**The Proposal**
«One of the most common mistakes is to think of people as simply good, evil, foolish, or wise. A person is always changingfull of possibilities. A fool may become clever; a cruel heart may grow kind, and vice versa. Thats the greatness of man. So never judge too quicklycondemn someone today, and tomorrow they may already be someone else.» Thats something the great Leo Tolstoy once wrote in his diaries.
Arguing with genius is hard, sometimes near impossible. Life proves him right every time, if you look close enough, sift the wheat from the chaff. Then the truth becomes clear, undeniable.
But today, such deep thoughts are the last thing on my mindits sweltering. Proper July heat, thick enough to choke on. The air bounces off scorching brick walls like a rubber ball, only to land on pavement even hotter, surrendering to the suns relentless blaze.
Yet inside Emily, its winter. A bitter, biting cold. This summer is happening without her.
Schools just ended. She should be thinking about uni, like any other graduate. But Emilys pregnant. Unis out of the question now. And Tom? He turned out to be a right coward. When she told him about the baby, he just bit his lip, turned to the window, and said,
«Sure, I was first but whos to say I was the only one?»
Emily didnt even cry. Just stood there, staring at his backcalm, unbothered. His breathing steady. She wanted to say more, ask what she was supposed to do now, but then the doorbell rangher mum was home from work. Tom went to answer, mumbled a greeting in the hallway, and left.
Her mum marched straight into Emilys room. «Whats happened?» she demanded. Emily panicked, blurted it out:
«Nothings happened. Im just pregnant.»
Her mum stared. Then she shriekedEmily didnt catch the words, because the sound was cut short by the slap that followed.
And thats when winter started inside her. Like snow had fallen all at once, burying her up to her neck. Cold. Empty. Inside and out.
Her mum kept yelling, but snow muffles sound. So Emily just sank onto the edge of her bed and weptsilently, the tears freezing before they could fall, turning to little ice marbles in her chest. She swore she could hear them rattling around in the hollow space.
Her mum stormed out. The front door slammed. Silence. And there Emily sat, alone with her frozen tears, right in the middle of a sweltering July evening.
She curled up under the covers and only then did the real crying startmessy, snotty, girlish sobs. Not for herself, no. For the baby. Unborn, unwanted. Not by its father, not by its gran, not even by its foolish mum. No one was glad for it.
She fell asleep, though it was still light out. Dreamt something vague. Woke to a hand stroking her hair.
Her mum was back, murmuring, «Emily, love, forgive me. Im a fool, even if Im not that old yet. We should be celebratingmy girls all grown up. Soon to be a mum herself. And me»
She was crying now, swiping at her cheeks. «Ill tell you what Ive been thinkingjust dont let it be a boy. Please, not a boy. Mentheyre all well, you know. None of em ever really understand a woman. Not your dad, not mine!»
Now Emily wailed too, loud and ugly. She sat up, threw her arms around her mumthe person she loved mostand they cried together, mourning their shared lot. But it was warm, at least. And summer outside, after all.
Thenthe doorbell again. Her mum sniffed hard, wiped her face, and pushed Emily back down. «Stay there, love. Ill get it.»
She went, smoothing her hair as she walked. Tragedy or not, if a man was at the door, shed not be caught looking a mess.
She opened it. And there they weretwo of them. Tom, and in front, his dad. The older man spoke first.
«Evening, Mrs. Wilkinson. Sorry to call so late. But my lad heres told me everything. No holding back, seems like.» He turned to his son. «Or did you leave something out, eh, future granddad?»
Tom just hung his head. His father went on.
«Right. So weve comeboth of usto ask for your daughters hand. That is, if Emily can forgive him for what he said earlier.» He shot Tom another look, then cuffed him round the ear. «Go on, you little sod. Apologise to the girl! And if she wont have you, youre no son of mine!»
Aye, people change. We do stupid things, then flounder trying to fix em. Thank God for mums and dads. Theyd never steer us wrong.
