Chapter 1

"Are you made of wood? I say no, and you actually just turn around and leave?"

She slammed her purse down hard on the couch, her face livid, a fire held back behind her eyes.

"But back in the store you clearly said that necklace was too expensive and you didn't want me to buy it!" I shot back, feeling deeply wronged, my voice rising before I could stop it.

"I tell you not to buy it, so you don't? Then if I said we were breaking up, would you go pack your bags and get out right now?"

With a sharp smack, she kicked off her high heels, walked into the bedroom without looking back, and slammed the door.

The bang was so loud the living room windows buzzed.

I stood frozen, my head buzzing just as loud, completely at a loss.

A woman's mind was harder to solve than calculus.

A lot of men just never get it. They take a woman's politeness at face value and mistake her reserve for rejection.

The truth is, a great deal of a woman's happiness comes from being pursued by a man, from being chosen without hesitation and favored without apology.

She says no out loud, but inside she's hoping, waiting, for you to make the first move.

So how do you hear what a woman really means?

When a woman shows certain signs, she isn't turning you down. She's handing you a pass.

Only if you learn to read the gap between what she says and what she means will you avoid missing out on real love.

Lately, my life had been a tangled mess.

My girlfriend, Summer Lawson, and I were stuck in a silent treatment that dragged on and on.

It had all started with trivial little things, but piled together, they were crushing me.

At the end of last month, our landlord suddenly texted to say he was raising the rent, an extra five hundred dollars a month.

On top of that, the quarterly building fees and utilities were due this month, and my bank balance hit rock bottom almost overnight.

And of all times, that was when our third anniversary came around.

I'd originally planned to take her to the Michelin-starred restaurant she'd been talking about for ages, but one look at my thin wallet made me hesitate.

That night at dinner, I carefully floated the idea.

"Sunny, money's been kind of tight this month. How about we just make a nice dinner at home for our anniversary? I'll cook you a steak."

Summer's hand paused halfway to the serving dish.

She looked up, her gaze so calm it was a little unnerving.

"Whatever you want. I'm fine with anything."

She said it flatly.

I felt like I'd been let off the hook, quietly thanking my luck that she was such a sensible, understanding girl.

"Then what do you want for a gift? I'll get it ready ahead of time."

I asked.

"Don't buy anything. It's a waste of money. We need to save for a down payment right now, and I don't need anything."

She kept her head down, eating, her voice without a ripple.

And I actually believed her.

I treated her words like gospel. If she was worried about money, I figured, then I'd do exactly what she said.

On our anniversary, I went to the grocery store after work, bought steak and red wine, and hurried home in high spirits to cook.

No flowers, no gift, just a table full of food I believed I'd put my heart into.

When Summer got home from work and saw the table, she said nothing.

She washed her hands, sat down, picked up her fork, and poked at her plate a couple of times.

"What's wrong? Is the steak overcooked?"

I quickly leaned in to ask.

"No, it's fine."

She set down her fork and went straight to the living room to watch TV.

The whole evening, the air in the apartment was terribly heavy.

I tried to hug her, and she slipped away without making a show of it.

I asked if something had gone wrong at work, and she answered coldly, "No."

From that day on, our relationship hit the freezing point.

She started giving me attitude about every part of daily life.

When I did her laundry, she complained that I hadn't separated her underwear from her coats, yanked the clothes out of the washer, and threw them hard into the basket.

"I'll wash them myself. I don't need your help!"

she said, her face cold.

I stood there with no idea what to do, and all I could do was quietly retreat to the bedroom.

One rainy day, I texted to ask if she wanted me to pick her up at the subway station.

She replied instantly: "No need. I'll walk back with my umbrella."

So I really didn't go.

When she got home, her pant legs were soaked and her heels were caked with muddy water.

She looked at me sitting on the couch playing video games, and a flash of deep disappointment crossed her eyes. Then, without a word, she went into the bathroom.

After that, she didn't say a single word to me for three days.

Night after night, she slept at the very edge of the bed with her back to me, leaving a gap between us wide enough to fit another person.

I completely fell apart.

I couldn't understand what I'd done wrong.

She was the one who said she didn't want a gift, she was the one who said I didn't need to pick her up, she was the one who said she didn't need my help!

Why was it that when I respected her wishes, she only got angrier?

I ranted wildly in my head, with all that frustration and nowhere to let it out.

Every day after work, walking into that cold apartment felt like being sent to the torture chamber.

I decided women were simply unreasonable creatures, forever picking fights over nothing.

That pent-up feeling kept building, right up until the family gathering that weekend.

That weekend was Grandpa's eightieth birthday.

The relatives had booked five tables at a big hotel downtown and threw him a lively celebration.

After lunch, the grown-ups found the private dining room too stuffy and moved up to the upscale tea lounge on the hotel's top floor.

The lounge was huge, divided into several sections.

Some of the uncles had set up a poker table over on one side, and the clatter of shuffling cards never stopped.

A few of the aunts sat on the couches cracking sunflower seeds, chatting about where housing prices had dropped again and whose kid had gotten into a top school.

Feeling miserable, I hid by myself at a tea table in the farthest corner of the lounge, head down, scrolling on my phone.

On my message screen, the five texts I'd sent Summer had still vanished without a trace.

The last one I'd sent two hours ago: "What do you want for dinner tonight? I'll cook for you when I get back."

Next to it, the word "Unread" glared at me.

Irritated, I flipped my phone face down on the table and let out a long, deep sigh.

"What's this? A young guy like you, sighing louder than an old man like me?"

A deep, rich voice sounded beside me.

I looked up. It was Uncle George.

Uncle George had done better than anyone else in our family. He'd gone into business years ago and now held several companies in his hands, a textbook success story.

What made everyone even more envious was that he and Aunt Linda had been married for almost thirty years, and they were still as sweet on each other as newlyweds.

Aunt Linda had a bit of a spoiled temper, but Uncle George could always coax her into a good mood.

He pulled out the rosewood chair beside me and slowly sat down.

He didn't look at me. Instead, he picked up the tongs from the tea tray, lifted several small teacups, and dipped them into boiling water to scald them clean.