I Didn't Want to Love You

I wake up on my own, before the alarm hits 7 am, as usual. My body knows when to wake up so I can build up courage to start the day. It gets harder to get up, to arrange my dad's pills, to prepare breakfast, and lunch. Work until late and take my father everywhere with me. I don't let people know that I am tired but I feel that I am drained more every day that passes. And I don't know how to stop the draining. My dad is paraplegic. I sometimes drop him off at the hospital, so he can read to my mom, talk with her, and spend time together. The doctors say she can hear us but still, like a soul trapped in a jar, she lies without a single move. The hospital is not far but we always take the long road to go around 9th Avenue. I go with my dad to say hello to mom. She does not mind me. I don't take it personally and go straight to the bakery. We are closed until noon, I stand behind the counter, doing the accounting. I make ends meet but I work hard to do that. I sacrifice a lot in my life yet sometimes it is not enough. Which is why I think maybe I should share my recipes, or open a t****k account so I can monetise on that. Telling stories while baking cookies as people often do. As stupid as it sounds, also considering that I have no social media experience, I decided to talk with my dad about it. While I stand there, trying to learn how to run a t****k account, a man enters the store and I realise I should start locking the door after I enter because this is becoming to happen quite often. "We are closed at the moment," I say. The man does not hesitate. "Sorry for barging in but I'm not a customer," he says, in a different accent. We don't have a lot of foreigners around here, especially from other countries. "Are you Amelia?" I don't answer right away, eyeing him up and down. He is very tall, has broad shoulders, dark hair, and light brownish eyes. Light blue shirt and dark brown dress pants. He has his blazer hanging on his arm. Eyes still locked on mine. I sense his Britishness is evading because he has that international school kid accent. I slowly reach for the heavy stapler. "My name is Alexander. I know your father, he is a friend of my father, the Colonel," he says quickly. I still don't let go of the stapler though. "He might come in today, and I am sorry in advance for the inconvenience." "I'm sorry?" I ask. "He will ask you to marry me. He talked with your father, and your father left the answer to you. But I wanted to meet you before he does that and I want you to know that I have no say in this." I know that dad wants me to get married, but he wouldn't force me like the Colonel. It is a question in my head why a person would do that but I don't ask him that. I know he is a very stubborn person, especially with his son. Besides, I heard about the man before me. He lived in England. Born out of wedlock, from an affair the Colonel had when he lived there. The woman worked hard to get the Colonel to accept his son but he only did that after she died and his other kids threatened him to cut connections. This happened when I was in high school, mom told me all about it. The son had just turned eighteen and he needed support to go to the college that he had been accepted into in England. He could've gotten a degree there for much cheaper but the Colonel made him move to America, send him to a prestigious private college. I heard he became a lawyer, graduating with high honors at the top of his class. Everyone speaks so good of him, his academic success, and career. Meanwhile, my parents got into a traffic accident that put my mom into a coma and left my dad paraplegic and now I am responsible for being the breadwinner in the house since three years. Not able to put that bachelor's degree in use. What am I going to do with an English Literature degree anyway? I hate the man in front of me for not having to fulfill filial duties, being a caretaker to his dad and paying hospital bills for his sleeping mom. How easy it is to be successful when you have no obstacles. "I don't want to marry you," I say spitting. I regret being rude but the moment has already passed. I look at him with piercing eyes. "Jesus Christ," he says with a shocked face. I have to admit it is becoming fun. "f**k," he says quietly. "Sorry." I don't say anything, let him think. It must be really hard to be that man's son. He is being actively forced to marry, at the age of twenty-seven or twenty-eight. I wonder what is at stake here. "Can't you find yourself a woman to get married to? It seems outrageous that a father is proposing in his son's name in this day and age." My straight face demands an answer and he doesn't hesitate. "He won't let me marry anyone I want, he wants to choose the person I will get married to. That's why I wanted to talk to you first, to let-" "Well he can't force you, can he? You're an adult." "He can, and he is." He presses his lips down, as if trying not to let his mouth talk. "He will disown me if I don't." I look at him with disbelief. What kind of parent does that? Mine is not so innocent himself but this is cruel. Poor guy. He seems like a nice person, yet I ask myself why he doesn't have anyone in his life. He is handsome, incredibly handsome. He seems rich, his clothes look high quality and he is dressed simple, yet chic. This guy just wants to play around a few years more before settling, it seems. "Then get married," I shrug my shoulders. "You can get a divorce any time, say it didn't work out." "I don't think he will buy that." The Colonel is harsher on his son, as expected. I still don't understand the obsession but I also do not care. "Sorry, I don't know what to say. Hope it works out for all of you." "Thank you," he says and turns to leave. I am about to give a relieving breath but he turns back. Good lord, his exotic accent will ring in my ears all day. "Sorry to bother you again but can I make you an offer?" "Come again?" "Will you marry me?"