When I woke up the next morning, two things happened in rapid succession.
First, I realized there was a leg across my waist.
Second, I realized it wasn’t mine.
“Lin Yao,” I said, voice groggy, “remove your limb.”
She mumbled something incomprehensible and buried her face deeper into the pillow, her leg tightening like it was a security lock designed to prevent escape.
“Lin. Yao.”
“Five more minutes,” she groaned.
It took another three minutes of delicate maneuvering before I managed to roll out of bed like a ninja avoiding landmines. I stood there for a second, staring at her—sleeping like she hadn’t just imprisoned me all night—and asked myself a serious question:
Is it too early to sleep in the bathtub?
I trudged out to the kitchen in search of coffee and sanity. The kitchen, like the rest of the apartment, looked like a department store exploded inside it. Mismatched mugs, jars labeled “secrets” and “emergency snacks,” a neon-pink rice cooker, and an actual rubber duck floating in the sink for reasons I didn’t want to know.
I found instant coffee.
I drank it black. Bitter. Like my mood.
Just as I sat down with the mug in hand, Lin Yao appeared, dressed in a unicorn-themed hoodie and tiny shorts that said Queen of Chaos on the back.
She squinted at me. “You look like someone punched your soul.”
“You drooled on my shoulder last night.”
“That’s my love language.”
I stared.
She yawned and took my coffee from my hand without asking. “Mmm. Bitter. You match your taste.”
I didn’t react. I was learning quickly: any reaction only encouraged her.
She flopped down on the couch, legs dangling off the armrest, and turned the TV on. A cartoon about magical hamsters fighting crime started playing.
“…Aren’t you late for work?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I work remotely. Freelance designer. I pick my own hours.”
“What do you even design?”
“Trouble. Sometimes posters.”
Right.
As I went to get ready for the office, she called out behind me, “Don’t forget to pack lunch! I’m not cooking. Unless you want to die.”
“Then why would I even ask?”
“Because one day, you’ll be desperate enough to risk it.”
I shut the bathroom door before she could say something worse.
—
Work felt like therapy after that. My coworkers even complimented me.
“You look… different today,” said Zhu Lin, the HR assistant who secretly had a thing for true crime podcasts.
“I got married yesterday.”
Her eyes widened. “Congratulations?!”
“Thanks. I think.”
Then the texts started coming in.
[Wifezilla Lin]
8:43 AM: How do you like your eggs?
8:44 AM: Wait never mind, I burned the eggs.
8:45 AM: Do we have a fire extinguisher?
I stared at my phone in horror.
Me: WHAT?!
Wifezilla Lin: Jk. I blew on it. Crisis averted.
I sighed.
At 10:12 AM, another text arrived.
Wifezilla Lin: Found a lizard on the balcony. Named it Chairman Mao. He’s our son now.
Me: Return him to the wild.
Wifezilla Lin: He loves me. We share snacks.
Me: I’m blocking you.
Wifezilla Lin: Then I’ll come visit you at work. Your coworkers will love me.
I stared at the phone, considering my options. Moving to Antarctica was rising on the list.
—
When I returned home that evening, I smelled disaster again. But it was oddly sweet this time.
“Surprise!” she yelled, jumping out from behind the kitchen counter with two burnt cookies in hand. “I made dessert!”
“…Did it scream while baking?”
“I call them Fire Nuggets.”
“They look like comets.”
“Perfect. Cosmic flavor!”
I sat down, exhausted. She plopped beside me, tossing her legs over mine like I was her footstool.
And then, without warning, she leaned her head on my shoulder and whispered, “Was today awful?”
“Yes.”
She giggled. “You’re welcome.”
We sat like that for a moment, and for the first time since this forced circus of a marriage began… I didn’t hate it.
But I wouldn’t admit that out loud.
Instead, I said, “If you burn the rice again, I’m divorcing you.”
She snorted. “Make it to three months first, husband.”
God help me. I think I might.
