Everything’s gone awry, nothing’s working out. Well, it’s working out, but not at all how I dreamed it would. I can’t shake the feeling that life has cheated me. Everything seems fine, no real reason to be sad, but…
Saturday morning. Sunlight persistently streams through the half-drawn curtains, as if shouting, “Wake up! Get up! It’s a joyful, warm, wonderful new day!”
But I don’t believe it. I don’t want to get up. I’ll turn to the wall, hug my pillow, and dwell on my failed life. Though, to someone else, it might seem quite successful. I have a fiancé who loves me madly. I have a steady job that pays pretty well. What more could you need for happiness?
“I don’t know, I don’t know what I need…” I mutter to myself in frustration. “But happiness isn’t here.”
There’s no solid reason for sadness. So why do I feel so melancholic that I want to cry and pity myself, poor and miserable?
Around 11:00, my phone rings. The screen lights up with the name “Paul.” My Paul. I have zero desire to talk. But the phone keeps ringing, again and again.
“If I don’t answer, he’ll probably show up to check what’s wrong,” I think.
— Hey, Paul, — I say into the phone.
— Finally! Why didn’t you pick up? I was starting to worry. I thought something happened. I was about to drive over to save you.
— Calm down. Nothing’s happened.
— Really? Okay. Are we seeing each other tonight?
— Probably not. Most likely, it won’t work out.
— Why? Are you sick?
I’m tempted to lie and say I’m sick. Claim it’s the flu or, at the very least, a cold, and blame it on a high fever. But since school, I’ve learned my lesson well: you can’t lie about your health, or you’ll actually get sick.
I remember wanting to skip a math test. I asked my grandma to write a note saying I missed school on such-and-such date because I wasn’t feeling well.
“You don’t mess with health,” Grandma said. “Off to school!”
I left the house but didn’t go to the test. I wrote the note myself, forging her handwriting. By evening, I had a fever. Ended up bedridden for a month with pneumonia.
— No, I’m not sick. I’m just planning to visit Grandma tonight.
Why did I blurt that out? No idea.
The most incredible thing happened later, closer to noon. Out of the blue, Grandma calls and says:
— Emily, I baked some fresh rolls with jam. Come over, I’ll treat you.
Mentally marveling at the coincidence, I got ready and headed to Grandma’s.
— Mmm, these are to die for, — I said an hour later, savoring the still-warm rolls with delight.
Grandma took a sip of her herbal tea and looked at me closely.
— What’s bothering you, Emily?
— Bothering me? Why would you think that?
— Sweetheart, don’t put on a brave face. I can see it. You’re not yourself. You seem lost, upset. Tell me.
— Grandma, I can’t hide anything from you.
— Why hide anything? Go on, talk.
— Paul proposed to me…
— Really? And what did you say?
— Nothing yet. I’ll probably say yes.
— Are you sure? — Grandma asked.
— Well… yes. He’s a good guy. Kind, caring. Always there for me in tough times. I know that from experience. Reliable.
I expected her to say, “I’m so happy for you, sweetheart.” But Grandma stayed silent.
— And, you know, I’m 30 already. It’s time to stop playing the single girl and walk down the aisle, — I added jokingly, still waiting for some kind of congratulations. Grandma kept studying her teacup as if it were a work of art, not just ordinary dishware.
— Gran, — I called out. — Why aren’t you saying anything? What do you think—should I marry Paul?
I asked the question casually, not expecting an answer. It probably slipped out from my subconscious. But Grandma suddenly said in an even voice:
— No. Don’t marry him.
— What? — I said, stunned.
— Don’t marry him, — she repeated.
— Why not?
— Because you asked that question.
— I don’t understand…
— You see, Emily, if you’d heard his proposal and, without a moment’s doubt, shouted ‘Yes!’ I’d be thrilled for you. But if there’s even a hint of hesitation, it’s not love. And without love, a marriage is doomed from the start.
— Gran… — I stood up, walked over, hugged her from behind, and buried my nose in her shoulder, cozy and smelling like home. — What should I do?
— Talk to him.
— What do I say? That I don’t love him?
— No need to be so harsh. Don’t hurt him. Just explain that you care about him deeply, that you feel warm and safe with him, but it’s not love. If he’s not a fool, he’ll understand.
— I hope so…
We talked for a long time about everything—Paul, life, you name it. When I was about to leave, Grandma said:
— But Paul isn’t the whole problem, is he?
— Not the whole problem, — I nodded.
— What else? Trouble at work?
— Not exactly trouble, — I grimaced. — They pay on time, and the workload’s light. But it’s boring, uninspiring. And my boss is a tyrant and a despot.
— So what’s keeping you there? Everything’s in your hands, don’t forget that.
— It’s not so easy to find a job these days.
— Why look for one?
— I don’t understand… — I said, furrowing my brow, confused for the second time that evening.
— Remember how you used to say, ‘Once I finish college, I’ll open my own little coffee shop…’
— …and we’ll draw in customers with your rolls, — I finished her sentence, chuckling.
— Exactly. And I didn’t say no back then, — she said with a sly squint.
— I remember, Gran, but it’s all so complicated. All the paperwork, the permits…
— Who said it’d be easy? — Grandma winked conspiratorially. — But it’ll be interesting and definitely not boring.
— Alright, I’ll think about your idea, — I laughed.
— What’s there to think about? You need to act, not ponder, — she said confidently.
— What a businesswoman my grandma is!
— You bet! — she smiled mischievously. — We haven’t even discussed my salary yet. And my job title matters too. I’m not settling for just ‘baker.’ But I could be persuaded to be, say, ‘Head of the Pastry Department.’
— Head? Of a department? You’re aiming high! Let me at least figure out what paperwork I need first. And honestly, this might be a pipe dream.
— It’s not. I believe in you.
The first thing I did after leaving Grandma’s was call Paul. I asked to meet, said we needed to talk.
— Paul, I care about you so much. You’re my best friend… — I began when we met.
I won’t say he was thrilled when he realized where the conversation was going. But at least he tried to understand. We parted ways but stayed friends.
The next day, without wasting time, I started researching: figuring out what it takes to become an entrepreneur and start my own business. There were no other options—Grandma believes in me, and I can’t let her down!
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