Fatal matrimony(Not Completed... Yet)

1. Holding On... And Letting go

I have never been much of a talker. Never even been a listener. I don't really relate well to people my age. Or if I'm being honest, I don't relate well to people, PERIOD. I look out the window. I am greeted with the same old view. The same expensive deli, on the other side of the street, where a cappucino or a macchiato would probably cost most people a fortune.

The childrens' park. I have never really seen anyone there except for an old fellow who keeps coming over and sits on the lone bench alone with a newspaper, a packet of crisps and a walking stick. I don't know why he bothers.

My friends have always said that I seem to crave solitude more than even the average introvert. Not that I had many to begin with. Friends, I mean.

I drum my pen on the tabletop, still staring at the street. All in all, a very posh street. Maybe too posh for my liking. It was an expensive area, quiet and lonely. I didn't mind it. It was soothing in a way. The ping! from the computer brought me back from my daydreams. It was an e-mail from Frederick, my boss, requesting the copies of the files and documents I had been skimming over the whole night.

Crap! I had been supposed to send that to him an hour back. And here I was daydreaming. Way to go, Rebecca Bloomwood! I quickly fax him the files and get back to rereading the e-mail the new company sent me. They have offered me a 30 percent hike and an even better job profile.

I let out a sigh. The offer is tempting. But I've worked here too long. I love it here. Unable to focus on anything right now, I think of leaving early. I will probably make up for it tomorrow. I gather all my things up. Before I can even get the door open, someone literally shoves it open from the other side.

"Where in the name of Christ have you been?" Anna bellows at me. "Uh..here....in the office, where people are supposed to work and contribute towards the society?" I reply back. "Hilarious, Becca!"

She makes her signature sour face. Her blonde hair is sticking out like a bright halo round her head. And for a moment,she reminds me of Miss Kennedy, my art teacher at school. God,what a pain in the neck that woman was.

''Perhaps I was under a misapprehension. But a certain FORGETFUL someone was supposed to have lunch with me, but she chose to just disappear, put her phone on silent and make me look like a complete idiot in front of the other diners and that hot French waitor!"

Double crap!!And the award for the Douche of the year goes to Miss Bloomwood! And then I choose to make my signature sheepish face. She groaned. "When are you going to stop this obsession with your work?! You are the Vice- President of the LEK Consultancy Firm. It is one of the most prestigious management consultancies in Carmel. And here I am stuck with my boring art work! You actually forgot to have lunch! You can be so.."

I cut her off mid-sentence , " I know, I know!" Raising my hands up in surrender, " Yes, I'm an idiot. Yes, I abandoned you. Yes, yes, yes to whatever you're about to throw at me!"
Her face softened but she muttered under her breath, " I would love to drown you sometime though." I pretended to be offended. " Rude! And speaking of hot French waitors, you seem to have had a momentary lapse in memory. Should I call Patrick?"

"I don't remember ever having read in the dating guidebook that having a boyfriend means you stop checking out other guys..." The sour face again. I laughed and mussed her hair. "NOT. THE. HAIR." She frantically pushed my hand away, combing her fingers through her hair.

I sighed. Inspite of the fact that she was the most annoying person on the planet, I loved her. She was one of the only people to whom I could open up to...

"Wait, you are not getting away with smart talk this time. Dinner. At your place. And Renee always makes chocolate pudding on Fridays! Yum! I will be there at 8." She pecked me on the cheek and danced her way out of my office. I sighed again. That is Anna for you. I made my way out of my cabin with my stuff.

A cacophony of voices and ringing phones welcomed me as soon as I stepped out of the cabin. I could see Joe and Clark near the fax machine, arguing on whose turn it will be to pay for the coffee. They looked surprised on seeing me leave already. I wasn't fazed. I had pretty much earned the tag of ' workaholic' in all my time here. Nevertheless, they shot me a thumbs-up. I smiled back. On the sidewalk, I glanced once at my posh office and started walking home. I never took cabs. Carmel was a beautiful place and the sights were worth the walk.

The evening sunlight filtered through the leaves of the pine and oak trees lining the street on both sides. The pink orchids growing on the peat moss tantalizingly fluttered in the cold breeze. The sky was a soft clear blue. I glanced at the big, expensive houses on either side of the street. People passing by these houses always glanced back wistfully, cursing the luck of the occupants. I wondered if the sheen of the expensive glass walls hid disconsolation and unhappiness behind it. It wasn't like I was poor. We were quite well-off. I had a place of my own but chose to stay with my folks. They didn't like living alone. But I would prefer to be poor and happy rather than live in one of these houses, unhappy and fed up with the world.

*********

"I'm home!"I called out as i hung my coat on the peg of the coat rack. The warmth hit me with the force of an air bag. Mom is a martyr to the cold and keeps the heating on all year round. Dad is always opening windows complaining that she'd bankrupt the lot of us. He says our heating bills are larger than the GDP of a small African country.

"Welcome home, honey!" I heard my father's booming voice all the way from the porch. We had a nice, small yard, more a garden. My mom loved gardening. She grew all sorts of orchids there. And every Sunday morning, I was ready with a canvas, palette and colours. Painting and reading are one of the only things that actually make me think that things will pick up.

"Oh, Becca, love? Is that you?" Who else? "Yep." I yell back. "Welcome home. Just sit out on the porch with your father and I will have three steaming cups of coffee ready in just a minute." " Mom, it's fine. I'll do it." I started to make my way to the kitchen. "Oh, hush, love. You work so hard. What's in a cup of coffee?" Hmm, Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare, had he been alive, would have probably burst a nerve.

It would have been useless to argue. Renee Bloomwood, my adorable mother, had never been able to sit still in a place for long. It was a point of honour. She had been known to stand on an outside ladder painting the windows, occasionally pausing to wave, while Dad and I ate. She always had to be up and about. Doing something or the other. Maybe that's why I was so frenetic about work.

I made my way to the porch where my father was sitting up on the easychair with a newspaper in hand. He was a big, beefy man with meaty hands. My mother was slighter and softer in appearance. I had inherited her reddish-brown hair and brown eyes.

My dad, Andrew Bloomwood, had just retired from his job as an architect.Exactly a minute later, my mom walked in with a tray, set it down on the table and started plumping up the cushions on the comforter.

See what I mean? Sometimes, I think she suffers from an extreme case of OCD. My dad took a sip of the coffee and looking out of the window, said appreciatively, " Carmel is very soothing at this time of the year." Mom continued to work on the cushions.

Not being able to stand the fact of cushions gaining more attention than him, he made another attempt. "This is perhaps the best coffee in the whole of Carmel." Finally, Mom looked up, blushing at the out-of-the-blue compliment. " Well, well, Becca, looks like retirement suits your father fine. He can manage to take out time to appreciate small things." I grinned. "What next? World trip?"