Chapter 3

Rachel's POV

Dinner with Alan had been an enervating affair, more exhausting than open-heart surgery. In retrospect, surgeries have guided steps, protocols and superior mentors to aid us in time of crisis.

Such was not the case with dating.

I lacked the first-hand experience, knowledge and prowess in the field of dating. When thrown into a problematic situation, my brain was as young as a new born’s. I was entirely powerless against his arguments, and there was nobody to turn to for help.

Once closed, I rested my head against the door and let out a long sigh of exhaustion. Noises from the dining room were beckoning me to follow and thus I took the call. Upon entering, I caught sight of a long dinner table situated accurately at the centre of the room.

There was not a hint of dust on the floor nor the dinner table, and the immaculate surrounding intimidated my posture, forcing my body to grow vividly conscious of my movements. My mother followed a strict unforgiving policy when it came to maintenance of her house, therefore disappointing her was out of the question.

I was tempted to say she suffered from an obsessive-compulsive disorder, but since I was not in the habit of throwing away medical diagnosis carelessly, I held my tongue back. OCD was a major mental disorder, and I refused to make light of its intense deleterious impacts.

“How was dinner?” Asked my dad.

His demeanour was that of a strict policeman, which in many ways he was, and there was not a sign of softness or paternal love visible on his face. For anybody else, his look would’ve stirred an alarm, as though he was upset about something, but not to me. In my twenty nine years of existence, I had grown accustomed to his moods and the one he was currently sporting was that of mild nervousness.

“He was alright,” I murmured. But soon enough, I realised that that wasn’t his original question, “I meant, it was alright. We, uh, had fun.”

My mother could tell that I was being an awful liar, but my father wasn’t as perceptive, and I was surprisingly thankful for that. “Well, is he impressed with you?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow then,” He said as he got up from his seat. Carrying his wine glass, he retreated to his bedroom, “Let’s just hope for the best.”

I resisted the urge to snort.

Once he was away, I descended onto the chair he had previously occupied, situated right across my mother. She had an unreadable expression plastered on her face, but I bet she was trying to analyse me. “How was dinner?”

“You tell me, how was yours?” I retorted.

She rolled her eyes, “Peaceful, as your father wasn’t around to make it miserable.”

“I wasn’t as lucky,” I shrugged, “Alan’s not going to budge. Congratulations, your daughter is finally going to get married.”

“Don’t give me that look,” My mother reclined defensively, “I’m not the one forcing you into this.”

“Right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I know you’re not the one forcing me,” I said, “but as my mother, I expected you to stand up for me.”

“Oh! And did you ever stand up for me?”

“I was ten years old!” I yelled.

I hadn’t meant for my pitch to escalate like that, but when somebody falsely accused me or blamed me for what was beyond my control, my patience couldn’t be sustained. With an irate look, she left the room.

Scoffing at her audacity, I looked toward the ceiling. I was mystified as to how she could always find reasons to blame me for everything that went wrong in her life. The biggest mistake in her life occurred even before I was born and she was responsible for it. She was merely facing the price of it till date. If anything, I was one of the consequences her decision had caused, and I must be the one to blame her for that.

Having had enough for the day, I got up from the chair. After ensuring that the doors were locked and the gas was safely turned off, I made my way to my bedroom. The sight of me in the mirror enraged me. Frustrated, I peeled the clothes off of me as soon as I could and resisted the urge to lit the piece of clothing on fire, maybe that would give me the peace I was yearning for.

A cold shower often was my saviour, but it had fallen to incompetence that day. Nothing seemed to help me get rid of my vexation, and that reality was drawing me close to a total breakdown. I refused to cry because I knew that there wouldn’t be an end to it anytime soon.

Sighing, I picked up my phone to call my best friend. It was when I found her contact that I realised I couldn’t call her. Like me, she was dealing with a crisis of her own, and contrarily, she wasn’t as accustomed to adversities of the like as I was. I refused to be that selfish friend who moaned about relationship problems to someone who had just endured a heartbreak.

Quickly changing my mind, I scrolled further down and called another close friend of mine, who was well known to brighten up my mood in trying situations.

“You told him I was your boyfriend?” Mark’s voice edged over incredulous on the phone. “Oh, my God, Rachel. You’re hot, like really hot, but I’m sorry, you’ll always be like a little sister to me.”

I rolled my eyes at his stupid humour, “Not really, since I’m two months older than you. Anyway, I called you to know if there’s any way you’ll help me escape from here before the wedding happens.”

“I’d rather give up surgery. I do not wish to run into your mother again and get accused of having flirted with her naïve daughter. I have better things to take care of.”

That memory triggered a laugh from me, “It’s been years, Mark. Would you let that story rest in a grave?”

“Easy for you to say. That memory still haunts me in my dreams. I have PTSD from it.”

“That’s brutal! But yeah, my mom can traumatize one’s life so I won’t fight you on it.”

He sighed from the other end and gone was his playful mood, “I can’t believe how you hold it together, Rach. I mean, your childhood was a legit trauma. I don’t know how you got past it.”

“Well, I convinced myself that it’s the way of life so it doesn’t affect me anymore. Practice makes perfect.”

“I would’ve been depressed.”

“Who said I wasn’t? But then, ‘there are no limitations to the mind except those you acknowledge’ and it changed my life.”

“By developing sarcasm?”

“Yep.”

That’s the thing about mental illness. No amount of self-help books will help you. Well, it would be wrong to generalise it like that but for me, no book, podcast or therapy helped. I was convinced that it had become a part of my routine.

Acceptance was the deal-breaker.

“I’m sorry, Rach, I hate that I can’t help you,” He said, “I can wait for you with a car outside the venue should you want to run away.”

“Tempting,” I said, “But unachievable.”

“Shall I fly to London then?” He asked, “For moral support?”

“I’d like to skip the humiliation in front of my friends,” I said, “Anyway, how’s Emilia doing? She okay?”

“She’s barely holding it together,” He said, “The bastard ruined her. She won’t talk to any of us. She needs you.”

My chest constricted painfully at his words. She was one of the reasons why I didn’t want to fly to London at that time, and I hated not being there for my friends when they needed me the most. She’s been with me through everything; failed surgeries, suspensions, mental break downs and financial crisis and demanded very little in return. Being her friend was not as grueling as it took a tremendous amount of fucking up to upset her and Caleb had done exactly that.

“Is he still trying to reach out to her?”

“Thankfully, he stopped,” Mark said, “She suspects he moved on, apparently heard a rumour about him getting a new chick already.”

“Oh, my God,” I moaned, “She doesn’t deserve it.”

“She really doesn’t.” He said, “Well, I’m trying my best to cheer her up at home but it’s harder to take care of her at the hospital. And the workload is intense.”

“That’s probably for the better, she could use that distraction.” I said, “Anyway, it’s getting really late. I gotta hit the bed. I’ve got a lunch date with the future in-laws to prepare for.”

“Already? Damn it. Are they any good?”

“Well, yes. But that’s immaterial. I’m going to try my best to get them to hate me.”

“You’re crazy.”

“They’re forcing my hand, got to do everything I can to convince people that this marriage will never work.”

“From what I’ve heard, they’re hard to influence, Rach, but yeah, I wish you all the luck.”

“Thanks. Take care of Emilia for me.”

“Will do. Take care of yourself for me.”