Page 43 of The Happiness Blueprint
“I guess when you put it like that...”
He’s not the first one. In fact, men seem terrified of my robot parts. I have found it takes a warning before clothes come off, or else everything halts and an awkwardWhat’s that?or, worse, a stare followed by nothing and an attempt to continue even though the moment has been lost. Talk about a mood killer. Talk aboutmebeing a mood killer.
I pull away from him briefly.
“I’m sorry, Klara, forget I said it. Let’s get back to where we were,” he says as if we have briefly drifted from a meeting agenda.
ALEX
Personal Calendar
• NEW TASK:Compose email to schnauzer society
• NEW TASK:Update Mamma/Pappa/Dan on new developments
• EDITED TASK:Hold off. No need to get their hopes up
Don’t believe it. Unfuckingbelievable. Four days since I told Klara about trying to find the red jacket, and she hands over a printed-out email. It saysSwedish Schnauzer Clubat the top, and it’s a list of its members in alphabetical order.
“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “Even if it’s a long one.” It’s more progress than I’ve made in eight months. My hand shakes as I take it from her. There are seventy-nine female names on the list. I decide to include the male first names as well in my search. No stone unturned, no schnauzer-owning human unsearched.
“Feel free to leave early and get started.” I look at the time, confused. It’s almost 5:00 p.m. Which is when I always finish work.
“You want me to leave now?”
“Yes. Why don’t you call it a day at 4:51 today?” I have no urge to laugh because a gift of nine minutes is actually not laughable. Time is precious; the trial is only a few weeks away.
“Thank you,” I say. “Appreciate it.”
Wish I would have said what I meant:I appreciate you, the only person who’s offered any practical help in the last painful eight months.But keep this to myself.
KLARA
What have I done to upset my sister?
Google Search I’m Feeling Lucky
Somehow it’s Thursday again, but it doesn’t feel like it. Hanna and I are giving Dad a work briefing, but it’s very different from the usual grilling we get. Dad tries his best to pretend he is keeping up with the work, but he keeps referring to a job we completed weeks ago and doesn’t even ask to see the summary of the mileage-tracker data or the expenses spreadsheet.
Hanna is now showing him multiple videos and photos from our projects on her iPad. A quick task, considering we still don’t have enough work to fill the weeks. I push the thought away. I still have more than a month until I need to hand things over. Things can turn around, there’s time. There’s no need to worry Dad just yet.
Halfway through he lifts up his hand.
“I trust you. Put it in an email, and I’ll review later.”
“You hate emails. You like chats and phone calls,” I object. Hanna gives me a look that saysIt’s okay, Klara. Let it go. Let him go.
“You’re right. There’s nothing more to say, anyway. I was just about to wrap up, Dad!” I add a tad too brightly.
“Are you okay, Klara?” Hanna asks me when Dad has left the room.
“Yes. It’s my dad who’s not okay. My mum says it’s normal to feel ill, and that it may mean the treatment is working.” I have marked the day of Dad’s end-of-treatment checkup with my strongest black marker as well as entered it into the Outlook calendar.
“I’m here if you need anything. Say, a cookie or for me to play a dedicated R and B song for you.”
A warm, soft feeling takes over, and I think that the number of friends I have now is two. Alice and Hanna. Hanna, who is like a human Labrador: soft and friendly, sheds long brown hairs in my car (she insists on brushing it every time she’s worn a helmet or a hat) and who thinks about the next meal of the day before she’s finished the one she’s eating. I’ve always loved Labradors.
The second reason it doesn’t feel like Thursday is that I have my wine but no one to whine to today. I try Saga three times without any response. I wait ten minutes, then send a shot of my wineglass. Then fifteen minutes later I send another one with half the wine gone. Finally, I send her a picture of my empty glass. Then I decide to heed Alice’s excellent advice on ghosting, shared by her during my brief period of app dating: the best plan is to treat your ghost as if they are invisible. So instead of texting Saga my thoughts, I just think them, as I pop my glass in the dishwasher:Thanks for showing up.
