Something Permanent

"Oh, come on, Diana, please?" Hillary, my cousin, said.

I rolled my eyes. "Hill, it just a waste of time. So, no thanks."

"Waste of time? Really, Diana?" she said, leaning and slamming her hands on the table, making nearby customers throw us a questioning look.

I faced them and apologized for my good cousin. "Will you keep it down? It's embarrassing. Chill," I said.

"Okay. Sorry," she said. "Why can't you just take it?" she continued and frustration was invading her face.

Why would she be frustrated? I am the one who has the problem. Yoohoo.

I let out a sigh. "Hillary, you know I've been to a lot of dates and nothing turns out the way I want it," I said.

"It is not about the way you want it," she said shaking her head. "It's about how both of you work things out."

"Psh." I sipped my coffee.

"Don't lose hope, dear," she said.

"Hill, I've already accepted the fact that I'm gonna be an old maid."

"Pffftt. Hahaha. Since when?"

"Yesterday?"

And we both laughed.

"But seriously," she said. "You should take it. Maybe this time, you'll be finally in a knot."

"Oh, really?" I said arching my eyebrow.

"Besides, it'll give you a break from your work," she said then sipped her tea. "You're already 25. You should be married, like me."

"I know," I sighed and lowered my gaze to the coffee I was stirring. "But I guess time had pass me by."

"Oh, no! Just give it a try. Again," she said, emphasizing AGAIN.

Yeah, right.

"Okay, fine. Congratulations! You have convinced me again."

A wide smile flashed on her face. "Great! I'll call you tomorrow for the details. Gosh!"

I rolled my eyes. Shouldn't I be the one excited?

"Miss Diana, we have new deliveries." It's Sasha, my assistant in my flower shop.

Yes, I own a flower shop. For most people, a flower shop doesn't really earn much money, but for me, since I live alone, it's just enough for myself and for the salary of my employees.

"Okay." I said without looking at her.

I'm too busy with the manuscripts to be edited. Ah, I'm also a proofreader in a publishing company. I know. Having a flower shop is toooooo far from being a proofreader. It was Mom's. When she died, I was left with the responsibility of managing the shop.

"Maam, we have a problem," she said.

"What is it again?" I asked, maintaining my composure.

"All of the red roses that were delivered last week withered," she said keeping her head down.

"What?!" I exclaimed. "You all know this is gonna be a very big loss! Those were roses for Pete's sake!" I was walking back and forth in frustration.