Page 1 of The Happiness Blueprint
PART ONE
The average minimum temperature in Malmö, Sweden, in February is 28.4°F. The amount of rain and snow in February is normal with an average of 1.4 in. It rains, on average, a total of thirteen days. Most people don’t tend to visit Malmö during this period since it’s known as a chilly month. You will hardly see any sun, with sixty-six hours of sunshine total during the month.
KLARA
How do I run a construction company?
Google Search I’m Feeling Lucky
Sibling pairs are a bit like shoes from a lost and found. You put your hand in and can only hope to get two that match, knowing that two shoes are still better than one—at least you don’t have to walk around with one foot bare. In my parents’ case they won themselves a dust-covered Converse, perfectly functional and sturdy, and matched it with a glossy kitten heel that likes to look down at the flat sneaker.
I, the sneaker, speak.
“I have commitments, too!” I say, trying my best to sound as important as my sister, pretty sure I’m failing. I’ve said this exact sentence several times in the past twenty minutes, trying hard to be the winner of the Zoom tug-of-war, the holder of prime position and the central big square overshadowing the small ones. The current leader board has my sister, Saga, at the top followed by our mum as a close second.
“I have plans,” I say again, for a brief moment flitting on to the screen. Well, itistrue. At least if Tuesday drinks and defrosting the freezer count. I can feel my blood pressure—actually, it’s more likely my blood sugar—rising.Stay focused, Klara.
“It’s a family emergency,” Mum chips in yet again. Thanks for stating the obvious. As if we didn’t know that already.
I decide to revert to the technique when you go back to the beginning of the conversation, repeating it all, hoping you have magically missed the solution and that it will make itself known—loud and clear—the second time around.
“How long would his treatment be, again?” I ask, even though I know full well the details, having joined the oncology team at Dad’s appointment via FaceTime earlier that day. Three months. Dad is lucky. Just one surgery and then a course of innovative localized radiation to beat what is considered stage 1 of prostate cancer. They caught it early and he will most likely be okay. I’m not too worried about Dad. Cancer is a poignant, scary word, but1is a harmless number, thin and unassuming. At the end of the call, we were asked if we had any questions, and I would have had plenty, but now I had a1and didn’t need any other explanation. I haven’t even googled it.
Saga doesn’t bother to repeat why she can’t do the job, which surprises me. She usually misses no chance to talk about her important academic career at a highly esteemed international university and just generally, you know, herfull and perfectlife.Got to have that work-life balance, Klara!
Right now, I’d settle for just having a life. Never mind a balanced one.
“I’m really sorry I can’t be there to support Dad myself. There’s just so much going on.” My sister’s face is filling the Zoom square to the point where it has no background. Now if that’s not a telling picture of Saga, Queen of Filling Up Every Room She Enters.Me, me, me.
“It’s only a few months. Think of it as a long holiday—you will even get paid! Really, it’s an opportunity.” I ponder this. Sweden is in no way my preferred holiday location. But a salary from my dad’s company would be an increase compared to what I currently earn—nothing.
“Say I agree, I’m not saying I do, butif, how would I even do it? You need qualifications and skills to do that type of job,” I say.
At first, we had been so relieved to learn Dad’s good prognosis that we had forgotten everything else. Then Saga had pointed out the company. This tiny little inconvenience in rural Sweden with three employees that somehow needed to stay afloat while Dad was focusing on his health.
“Darling, you already work in property!” Mum says, before turning to loudly sip a lurid green smoothie. I can’t help but think that if this had happened five years ago, before The Divorce, we wouldn’t be having this discussion as she would still be there. Not in a Marbella condo with a widower named Inge whom she’d met at her church choir. I push the thought away. It’s not Mum’s fault. If Dad doesn’t resent her, then neither should I.
“I work for a website that sells them. I don’t demolish, construct, or tile their bathrooms!” I mean, what does Dad evendo? Definitely not something I have expertise in. Which is technical-support chatting (“No, you can’t place the properties in your online basket, Susan. You must call the listed agent for a viewing.”). Mostly I do nothing that remotely touches on property. Think of me as a helpful bot.
“Please, Klara. Someone has to do it. We need your answer soon,” Saga says. Oh no, not that line. Translation: you’ve got to do it, you are the younger one, and I may have some shared responsibility, but in the end it’s on you, little sister. Like when we were kids and messed up the living room building a fort or a shop and the time came for tidying up.Someone has to do it, Klara.If my sister ever happened to commit murder, I bet you it would be my job to dispose of the body, due solely to my genetic link to her and our birth order.
“Let me see if I can make some arrangements,” I mutter.
“I didn’t want to say this, but... I thought you were ona breakfrom work right now?” I can hear my sister’s smug smile even though her blurry screen prevents me from actually seeing it. She is well aware that people have breaks from relationships—not jobs. If it’s the latter, then it’s simply called unemployment. Or disciplinary suspension.Let’s not get into that, shall we.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to connect with old friends?” Mum attempts.
What friends? I think. The ones I had a decade ago have inevitably moved on and away. If I were an old lady, we would now have the sort of relationship that is marked only by the exchange of Christmas cards. Except I’m not, so there aren’t even the holiday greetings. If I were braver and funnier, even a faint shadow of my sister, I would have seen this coming and averted it by recruiting new friends. But this would have required actually socializing, going places with a frequency I’m not adapted to (I need rest days from socializing the way others do from the gym) and the ability to keep a conversation going without the help of alcohol.
I currently have a grand total of one friend: Alice, who is my housemate and who says hilarious things like “Yay, I got booked for a hand job!” (She has a side gig as a hand-and-foot model.) Mum and Saga both know this.
“Listen, I know it’s not what you want, although I’m not entirely sure what you actuallydowant. But quite frankly, it’s time that you pulled your weight.”
I look down at my waist before I realize that she is not talking about my BMI.
Then my nephew, Harry—Saga’s primary excuse for dodging the Sweden bullet—starts howling like a wolf in the background, hitting a key only a toddler can master.The noise!Quickly, I make up my mind. “Okay, then.” The Harry siren goes off again.
“Right, that’s my cue to leave the call!” my sister shouts in a key only a mum can master. I swear parents teach their children to become a distraction at exactly the right time. It’s not fair that they all have an excuse to leave a boring Zoom call while the rest of us have to stay put and listen to the end.
