Page 48 of The Happiness Blueprint
About to answer, but the main distraction in my life enters the room and does what she does best: distracts me.
“What are we working on today?”
There she is. Hair wet and braided, and for a second I get a strange desire to grab the single, thick braid, feel the weight of it as I close my hand tightly. She looks comfy in a beige tracksuit and feet bare on the floorboards. It’s the first time I’ve seen her feet. Small and square with toes spread out, gaps of air in between them. I wonder what they would feel like in my hands.
She just said something, didn’t she? Physically shake my head to gather myself.
“Basics. Fractions and decimals.”
“Sounds good.”
Follow her to the kitchen. Have looked up the compulsory modules of an architecture degree. Algebra, geometry and trigonometry. Reckon we’re not there yet. If I can up her confidence with the foundations, she’ll be better off heading into it. What she needs isn’t English-language practice, it’s confidence and study skills.
Pull out the book I spent 199 kronor on, plus next-day speedy delivery, as we settle at the table.
“I found this lying around at home.” It smells suspiciously of newly printed ink, but she doesn’t question me.
“Fractions. I really don’t like them because they are just different versions of decimals. For instance, ¼ is 0.25, but one is odd and the other even,” she says.
“Fractions are not even or odd numbers. They’re not whole numbers, only parts. You can’t say that the fraction ? is odd because the three is odd. I mean, there are ways to generalize parity to sets larger than the integers, but you’ll likely have to give up some desirable property along the way—”
“Which means what exactly in Swedish? Or English if you wish.”
“It means you don’t have to worry about them being even or odd.”
She lights up at this, as if I’ve taken a huge weight off her shoulders. Feel like I have more purpose than I’ve had in a long time. She twirls the end of her wet hair around her hand then lets it fall heavily against her shoulder.
“Did you ever think about the fact that maybe nothing is really odd? It’s just one version of it? Anything can fit? You can rewrite any number and make it even,” she says with delight.
It’s not mathematically correct, but if it helps her, who am I to question? She pulls her legs up underneath her on the chair and grabs hold of her foot with her hand, rubbing her hand against the side of it.So she likes them rubbed.I watch her as she tackles the first problem in the book. She drops her pencil and looks as if she’s just gotten the million-pound question wrong on live TV. Despair.
“God, I reallyamstupid.”
Don’t like that statement. Not the words and not the way she said it, as if she’s repeating what other people have told her. Whoever said that could, well, fuck off.
“Who said that to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. But if you must know, enough people to make it statistically correct.”
“Listen to me.Stupidis a word that just doesn’t go with you. Like...like wood doesn’t belong in a wet room and pineapple has no business being on pizza. Got it?”
She attempts a nod.
“If you don’t understand something, it’s because no one’s bothered to explain it correctly. Their problem—not yours.”
“Thank you.” It takes all my willpower not scoop her into my arms then and there.
“Right. Let’s work through it together. There’s no rush.” I swallow hard.
She stares at the page and sits quietly for what feels like an eternity, then emerges from her bubble to grin at me.
“Show me.”
“Look.” She writes down her workings. “That’s right, isn’t it? I got it.”
“Knew you would. You’ll kick ass on the prep this time around.”
“Sometimes I feel like even my own family have given up hope. Although they’d never admit it. You’re the one person telling me I can do it. That shouldn’t cancel out all the negativity from my past failures. Not technically. But then, what you think means a lot.”
