here, you can all go out with peace of mind.”
The night is deep, the lights are turned off one by one.
I lay in bed, listening to the faint cicada chirps outside the window, and suddenly felt that the phrase 'house-sitting' 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 door crack twice. I opened the door to let it in. It jumped onto the bed, circled my feet twice, and then lay down.
I reached out and patted its head, whispering:
"Next year on Qixi, it'll still be just us two.
How about it?
It wagged its tail and didn't speak.
But I think it understands.
It has always understood.
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