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“The holiday market opens this weekend.”
This is how Keqing chooses to greet me this morning. And it’s not like I didn’t see this coming. As soon as Halloween is over, the whole world seems to shift into holiday mode, and every year it comes earlier and earlier. Soon, I expect I’ll see holiday sales advertised in July, a fact that might delight some. Just not me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a grinch, I do like the holidays in general; seeing friends and family, and getting extra time off work—all wonderful things. I just don’t like shopping. It’s exhausting, physically and mentally as well as financially. To me, it’s a chore. Like cleaning the toilet or doing the dishes. You do it because it has to be done, but you don’t enjoy it.
And yet, here is Keqing: my antithesis.
I finish stirring honey into my tea before turning to face her where she sits in our breakfast nook. I don’t bother asking if she wants to go—I already know she does. And she doesn’t bother to ask if I want to go with her—she already knows I don’t.
“I figure we can go Sunday morning,” she says. It’s a concession for my benefit, I know; the crowds will be lighter on a Sunday morning, even if it means missing the opening day specials that will surely be happening the day before.
“Sounds good,” I say. I’m lying. It sounds like torture. But I can make myself do things I don’t like. That’s ninety percent of being an adult. And besides, I do have a few gifts I still need to pick up. Might as well get it all done at once.
She smiles at me, sweeter than spun sugar, and I find myself drawn to her, as I always am. I take the seat next to her and feel the way her arm wraps around my waist, pulling me close. I let her, basking in the warmth of her affection as we finish our breakfasts.
I find myself dreading Sunday’s arrival for the rest of the week, which does nothing to slow the relentless passing of time and only serves to make me a bit grumpy when we finally do climb into the car to go to the convention centre where the market is being hosted.
I feel like a petulant child, and I appreciate Keqing not needling me about it. She does plenty of things for me and with me that I know wouldn’t be her first picks. The least I could do is not act like this is such a burden.
We drive in silence, the dulcet tones of some orchestral holiday music filling the space between us. Keqing turns into the parking lot, already quite full, and finds a spot. As she pulls the e-brake, she looks over at me.
“Thanks for coming with me,” she says simply.
I blink. “Of course.”
“I mean it,” she says. “I know you hate shopping, but I still need to find something for my parents and I want your help.”
I don’t quite know what to say to that. It’s no secret that Keqing’s relationship with her parents has at times been strained, especially when she was younger and the weight of all their expectations were still crushing her. When we got together, her parents took an inexplicable liking to me and I became something of a mediator between them. Since then, their relationship has improved a lot. But I know Keqing still feels the pressure to impress them, to make them proud. If they know we picked out their gift together, they won’t criticize it out of respect for me and my feelings. It’s just too bad they don’t have that same respect for their own daughter.
I just nod and Keqing gives me a warm smile. But as we get out of the car and cross the slushy lot toward the main entrance, I feel a little ashamed of my selfishness. But I don’t get to wallow too long in self-loathing: as soon as we’re inside we’re blasted by everything festive—multi-coloured flashing lights, the cheeriest music known to man, the scents of cinnamon and pine. A regular right hook of holiday spirit.
Keqing is immediately in her element. She’s got a sharp eye and a keen sense of style, not to mention a nose like a bloodhound for finding a good deal. I follow in her wake as she leads us from booth to booth, looking at all sorts of unique goods, from handmade soaps and fragrances, to finely crafted clothing and jewelry.
I know Keqing likes shopping at these types of markets far more than regular department stores. Nobody there would let her try to haggle, but here, it’s not entirely unexpected to have a little back and forth. And that’s part of the fun for Keqing, though she never goes so far as to lowball, that’d just be insulting to the artisans. It’s usually a pointless exercise anyway, since she often adds a gratuity that exceeds whatever mark down she managed to score in the first place. I don’t understand it, but as long as she’s enjoying herself, I guess.
I keep close to Keqing, listening as she asks questions about the type of wood used in a carving or the kind of leather used for some gloves. Every so often she turns to me and asks, “What about this?” or “Do you think they’d like that?” I give my honest opinion based on what I know of Keqing’s parents.
I also keep my eyes peeled for the people left on my shopping list. A few things might work: there’s a neat little pocket knife that my cousin might like, or that antique clockwork monkey that I know my own mom would get a kick out of. But as we weave our way through the different market halls I don’t see anything that says Keqing.
I feel like I need to clarify something here. Ever since we started dating, we haven’t had much of an emphasis on gift-giving for specific holidays or special occasions. It’s been a lot more of a ‘just because’ kind of arrangement. She’ll come home with a cardigan or a new mug with a simple “It reminded me of you.” I admit I might not reciprocate as often (I don’t like shopping, remember?) but it’s an arrangement that’s worked well for us. It takes the pressure off holidays and lets us focus less on things and more on experiences together. Like when I bought us tickets to an opera Keqing wanted to see in a neighbouring city and we made a whole weekend out of it. Or like the trip to the botanic garden for my birthday this year.
I guess I don’t really have to get Keqing anything for the holidays. I know she’s not expecting me to, just like I’m not expecting anything like that from her. And yet I still feel a little guilty from this morning, and so I’m finding that I kind of want to. Even just to see if I can. Because how do you shop for someone who’s an expert shopper? Keqing has everything she needs, and anything that she wants, she has no problem buying for herself. Still, I’m determined to try finding something she might like.
We take a break around noon, stopping by a small food court set up near the entrance for something to eat. Keqing pours over a map of the market floor, circling booths she wants to visit again, and planning a route through the aisles we’ve yet to wander down. I close my eyes, trying to conserve my flagging strength.
I feel something warm cover my hands where they rest on the table. “Just a couple more hours,” Keqing says.
I open my eyes and see her looking at me, concern written all over her lovely face. I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m having a good time.”
Keqing snorts. “Don’t lie,” she says.
“I’m not,” I insist, but Keqing gives me a look, and I know she can see right through me. “I’m having a good time with you,” I specify. Which is true. I always love spending time with Keqing, no matter what we’re doing. Granted this is more exhausting than some of the other things we might do together, but I’ll always choose to do something with her than not, and that’s the truth.
She gives me a lopsided smile and goes back to her map. I take a deep breath and a long sip of my tea. I did buy the silly monkey for my mom and opted instead for a leather dopp kit for my cousin. Keqing had laughed at the monkey and agreed that my mom will love it, and she said the dopp kit is exceptionally well made, which really boosted my confidence in my gift-buy skills. And yet, I still have nothing to give her.
We finish with our lunch and venture back out into the market. I begin to hang back a little from Keqing, trying to take a closer look at anything that catches my eye without her noticing. She’s really good at noticing though.
“Oh, those are pretty,” she says, coming up behind me and scaring me half to death. “Who’re they for?”
I quickly return a pair of sterling silver earrings to their place on the rack and turn to face her. “No one.”
She narrows her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips. “Suspicious,” she says. She clasps her hands behind her back as she leans forward playfully. “Ganyu, it seems to me that maybe you’re starting to like shopping?”
“Never,” I reply instantly, and Keqing laughs before stepping back and turning away. I follow more slowly.
It’s not long after that that Keqing finds what she wants to get her parents, and while she negotiates with the artist, I find myself wandering away, drawn to a stall across the aisle that seems a little lonely. It has an eclectic assortment of items on display, but all of them are made of shiny stones and crystals. From tiny little figurines barely bigger than my thumb to statues sat on the ground and coming up to my knees. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of theme to the carvings, just that they all seem to be animals. That’s when I spot it. Sitting half-hidden behind a lithe-looking dragon, is a little green cat.
I glance at the wizened old woman behind the table, who smiles and nods to me as she sets down the carving she’s polishing. “Take a closer look, rock is hard to break,” she says. And with that invitation, I reach for the cat.
It fits comfortably in the palm of my hand, its weight inexplicably reassuring. I don’t know a lot about rocks, that’s another one of Keqing’s niche interests, but I know enough to recognize jade when I see it. The cat itself is a variation of the classic maneki-neko statues, one paw raised and beckoning. I admire the details in the figure, from the fine carving to the red silk cord around its neck that secures a tiny gold bell. It somehow manages to be both cute and beautiful at the same time. I don’t know what it is exactly about it, but I just know that this is it, this is what I want to give Keqing.
But before I can so much as open my mouth, I hear Keqing exclaim behind me, “Oh wow! Is this pinolite?”
I freeze as the woman steps over to Keqing to talk rocks. I surreptitiously put the little cat figurine back, trying to hide it behind a few larger sculptures. Surely with so many other carvings on display, it’ll be safe until I can come back without Keqing tomorrow. I make sure to pocket one of the woman’s business cards, then very casually rejoin Keqing, who is openly admiring a massive bear sculpture.
She turns to me. “Are you ready to go?”
“Always.”
Her eyes search my face for a brief moment, and for a second I think she’s going to ask something else, but instead, she just nods, thanks the woman with another compliment of her skill and leads us away.
My free hand reaches for Keqing’s as we navigate through the throngs of people toward the exit. I’m more tired than I realized as I sink into the passenger seat of Keqing’s car.
“Well, you survived another holiday market with me,” jokes Keqing as she pulls out of the parking lot.
I smile. “Only just,” I say. But my mind wanders back to the little jade cat, and despite how glad I am to be on the way home, I’m already anxious to go back and pick it up before someone else does.
The next day I take an extra long lunch, catching a downtown shuttle to the market. It feels incredibly wrong to be here without Keqing, like I’m being unfaithful or something, but I shove the weird feeling aside and make my way toward the rock booth. There are far fewer people to maneuver around on a Monday, which I’m grateful for, and to my relief, the jade cat is still right where I put it yesterday. I pick it up again and let it sit in my hand.
“I thought you might be back,” says the woman, coming to stand in front of me again. “This is to be a gift, yes?”
“Yes,” I say. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Of course,” she says. “That’s the best part about gifts, isn’t it?”
I don’t reply as I hand her the cat to ring up. But I can’t help but feel she might be right. Part of mine and Keqing’s ‘just because’ gift-giving style certainly banks on the surprise of coming home to flowers on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday. And while there’s nothing wrong with asking someone what they’d like as a gift, this feels a bit different. I tap my credit card and watch as the precious little jade cat is carefully wrapped in brown paper before being handed to me along with the receipt.
As I make my way back out of the market, I don’t think I’ll ever be a shopping enthusiast. Not to the degree Keqing is, anyway. But I think I can see the appeal now. In much the same way that birthdays aren’t just about me, shopping for a gift isn’t necessarily about the thing you bought either. There’s meaning in the search, the discovery, the intention. And Keqing, being the avid shopper that she is, no doubt already knows all that.
I work through the rest of the afternoon, my mind never far from the little cat safely tucked in my bag. Whatever doubts I might have had about Keqing actually liking it or not have completely faded away. I know she’ll like it, even if it’s just because I’m the one giving it to her.