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NOTES:

OPEN CATEGORY: SPRING 2008 - HIGHLY COMMENDED

This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

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"The Proposal"

by Kari Royden - Seoul, Korea

HIGHLY COMMENDED: "OPEN" CATEGORY, SPRING 2008

Dad’s in the back room hanging up dirty clothes. He says he didn’t realize they were dirty. And dry. Mum says he hasn’t got the hang of appliances yet. The ironing board’s been up in front of the telly for 3 days now. I’ve told Dad that I don’t think he has to iron Y-fronts. He said he knows that but he needs to practice. Mum says it had better be put away by the time she gets out of the bath.

One of the neighbours has been popping round during the day, just till Mum gets back on her feet. Dad’s in charge when he gets home from work. He’s getting better at cooking, I must admit – although his repertoire is a bit limited. And, like I said, the washing machine is still a challenge. He used to say that anyone could stay at home, now he says he’s on a steep learning curve. So I think that’s a good sign.

Dad says he’s going to start dinner. The pages are stuck together with soy sauce but I can guess we’re having stir-fry. Dad says he’s going to try rice instead of noodles tonight and mushrooms instead of bean sprouts. He says that’s because if Mum sees another noodle (or bean sprout for that matter), she’s probably going to strangle somebody with it. Then he grins. Dad says I can chop up the onion if I like. I say ok.

Mum comes down in her pajamas and dressing gown. She’s stepping around the ironing board. I’m waiting for her to say that she thought she told us to move the bloody thing and then for dad to shout that can’t she see he’s bloody busy. But mum doesn’t say anything and Dad asks her if she wants to sit at the table today. She says ok, so she must be feeling better. I can hear sizzling behind me. Dad’s putting some oil in the wok. Hope the smoke alarm doesn’t go off again.

The three of us never used to sit down for dinner together. Mum picks at a mushroom, but at least she’s trying to eat. I wonder when she’ll be well enough to make homemade bread again and her special apple cake. Dad says he’s not going to attempt anything fancy just yet, since he’s new to all this. Over dinner Mum mentions that Dad hasn’t played golf recently. Dad says he hasn’t got time what with his new role as a domestic god. I wait for mum to say that chasing a tiny ball around is a complete waste of time. Then for Dad to say that it’s the only relaxation he gets. Then for Mum to say what about taking your family away somewhere at the weekend, for a change? Then for Dad to say his job is very stressful so he needs to relax at the weekend. Then for Mum to say isn’t spending time with your family relaxing? But she doesn’t. And he doesn’t. And I don’t have to sneak up to my room.

Dad keeps glancing over at Mum. He asks if the rice is alright? Mum smiles. She says it’s fine. There’s no dessert but Dad says he can open a can of peaches if we like and there might be some ice cream in the freezer. We shake our heads. No, it’s ok. So Dad gets up to clear away the dishes. Mum’s done quite well. Before he takes her plate he leans over and clasps her shoulders. She puts her hand on his. I haven’t noticed Dad’s graying hair before. I think I see a tear in his eye, so I stand up to help clear up.

Mum goes into the living room and settles down in front of the TV. Dad used to come home, eat dinner alone, if he hadn’t eaten out, and then go upstairs to his office. I don’t know what he does up there. I’m not allowed in his office. But today I help him stack the dishwasher. Then we go into the living room.

Mum’s watching a soap. She says she’s not bothered about watching it though. That’s good because Dad hates soaps. They tell me to come and sit with them and not to spend so much time on my own in my room. There’s a pile of DVDs that nobody’s watched. Dad reads out the titles until he gets to one we all agree on. I’ve seen it before, but it doesn’t matter. He puts it in the machine and sits on the sofa next to mum. I’m in the big chair. Dad jumps up to put some popcorn in the microwave. We say it’s ok because we’ve just eaten. But he insists. Mum smiles. I wonder if it’s because he knows how to use the microwave now? Anyway, I’m not complaining. Mum smiles more these days and she’s stopped packing Dad’s suitcase and leaving it at the top of the stairs for him to find when he gets home. So I think that’s a good sign. Dad comes back and settles down on the sofa.

After the film I say goodnight. I have to look twice, just to make sure, because I notice they are holding hands. I’ve never seen them holding hands before. I go upstairs but then I need a glass of water so I tiptoe downstairs, and on the way past the living room I hear Dad say he’s got something for mum. Oh no. Not a present? Not when everything was going so well? I’m standing in the darkness waiting for her to say something like,

“What is it? Another granny nightie with a bow up to the chin? Or a paperweight with a scorpion inside it, perhaps?”

One Christmas he bought her a new Hoover. But we don’t talk about that. That was the year I spent the most time in my room.

“It’s not Christmas,” I hear her say.

“No,” says Dad.

“Or my birthday,” says Mum.

“I know,” says Dad.

I’m waiting for her to say, “Or our wedding anniversary, not that you ever remember.” But she doesn’t.

It’s gone quiet and I don’t know what’s happening. There’s some rustling. Sounds like paper. She must be opening whatever it is. I can’t tell if Mum is laughing or crying. Please don’t say she’s crying. Not when everything has been going so well. I hear whispering but can’t hear what they’re saying what with the telly on and everything. I press the door open with one finger and lean forward.

Mum is still sitting on the sofa. Looks like Dad is kneeling on the carpet. Don’t say mum’s thrown whatever it is on the floor? Or have they spilt the popcorn?

The door creaks and they both look up.

“Just getting some water,” I say. My stomach is tense.

“Come on in,” Dad says.

Mum is holding out a tiny box for me to see inside. It’s a pendant with a golden M. It’s not that bad, I think. In fact, it’s quite nice. Mum isn’t crying, which is a good sign.

“M for Mum?” I ask.

Mum laughs and laughter lines, as she calls them, show around her eyes.

“Your father gave me a necklace like this before we were married, but I lost it. This is a much nicer one though,” she says and smiles.

Dad doesn’t say that we are better off now so we can afford nicer things. And mum doesn’t say money isn’t everything. And they don’t glare at each other.

Dad gets up and puts the necklace around her neck.

“It reminds me of when we first met,” Mum says.

“I had more hair then,” Dad says.

“I was slimmer then,” Mum says.

“I had better taste in presents then,” Dad says.

“I didn’t care then,” Mum says.

They look at each other.

“I wasn’t even here then,” I say.

They laugh.

Well some things have changed for the better, Dad says.

We didn’t expect things to turn out the way they did, did we? Mum says.

Dad shakes his head. Then he takes Mum’s hand.

“If anything happened to you I don’t know what I’d do,” he says.

“I’ll be alright,” Mum says.

“We should go away for a holiday together. The three of us.”

Mum nods. She looks a lot better than she did after the operation.

Dad turns to me.

“What do you think? Shall we have a look on the Internet tomorrow for some holiday destinations?”

I nod. Things are really going well.

I propose we spend more time together and take lots of holidays to make up for lost time. What do you think?”

Mum laughs. Mum and Dad look at each other.

I sneak up to my room. But this time, I’m smiling.

COMMENTS FROM OUR COMMISSIONING EDITOR, Jo Holloway:
Beautifully written from inside the boy's head; a delicately presented observation of the positive changes within his family framework after a serious illness makes his parents reassess. Excellent presentation and polishing; very much enjoyed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Kari has spent the last 12 years teaching English as a foreign language in the Far East and is currently working on a collection of short stories set in Japan. She has spent most of her teaching career working in schools and has an interest in writing storybooks for children. She is now based in Seoul, Korea.

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