It's Different Now

I stare into the pot of soup taking in the cerise colour. It is a traditional cherry soup in our culture, a recipe passed down from mother to daughter. The steam drifts up into my face and feeling absorbed by the smell. I take a spoon and taste it tenderly. Not bad.

There's a noise behind me - the kitchen door opening. Him. I try not to give much thought to his sudden appearance as my husband often parades the house as he sees fit.

"Have you given any more thought to the arrangement?" I ask, not turning around.

A silence falls upon the room much as I had expected and I know he is trying to come up with another excuse. I try to keep my eyes on the soup, but soon my curiosity gets the better of me and I flick my eyes over my shoulder.                    

He's standing there, right in the centre of the kitchen, dressed in his finest red suit and examining the floorboards he stands on as if they were the most interesting thing he had ever laid eyes on.
                   
"What arrangement?" he says, in a simple yet somehow misleading voice.

"The marriage, Damon."

He looks up at these words. It disappoints me greatly that he has forgotten, because it's been something I've been trying to talk to him about all week. Once he realises we are indeed still having this conversation, he sighs a little to himself, before coming up behind me and placing a hand on my shoulder. But it isn't in a loving way.

It's cold, like him.

I take a moment to look at his face; the deep lines that come with age, his silver hair taking on the appearance of a thatched roof – ironic as we have tiles – and steel blue eyes that pierce your heart.                   

"What's that you're cooking?" he begins, in an attempt to change the conversation.
                   
I take my phone from where it lies next to the stove,and scroll through it swiftly while he watches. I present him with a photo I had long ago saved to my camera roll.

"I was thinking white for the wedding, but maybe that's a bit too traditional. We could hold it in here, and string some streamers across there. Oh, a green table cloth would do nicely!" I exclaim, then seeing the unconvinced look on his face, I add. "I think a marriage would do Nora good. Strike a bit of responsibility into her. Have you seen her lately?"
                   
A whisper of a smile forms on Damon's lips, meaning he has clearly found this amusing. Regardless, he takes the phone in his hands and examines the picture.
                   
"No, because she's always out with that boy. Ah, what's his name?"

I snatch my phone back.

"Never mind his name! He probably isn't good enough for her."

"Times are changing," he tells me slowly. "Maybe it should be you giving some thought into other options. Nora is still quite young."

"Nonsense! She's old enough to leave the house when she pleases, then she is old enough to find a husband. Don't forget we were her age when..."

He stifles a laugh.

"Thirteen?"

"Yes, thirteen," I say. "I'm surprised in has slipped your mind, even after all these years. Do you think I wanted to marry you? I was young as well, with my own aspirations, but that was all taken away from me. Nora can fight all she wants against our tradition but she will never win."
                   
Damon appears surprised and quite aggravated, by my hostility towards him, but I don't care. He knows the way I feel about all this - he's always known. But Nora shouldn't be allowed to reject something that is part of her, part of all of us. That's just the one things are.
                   
"We're not our parents!" he shouts. "Let her make her own decisions."

"I never got to make mine!" I yell.

The anger slips out of me, taking us both my surprise. Damon looks like he's about to reply, probably with something awfully sympathetic, when the front door opens and Nora steps into the kitchen.
                   
I take one look at her standing there innocently in a pair of jeans that have too many holes in them to actually be called jeans and a hoodie, eight sizes too big - the latest fashion, I suppose.
                   
I have to cover my face in shame at the sight of our daughter.

"If this is what she's going to be wearing..." I begin, talking mostly to Damon, in hopes that seeing her like this will change his mind.

Except, he doesn't seem to be listening to me.

Nora looks between the both of us, with a perplexed expression.

"Wearing for what?" she asks, searching our faces for a clue as to what this is all about. Then she seems to get it. "I don't want to get married. Dad?"

I see her looking desperately at Damon, so I step around my hopeless husband and make my way across the room towards my daughter.
                                                                                        
"Oh, but there are many things in life we don't want to do," I tell her, stroking her unruly brown hair. "At least you'll have someone who loves you, which is more I ever got," I finish with a glare at my husband.

Nora yanks the hand from her head and pushes me away in a violent manner. I stumble backwards, shocked by my daughter's outburst.

"Nora!" I gasp.

"Leave me alone!" she cries.

I watch her rush past me and into her bedroom, slamming the door closed. It takes a few moments for me to gather myself together but soon I head in after her.

I enter a room of flung clothes and items littering the floor. Nora is trying to shove as much as possible into a small leather backpack.

"I'm leaving, mum," she says, as it weren't already plain to see. "I can't stand it here with you. I know you want me to marry but what if I'm in love with someone else?" I watch her zip up the backpack and proceed to push past me.

"Nora! This is getting absolutely ridiculous!" I yell, hurrying after her. "He came round earlier today while you were out goodness knows where! He is such a lovely man. You would love him too, if you would just be more open to things."

Nora continues walking, the backpack strung over one shoulder. I try to reach out to grab it, to stop her from leaving. Nora whips around with fiery eyes.

"Mum, it's different now. None of my friends are marrying. They're all at home and..." She stops there, and fumbles around inside the front pocket of her backpack to retrieve her phone. "You see this?"

She shows me the social media profile of a boy around her age.

"Is that the boy you're always out with?" I ask, before adding. "This is part of our culture, Nora. Something to respect and be proud of. We've always done it this way and thousands of years of our family's tradition isn't going to change for you."

"I don't care," Nora says. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I hate you."

And with that, she slips the last strap onto her back and runs out the front door.

She jumps the front steps and hurries down the path towards the gate.

"Nora!" I scream, overcome entirely by anguish. "If you take one step into the street, you are..."

I watch in astonishment as my daughter clicks the gate closed behind her and makes off down the road. I consider running after her and dragging that wretched child back inside but another look and she's gone.

There are footsteps behind me, and Damon appears at my side with a bitter smile and a presence as numbed and cold-hearted as ever.

"She left, eh?" he says. "Told you she wouldn't like the idea. See you inside."

I gaze back at the dimly lit street as the night begins to set in. She ran away because she wanted to be free. It's different now.

Maybe.