REDAMANCY - Love's Timeless Path

33rd Note

"What?" Mama looked at me with a confused look. Couldn't believe what just came out of my mouth. "What do you mean?" She, who was sitting across from me, seemed to almost eat me with an expression that was difficult for me to decipher.

Kak Jini calmed her who looked emotional. I could interpret her gaze at me as "Are you crazy!?" look.

"Haira asked to break off the engagement." I answered quietly while playing with my cutlery. My feet were busy kicking nervously on a thick braided rug, woven with vibrant threads in a geometric pattern, that grounded the space, its edges peeking out from under our massive oak dining table. "Sorry, Ma."

"Jeez Jendra." Mama leaned her back against our dining chair. "You were the one who asked Haira to marry you; now you're the one making everything a mess."

I knew Mama loved Haira. She'd been ecstatic when we got engaged. Now, I was the one who brought this storm cloud into her sunshine.

The smell of frying eggs hung in the air, competing with the nervous sweat prickling at my palms. Bi Tati, our housekeeper, put the omelette I ordered on a white plate and placed it in front of me with a worried look after she made the open-plan kitchen area bustle with the gentle chaos of her cooking.

I just smiled and said thank you before assuring the middle-aged woman who had accompanied me since I was a teenager that everything was fine.

Papa, who had been silent, looked at me. "Why did things happen like that, nak?"

I was actually reluctant to answer his question, but I couldn't help but end up telling him what happened between us, including how Rara came between us and how I didn't validate Haira's feelings.

Breakfast time should always be the most enjoyable time for our family, but instead I ruined it.

"It's your fault, Jen. Oh God." Kak Jini looked at me in disbelief. "I've told you many times to communicate better with her." Her face looked concerned when she saw that I was pale and didn't seem to have enough sleep.

I looked at Mama with a timid expression. "Sorry, Ma."

"Why are you apologizing to me? The one you hurt is Haira, not me." She took a deep breath. "Look, Rajendra Lingga Dinata," she said. Her voice sounded serious. Honestly, it felt really scary if Mama called me by my full name. "A woman's heart is a precious thing. Treat it with respect, always. Marriage isn't some trophy, some finish line. It's a team effort. You gotta listen to her, understand where she's coming from, even when it's hard."

I nodded, the weight of her words settling in. "Yeah, I get that."

"And love," she continued, her voice softening, "Love isn't fireworks all the time. It's about the quiet moments, the shared jokes, and the way you can just sit in comfortable silence with someone."

"It's not that I don't understand that love is not always rainbows and butterflies," I defended weakly. "It's just... Haira needs reassurance, and I — "

"And you can't give it to her?" Mama finished for me. I could see she almost slammed the spoon in her hand. Her polished make-up made her face look fiercer than usual. "Jendra, a relationship is about communication and trust. You should be building each other up, not feeding her insecurities."

There was nothing left to say. I hung my head. I knew she was right. Haira was amazing, and I hadn't been as supportive as I should've been. But I didn't want to break up with her either. It felt like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Kak Jini, surprisingly, didn't crack a single joke. Instead, she offered a quiet, "Yeah, dek. Mama is right."

Bi Tati stacked the pancakes on a plate, setting it in front of Kak Jini, inviting a smile on my sister's lips and a cheerful thank you amidst the smell of butter that filled our dining room.

"Your father and I, we haven't always had it easy. But through it all, we've had each other's backs. We learned to communicate, to compromise, to see things from each other's point of view. That's what makes a marriage sacred, son. Not the grand gestures, but the little things, the everyday understanding."

We ate in companionable silence for a while, the only sound being the rhythmic sizzle of egg or the melt of honey on the pancake.

Finally, Papa, who had only heard Mama's words earlier, suddenly tapped his temple with a finger. "Here's the key: respect. Respect her dreams, her opinions, even when they differ from yours." He ruffled my hair affectionately. "Just remember, nak, a happy marriage isn't about finding your perfect half. It's about becoming whole together."

I thought about it, picturing couples I knew — the happy ones and the not-so-happy ones. Mama and Papa's words started to make sense.

He cleared his throat. "Look," he said, his voice gruff but kind. "Talk to Haira. Explain your feelings for her and assure her that there's nothing going on with Rara. If she can't trust you, then maybe..." He trailed off, leaving the harsh truth hanging in the air.

The weight of their words settled on me like a physical blow. I had been an idiot, taking Haira for granted, assuming she knew how I felt because "of course I love her, she didn't need to worry about anything else." But love, as Mama had shown me, was more than just a feeling; it was an action verb.

"You know," Papa continued, spearing a piece of perfectly cooked egg, "your mom and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye."

Mama snorted, a humorless sound. "That's putting it mildly, Mahesa."

He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to fill the gaps in the conversation. "But you learn, nak. You learn that a good relationship, especially a marriage, is about understanding. It's not always sunshine and rainbows, but you gotta put in the effort to see things from the other side."

He looked at Mama, his gaze filled with something I couldn't quite decipher. Maybe a flicker of apology, a silent plea for understanding. She met his gaze, a flicker of something similar passing between them.

"Marriage is sacred, nak," Papa continued, his voice serious. "You gotta treat your partner with respect, even when you're mad. Listen to them, really listen, even when it hurts. Because sometimes, love isn't about grand gestures, it's about the little things. A cup of coffee made just how they like it, a hand to hold when they're feeling down, or simply shutting up and listening when they need to vent."

He winked at me. "And sometimes, it's about apologizing, even when you think you're right."

I stole a glance at Mama. She was fiddling with her wedding ring, a thoughtful expression on her face. Papa's words hung in the air, a bridge built across the unspoken tension of the morning. Maybe, just maybe, they could use a little repair work on their relationship too.

"So, what do you want to do now?" He asked.

I looked at Mama, her eyes searching mine. At that moment, I knew what I had to do. "I want to fight for her," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I want to show Haira that I love her, not just tell her."

Mama smiled — a true smile this time. Warmth seeped back into the room. "Then that's what you'll do," she said. "We're here for you, every step of the way."

"So," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "Should I bring a big bouquet of Haira's favorite flower when I visit her after this?"

Papa laughed, a genuine, booming sound that filled the room. I could see Mama's lips twitching into a smile, a small spark of warmth returning to her eyes.

Breakfast resumed, this time filled with the sound of conversation and shared plans. I didn't know if I could win Haira back, but with my family by my side and their wise words guiding me, I had the courage to try.

"Flowers are nice," He said, "But sometimes, a heartfelt apology and a listening ear are worth more than all the roses in the world."

"And some balls to cut off the toxic old friend." Kak Jini added while shoving a piece of pancake into her mouth. "You are an asshole."

"Oh. Fuck you, Kak."