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  I guess I shouldn’t have been so hard on my mom for her wanting to get me married off so quickly. After all, she does come from a place – namely, India – where custom states that you have to be someone’s missus before you are – gasp – 20. Well, something like that anyway. Also, she did only come here when my dad met her in Bombay and eloped with her when they were in their early 20s. You could say her beliefs are deeply steeped in Indian tradition, even if she did, well, break one of them when she decided to run off to London with dad. But still. I suppose I owe her an apology of some sort.

  But that had to wait when I answered the doorbell and saw Shawn standing there. He’s my boyfriend of 2 years, but is more widely known as my best friend of 12 years. You could say we have a pretty long history together. Anyway, it was raining cats and dogs outside so he was drenched from head to toe. Well, actually he looked like a cat that’d drowned but never mind that. I invited him in at once and that was when all the mayhem started.

  Mom, as usual, was pleased as punch when she saw who our visitor was. Ever since she found out we were dating, she’s had this warped idea in her head that everytime he comes a-knocking on our door, he’s sure to propose. Maybe that’s what happens in India; men and women are probably restricted from seeing each other too much, so whenever the guy does comes around it’s got to be something major, like a marriage ceremony.

  So, basically mom is being extra nice now. Not just to Shawn, but also to me and my brother Jon. Maybe she thinks her good ol’ brand of Martha Stewart sweetness will lure him into thinking about staying here with us. Forever. Well, I know Shawn better than that. He would much rather wring his own neck than stay under one roof with Mrs. Hayfort. I should know. He said so himself.

  If we were ever to live together someday, it will be somewhere nice and far away from home. My home. Honestly, mom is a tolerable, even nice person to live with on her good days. But when it isn’t - a good day I mean - she can be just plain overbearing.  Like now, for instance. I can’t believe she’s doing this. She’s actually asking him about the number of girls he’s dated before me. If you wanna know, it’s really five. But here’s what he said instead: “I won’t deny that I haven’t been in a failed relationship before, Mrs. Hayfort. But I can safely say that whenever I am dating someone, I take that relationship very seriously.”

A-ha! Shawn one, mommy nil. What he said was a tad on the serious side, but who cares when it’s that effective?  I almost felt like hugging him there and then, but God knows what mom might think of that.

  After that one hiccup on mom’s part, little else but polite, normal conversation was made at the coffee table where mom, Jon, Shawn and I dug into her delicious cup cakes and apple pie. They were so wonderful, I almost forgave her for nearly embarrassing my boyfriend. Oh, scratch that. I forgive her, wholly and completely. That was how delectable those pastries were.

  Soon after, Shawn and I decided to go out. Mom didn’t look too pleased about that, probably because it meant she couldn’t keep a proper tab on our relationship’s progress. But in the end, she wounded up gifting me with a 100 pound note and even fetched my newly-pressed coat from the laundry before we set off to town. That’s my mom for you. Well, sometimes anyway.

  It normally takes about 20 minutes or so to reach town, but the traffic was exceptionally hideous so we had our time in Shawn’s vintage Mustang stretched to 30. Not that we minded. As if to make up for the traffic jam, the radio played loads of great songs. And besides, over the years I have discovered that some of our best conversations take place in vehicles. During our schooldays, it was the bus. Sometimes, it would be his parents’ limo (more on that later) or my dad’s Volvo. And since we went into university and started driving, it’s been this very car. I would drive as well, but due to safety reasons dad staunchly refuses to let me do so unless he’s in the same vehicle.

  “So, what was that about?” he said to me as we finally saw glimpses of town in the distance. “What’s ‘that’?” I said, holding my fingers up in an inverted comma sign. Shawn exhaled a little too deeply. He only does this when he’s seriously stressed out about something.

  “You know what.” he said, extending the wha- in what. At that very moment, he turned to look at me, and my breathing just - stopped. Well, not exactly. But I do remember that my heart beat harder than ever, my breathing got steadily heavier, and my own eyes lowered to avoid his steely gaze. Mind you, I’m not being coy here. As if! You obviously have never been subject to my boyfriend’s penetrating, russet-eyed stare. Not that he goes around gazing meaningfully into other people’s eyes, but you get the idea. Whenever he gives me that look, it’s a pretty direct sign for me to start stalling.

  Fortunately for me, he diverted those eyes of his to the blue skies above before I could think of the words to say. That didn’t mean he was finished, though. Hardly. “Your mom was acting all funny just then, you know. Well, funnier than usual. Don’t tell me you didn’t blink when she asked me the number of girls I’d been out with before you.”

  It was clear then no amount of crafty manipulation could take him away from the subject. So I said: “You know her. She likes intruding into people’s private lives. She’s practically the resident paparazzo. He he.” Sigh. Lame, yes, I know.

  He pressed on, saying: “No offence, Jasmine. But your mom kinda crossed the line when she asked me on what I thought of premarital you-know-what.” At this point, my eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets.

  “You wouldn’t know ‘cos you were too busy chasing Jon around the house for your Rolling Stones T-shirt.” he said this a little resentfully, which I had to admit hurt. I put my hand on his, half-expecting him to pull away like they do in the movies. He didn’t move. By then, I was pretty sure that he knew what was going on between my mom and I; he didn’t have an IQ of 145 for nothing.

  But 5 minutes passed, and he said nothing. Ditto for the next 10 minutes. I suppose he was deep in thought about his suspicions behind mom’s questions; it was the only reason I could think of at the time to explain our first silent ride together in a car. The worst thing was that there was nothing I could do about it. I have been around complex men (read: my dad, Jon and Shawn) long enough to know this much: give them space. Just three simple words, and it doesn’t have to be ‘I love you’.  Right now, Shawn needed his. Space, I mean.

  When we finally arrived at Weston Weekend, our favourite hangout, I couldn’t deny the great feeling of relief in my chest. Before this, it had only been a 2-tonne rock called Silence. As we stepped out of the car, my eyes immediately landed on a decidedly flashy pair of electric blue patent heels. My best friend (after Shawn, of course) Elle Silva was definitely in the house. Trust me when I say there aren’t that many seniors at St Weston University who can juggle Advanced Calculus and a pair of great shoes without so much as a split end.

  Most of our mutual friends were easily spotted within a few seconds as well. They certainly don’t call it Weston Weekend for nothing. Anybody who enrols in said university is practically obligated to stop by this café at least once in their years of study. Most of us visit everyday. Great coffee, speedy Wi-Fi access, friends, good conversation…what more could anyone want? As expected, our usual group of friends were sitting around our usual table.

  Upon spotting us, Elle waved her Cartier-bejewelled hands at us. “Here come the only un-single people in our group. Over here, you lovebirds!” Embarrassing, but true. The last boyfriend Elle had was more into her wardrobe than her personality, and that was in our sophomore year. As for Lucas, he is probably too busy trekking around the globe to take notice of anything else other than a world map. But wait -there was another girl whom we had never seen before.

  Shawn and I took turns exchanging hugs with Lucas and Elle before shaking hands with the new girl. She was gorgeous, with dark brown eyes and tanned skin. Like Lucas, she looked like she had been travelling since the day she was born. Once we placed our orders, we began bombarding Lucas with questions about his month abroad. I guess you could say we were having a welcoming party of sorts for him.

  “Okay, okay. Slow down, you guys. I’m gonna be in London for another month before I set off for Cairo. That’s more than enough time for your questions. Today, the spotlight is on…Celia.” he said, turning to look at the new girl. We all stared at her in surprise. Poor her.

  “Guys, Celia is my girlfriend.” he announced, an uncharacteristically dopey look on his face. He was practically blushing. All three jaws – Shawn, Elle and mine – dropped to the table. Could it be that Lucas, our sun-baked, map and National Geographic-obsessed friend had finally lost some of his immunity to the charms of the opposite gender? All at once, I felt happy, shocked and relieved. At least Shawn and I wouldn’t be the only couple in the group now. If anything, poor Elle was the odd one out in the group from now on.

  A whole new set of questions came pouring down on Lucas and his new girlfriend like hailstones. I have to take back what I said about mom being the resident paparazzo; I appear to have inherited more than her looks. Thankfully for Celia, her boyfriend was the perfect picture of gallantry as he entertained us nosy-parkers and fielded every question with fervour and calm, including the ones meant for her.

  Celia was not just some airhead he picked up at Heathrow Airport, though. Honestly, we would have been exceedingly disappointed in him if he had. On the contrary, she was the perfect brand of sugar to his bitter coffee. Not that Lucas is a caffeine addict or anything, but he is rather stubborn when he wants to be. In the short span of 30 minutes, we all witnessed firsthand something new in our friend: he could actually be persuaded to change his opinion. Granted, all she did was coax him into ordering something other than his usual espresso (he drank hot chocolate with cream on top instead, gasp!).

  Still, it was a start. None of us had ever excelled in the Art of the Persuasion of Lucas Hayes before. Not even Shawn, who used to be in the same year with Lucas until they both graduated last year (FYI, they are a year older than Elle and I). But now, a brunette stunner like Celia just steps into his life and voila! His espresso days are over.

  “Jasmine? JASMINE!” Ouch. I felt my eardrums shatter. Slowly but steadily, I turned to look at their patent-heeled murderer. “What?” I said, a deadly tone in my voice. “Oh, wonderful. By the time you start talking, he’ll be back already, stupid.” snarled Elle, rolling her green eyes. She can be such a teenager sometimes.

  Before I could say anything else, she’d pulled me in by the neck and brandished her silver nail file at me. “So tell me, what’s going on between you two?” I blinked. “Nothing.” There goes the Eye Roll again. “What do you think this is, a movie? Spill, or this comes.” she said, waving her nail file in my face again, the light of its vicious blade flickering wildly in her eyes.

  “What makes you think we’ve got problems anyway?” I said. Unless she had been tipped off by some invisible portable web cam who’d trailed us during our car ride, it was beyond impossible that she would know anything. “Easy. I haven’t seen you guys talk since you came here.” she said.

It then dawned on me that Shawn hadn’t said a word to me since we came here, and vice versa. Our Cold War was, of course, a continuance of the silence in the car ride, but Elle really didn’t need to know that. “You know what? I don’t know,” I said, sighing a little.  “Ha. I. Don’t. Know. How ironic. Isn’t that what all couples say when they’ve come to a mini crisis or something?” Okay, I had let half of the cat out of the bag. But then I figured, this is Elle, my confidante, my girlfriend, and my advisor.

  But once I saw the worried look on her face, I kind of wished I had kept my big mouth shut. Before I could say anything else, Shawn had come back to the table with our sandwiches. Sensing Elle’s eyes on us, I tapped my nose as a sign that I would talk to her later.

                                                         ***

  “Marriage? At 21? Is she on drugs?” exclaimed Elle as we lay sprawled across her bed. I chuckled. “If tradition is a drug, yeah.” I said. At present, I was set to Relaxed mode. After lunch, Shawn had rushed back to the finance company he works at (“Emergency”, he said) leaving Elle and I to ourselves. As for Lucas, he had taken off with Celia to visit his folks (would you believe it? Meeting the parents, already! How long have they been together anyway?).

  Needless to say, I was able to fulfil my promise to Elle to ‘talk’. Which explains how we ended up in her Vogue-inspired bedroom (there’s magazine cuttings all over her walls), spewing drivel and well, discussing my love life. At present, she knows of mom’s desire to marry me off and her none-too-subtle questioning of my boyfriend. I haven’t filled her in on Shawn’s suspicions yet, though. But if she’s got half a brain, she’ll get it in no time at all.

  “So, what does this all have to do with the two of you not speaking?” she said. A quiet, but fleeting second passed before comprehension dawned on her. “Oh… oh, he knows, doesn’t he?” Excitement shone in her eyes as she half-jumped up and down on her bed.  My best friend had gone back to being a teenager again.

  “Do you think so?” I asked, sitting upright on her bed.  “From what little body language I’ve detected from him, he probably suspects it at the very least. I wanted to talk to him about it, but then I thought what the heck men need space don’t they? And what if he backs further away from me when I do ask him? What am I honestly going to do then? We’ll go on not talking for days, and before you know it, we’ll be…we’ll be…”

  Oh my God. I am an emotional car wreck.  Elle was giving me the strangest look she had ever given me since the time I dyed one of her Topshop jeans fuchsia. She shook me hard, and said: “Remember what you said to me two summers ago, when you’d just started dating Shawn?” I thought hard, but came up with nothing.

  “You told me that you guys had agreed to be best friends first, couple second. You’d made him swear that no matter what, your friendship had to be considered above everything else. Does any of that ring a bell?” she asked. I slapped my forehead and felt more of an idiot than I already was. Of course! It was 2005, and I’d harboured a huge, secret crush on Shawn for ages, but wasn’t ready to tell him because I was afraid of its consequences on our friendship. But by a crazy twist of events, I ended up having to tell him just that when we played this stupid tell-all game at Lucas’s birthday party. It was really a less explicit version of Spin the Bottle, with the making out part replaced by revealing a secret to that one person instead.  Believe it or not, there was not one thing he didn’t know about me (except the crush, of course)! That was testament to how strong our friendship was then.

  You’d have thought that I’d be off the hook then, but Shawn was adamant. After I stammered through my confession, he kept silent pretty much the way he had today, leaving me in a state of utter confusion. That was hardly the climax of the whole debacle, though. The next time he spun the bottle, it pointed at me. Guess what he had to say?

“Jasmine? JASMINE!” Elle was taking another stab at my eardrums again. Meanwhile, I got a deep sense of déjà vu. “Do you realize you’ve had a really creepy smile on your face for the past 5 minutes?” she said. “I take it the whole thing’s coming back to you, if it hasn’t already?” I nodded, although inside I was shuddering at the thought of my eerie grin.

  “So?” Elle said.

  “So what?” I asked.

  “Do you get it?”

  “Erm, yeah, yeah, I think so.” I know I sound like a complete retard, but the fact is I do get what she’s trying to tell me. To deal with this mini crisis, all I have to do is adopt a friend-to-friend approach. Stop thinking about the usual stuff couples have to… well…think about when they’ve got problems. Stop worrying myself with stupid possibilities like I’d done less than a minute ago. Why? Because we’ve been best friends for 12 years, that’s why. We know each other too well to play mind games with each other.

  “You just have to talk to him. Whether you’re a couple or not, communication is always – always – the key.” said Elle, as if to emphasize my thoughts. That girl, she can really read my mind when she wants to.

  With a favourable solution to my own love dilemma found, I decided to turn the spotlight onto Elle. “So, what about you? Anything of the romantic kind on your front?” I asked. As if to buy time, she disappeared into her closet and came out with a bunch of new clothes to try on. “Try this. I promise it’ll look good on you.” she said, flinging a white baby tee at me. It had the words Make life’s lemons… lemonade on it in glittery gold letters. It was gorgeous.

  But she wasn’t getting out of this one so easily. After sufficing her with a mini fashion show (the shirt did look good on me by the way), I asked her the same question again. This time, she just shrugged. “You know me. High-maintenance, beauty-conscious, calculus-mad …give me one guy who would want all that, and then some.”

  “I can find millions, if you like. Seriously, Elle! Not all guys are intimidated by a gorgeous beauty with immense brains, you know. If you look hard enough, you can always fish out the noble from the nefarious.” I said, surprised by my sudden show of vocabulary.  Elle snorted. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got a boyfriend who can’t get by a day without you, and vice versa. Plus, he’s been right in front of you for your whole life. How can I expect you to understand a shred of what I’m going through?” she said with a slight tone of resentment, although there was a small smile on her face.

  I had to admit she was right. Compared to most people my age, my love life has run a fairly smooth course. While many of my peers are still looking high and low for The One, I often get the feeling that I’ve already found him. Still, Elle was my girlfriend. How could I be qualified to be hers if I wasn’t ready to lend a hand every now and then? “Look, Elle.” I started. “You’ve got a point there, but that won’t stop me from helping you. Unless you don’t want to be helped, of course.” There was this strange look from her again.

  Suddenly, her eyes shone. “Oh my God! OH MY GOD! Oh…” Frantically trying to calm my teenager of a friend, I said: “Slow down. Breathe. That’s right.  Now open mouth. Explain. Preferably in monosyllables.” She nodded, and little by little her flushed cheeks turned back to their normal hue. But there was no denying the ecstatic glimmer in her eyes.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this until now! I –I just thought of it! Oh my God!” she exclaimed, before mouthing ‘sorry’ as I gave her another mean stare. “Right. There’s this party, okay? It’s held by the fashion magazine my mom works for, and it’s basically an annual celebration in honour of whoever they hail as Fashion Pioneer of the Year. I have no idea whom they selected this year, but get this. Celebrities are going to be there, okay? Real, A-list film stars and – and artistes from the States and – and heiresses and – and you get the drift.” She was silent all of a sudden. Aha! She was hiding something.

  “And?” I asked all innocently. Elle bit her lip, the way she only does when she wants so much to spill something but can’t for some reason. “Okay, okay! Evan Kingsley is coming.” There was a deadening silence in the air for a second. Then, she burst out laughing. “I know what you’re thinking, Jasmine. No way am I going to nab this guy, right?” she said.

  “Actually, I was just waiting for you to say something.” I said, chuckling. ‘I’m happy for you, alright? Who knows? Maybe you guys share an innate love for the food table.” At this, her green eyes shone like dual emerald stones. “Oh, we might! I mean, maybe he’s the type of loner actor who prefers to keep to himself rather than mingle with his fellow A-listers.  Yes, yes that’s quite possible.” she said, sinking into deep contemplation. That’s just so Elle.

  I’m sure you’ve heard of Evan Kingsley. He’s only the most successful child star of all time, having made a near-flawless transition from that precocious little boy in the sitcom Lemonade Lance to a full-fledged hottie in his movie debut Full Circle. As you might have guessed, Elle has watched everything the guy’s starred in. I mean, this is the same girl who taped all the commercials Evan’s ever done and compiled them in a three-part video on Youtube, titled ‘Evan the Evergreen’. In fact, she might just bet her parents in a game of poker if the prize was a dinner date with you-know-who.

  “I want you – I need you to go with me.” said Elle all of a sudden. No way, I thought. Looking at my oversized sweats and baggy track pants, it doesn’t take a Vogue editor to see that I have no fashion sense to speak of. Nor do I want to pass out from awe in front of my favourite singer, thank you very much. But I knew that look in my friend’s eyes. It spelled Determination in red capital letters. I would be lucky if I could get out of this deal unscathed.

  “C’mon, Jasmine! You’ll love it, I promise. I heard that – that Petey guy was going to be there…” she said. “Peter Larsley.” I corrected. I got a bit keener on the idea, but shook my head anyways. I like Peter’s music, but not enough to actually want to see him in person. At this point, Elle looked real helpless. Surely she wasn’t so chicken that she couldn’t attend a celebrity party on her own?

  Oh dear. She was. “Jasmine, you said you wanted to help me right? This is your one big chance to prove it! Look, if you still aren’t comfortable there after half an hour, I’ll hail a cab to take you home, okay?” she offered. Man, was she mega desperate. “15 minutes. Take it or leave it.” I said. After all, beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Done.” she said, sighing. “The party’s this weekend at 5. You know where my mom’s office is, right?” I nodded. It might’ve looked like I’d won, but another part of me had to admit that it was only half-won. The first thing anyone knows about me is that I have a massive fear of crowds, let alone Tinseltown-infested crowds. Note to self: steer clear of Peter Larsley. You wouldn’t want to vomit all over his Armani suit.

                                                        ***

  It sure was a day for meeting new people today. The moment I stepped out of the cab and walked into the hall, I noticed a never before seen trench coat right away. Just when I thought mom was having one of her friends over again, Shawn stepped into the hall and gave me a kiss.

  “Hi. Weren’t you at the company?” I asked. Half of me had expected him to be his silently fuming self still, but clearly he had put everything from the afternoon behind him. At least, it seemed that way to me.

  “It was just a brief emergency. Come with me, I want to introduce you to someone.” he said, taking my hand. A hunky colleague, perhaps? My thoughts latched on to an image of Elle dining out with a model type, laughing gaily and banishing any fantasies she might have had of Evan before to the back of her mind.

  “Hi, you must be Jasmine.” the crystal-clear voice of a woman resounded in my ears. Standing a mere handshake away from me was a tall, blonde woman in her 20s. Her eyes were so blue I could’ve sworn they were contacts, and her smile would’ve put a million Julia Robertses to shame. In short, she looked like Cinderella post-Fairy Godmother.

  “Jasmine, meet my supervisor Carla Bowen.” said Shawn. “Carla will do, Jasmine. It’s no wonder Shawn talks about you all the time; you’re gorgeous!” she said, flashing another megawatt smile. There’s your Miss World, Britain, I thought. As we shook hands (such a firm, businesswoman-like grip too!), Shawn told me that her parents were away for the weekend and thus she was left to ‘scavenge dinner on her own’. Ha ha. Like she’d have any problems getting into fancy restaurants with that smile of hers.

  “…so since she hardly knows her way around a kitchen and your mom had invited me to dinner, I decided to bring her around. Your folks wouldn’t mind, would they?” he said. “Oh no, not at all. My mom’s always eager to find someone to talk to at the dinner table.” I said. Inside, I was hatching a plan to test her patience and apparent perfection. Here she was, shining, beautiful and charismatic. But could she withstand the motor mouth known as my mom? Time would tell.

  I didn’t know why I wanted to do it. Maybe it’s a natural impulse that all girls are guilty of when they feel inferior to someone of their gender. Whatever. I’m evil sometimes. Mwah ha ha.

  As the three of us sat around the television waiting for mom and dad, I nudged Shawn and said in a tiny whisper: “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Are you sure you didn’t pull her off a catwalk?” Shawn gave a short laugh at this. “People ask me that about you all the time too. But seriously, she’s just your everyday domineering supervisor. She throws thousands of files at you, yells at you to fetch her coffee and demands that you pass up that assignment by noon, or else.”

  “Really?” I said, my eyes widening. I stole a quick glance at Helen of Troy. Nope, didn’t seem like the Boss from Hell to me.  “I know what you’re thinking. That face of an angel hides it all. Sadly, I’m the only one who’s ever felt her claws on my throat.” he said. “Whoa, that’s one hell of a manicure.” I quipped, and we shared a second laughing together. Good thing we were watching a comedy. I wasn’t so sure I wanted her claws on me either.

  At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mom and dad stumbled in, looking a little worse for wear. Oh my God. Was that a bottle of champagne in dad’s hand? Now they were laughing like circus clowns. Oh dear. They had to be drunk. Not only had my plan to test Carla dissolved, my image had as well. I honestly can’t imagine what she’s going to think when she sees them.

  “Hi, Mr and Mrs Hayfort.” said Carla, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Drats. Shawn, on the other hand, seemed to have missed the fact that my parents were intoxicated, and hence carried on making small talk to dad. Thankfully, they weren’t as inebriated as I’d thought, since they managed to nod at Carla as a sign of acknowledgement. Then again, who knows? People are especially jolly when they’ve gone over to the Tipsy Side. In any case, they should be expressing some surprise at the very least over Carla’s presence. But they aren’t. Now they’re just making – stumbling, really – their way to the bedroom, their arms lovingly draped around each other.

  Normally, such displays of affection would have warmed the cockles of my heart. But not today. Not today, when we’re having Miss World over for dinner, who’s so impeccable in every way that you just want to assume she’s this judgemental twit who analyses everybody she meets and looks down on those who don’t make the cut. If you haven’t guessed yet, I’m possibly one of them. Who don’t make the cut, I mean.

  “Damn. It looks like dinner’s just gone kaput.” I said to myself. Carla smiled again, as if her face muscles are tuned to smile charmingly in 3-minute intervals. Heck, maybe they are. Well, at least I know she hasn’t done Botox. Yet.

  Sheesh, I’m acting like a total bitch here. Is this really how women react when they feel mightily inadequate to some far more delectable specimens of the female race? No wonder people tune in to watch The Hills week after week. Beautiful people = endless cat fights, get it?

  “Well, I guess I’d better get going. It was a real pleasure to meet you and your parents, Elle.” she said, nodding at me. Just as I was about to say ‘oh no, the pleasure’s all mine’, Shawn cut in and said: “Hold up, Carla. Why don’t we all have pizza?” What the hell, I was tempted to blurt out. Oh right, Shawn’s not a girl. He probably doesn’t have an inkling of how I feel right now, let alone for the last half hour. But no matter. Honestly, why should I feel threatened at all? She did mention I was gorgeous, didn’t she? Nothing to feel insecure over, Jasmine. None at all.

  Then I rushed into the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, I was genuinely shocked by the severity of the blemishes on my face. Maybe I’ve overblown a few things, but generally the state of my skin was worrying. Pretentious cow. She probably meant it like a mockery when she said I looked great. Yeah well, not everybody has the means to hire a personal dermatologist and go for facial treatments like you so obviously do, Miss Bowen.

  Oh God, all this unfounded jealousy has got to stop. It just has to, somehow. I’d better get a few pointers from Elle tonight. A level-headed girl like her would know what to do. Granted she isn’t in Adolescent mode, of course. Damn. Shawn’s calling me out. The pizza guy’s probably here with our delivery. Remember to keep your inner green-eyed monster in check, a voice in my head said to me. Gulp.

  Amazingly, by the time my common sense managed to wrestle me out of the bathroom, Carla was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was only Shawn sitting alone at the dinner table, wolfing down jumbo slices of pizza.  “Where is she? Carla, I mean.” I asked, helping myself to a slice as well.

  He shrugged, and said: “For a person who constantly raises my stress levels at work, she sure is, well, reserved.” I asked him what he meant by that, and he just said: “I guess she doesn’t feel comfortable with her employees outside work hours.” Whatever. I certainly wasn’t very comfortable around her.

  As we cleared the table, I couldn’t contain it any longer. In retrospective, I feel idiotic for making such a big fuss over mom’s obsession with my marital status. It may sound clichéd, but this is my life to choose, not hers. I alone can decide when I want to give it away to someone. My life, I mean.

  God, I must have been a real goody-two-shoes for the past 21 years.

  “Shawn, there’s something you need to know about. Maybe you know it, maybe you don’t. But…here goes.” I said, ignoring the fact that he was giving me a look stranger than Elle’s.
  “My mom wants us to get married.” And it was over, just like that. I was actually amazed at how eloquent I was. But before I could give myself a pat on the back, I had Shawn’s puzzled expression to tackle first.

  “Erm…are you okay?” I asked, going over to his side of the table. He didn’t exactly look speechless, but it was clear he was going to take some time out to string a basic sentence together. I squeezed his hand, hoping it would be encouraging.

  Finally, he led me to the couch in the living room. By then, my teeth were half-chattering with an almost silly kind of anxiety, just waiting for him to say something.

  He exhaled deeply, and said: “It’s really good to know we can still talk.” Oh, he’s smiling. That’s definitely a good sign.

  “Of course we can, and we should. But, what does this have to do with – “

  “Well, your mom’s not the best at covering up her intentions obviously. Part of my silence in the car came from a little confusion and some consideration over it, but it was just as much about testing you.”

  “Testing?” I asked, sounding pretty stupid admittedly.

  “Yeah, I wanted to see if the current state of our relationship hadn’t gone so far into couple territory that we had completely forgotten about what really counts most.”

  Gee, that was kinda deep. “Us being mates, you mean?”

  He nodded. “I was just waiting for you to say something, I suppose. I know it all sounds awfully random, a little warped even. But I just wanted to put some of my wondering to rest.”

  “What wondering?”

  He shook his head a bit and said: “Nothing much. Sometimes I just think about how far we’ve come and how much of us have changed in those years. Like, do we still think of one another as our best mates, and stuff. I know I do. So like I said, it’s…a nice feeling, knowing that we’ve still got free flow of speech. Everything’s business as usual.” As he said that, he gave me the most charming grin ever.

  “So I take it you’re alright with my mom being so big on marriage and all?” I asked.

  “I know where she’s coming from. Her people get married really young, don’t they? She’s just, well, worried that your biological clock is ticking away.”

  “Don’t be daft. I’m 21, for God’s sake.” I said, elbowing him. “But seriously, we’re on the same page regarding this whole matter, right?”

  “Sure.” he said, laying his hand across my shoulder. “I mean, it goes without saying that I love you, but – that doesn’t mean we have to rush into things. You feel the same way, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “What?”

  “You’ve still got to compensate me for all those nerve cells I lost while I worried about what you were thinking.”

  His momentarily worried frown broke into another one of his magnetic smiles. “I’ll think about it.”