The Path to Yourself. Aigerim Dautova

      Chapter 2

      The old hair curler hissed, singeing the heavy strands. Tight curls flowed over the freckled shoulders, warm against the cool, soft skin. Rose stood in front of her wish visualization map – a bright spot dividing the wallpaper into two parts. Every year, Rose cut out pictures from fashion magazines and adhered them onto a white sheet of paper. They were to give her hope and inspire positive changes for the next twelve months. This time, the paper held pictures of Sofia Richie on her wedding day. The youngest daughter of the famous American singer smiled at her from the photograph. She was the supreme manifestation of everything Rose had ever wanted or dreamed of. And yet, Rose avoided to look at her creation, for fear of facing the promises she had made to herself: To stop being lazy and waste time, to save money on travel, to lose weight. And what is the most important, to find herself. To forge her own path.

      The pride-to-be was drawing arrows on her eyes when the morning silence was broken with a distant scream. Her mother burst into the room, and in a matter of seconds, the air rang with her yelling.

      “I’m not going anywhere! You call it a wedding?! What am I supposed to say to the kin? To neighbors and other people? What kind of photos am I supposed to show them? Couldn’t you find a better man? This one is a broke-ass, good-for-nothing mouth breather! And you are a fool of a woman!”

      For the whole year before that, the very same mother had been demanding that her daughter get married as soon as possible (the biological clock was ticking!). She’d kept saying that she was desperately in need of grandchildren and repeated dozens of similar nonsensical things. The freshly drawn arrows ran down Rose’s face. The preparations were accompanied by the mother’s reproaches that stopped only at the entrance to the registry office where the unsuspecting groom was waiting with a bouquet of lilies in his hands. He was surrounded by friends and their mutual coworkers, equipped with cameras, flowers, and balloons. A pathetic speech by the registrar, and the newly wedded couple went down the state-property stairs and into a big life.

      Another mother was waiting for them at home, having missed her son’s marriage registration for a very good reason. Pies. A lot of pies – with meat and vegetables, sweet and spicy, big and small, with and without braided crusts. The heavenly-smelling, melt-in-the-mouth culinary masterpieces crowded the entire apartment, taking up all the dishes, all the tables, and a single windowsill. The baking had been underway since last night and the pies had taken half the morning to decorate. The rest of the day had been dedicated to chicken and fish dishes, all kinds of salads, and pickled mushrooms. Oh, especially the mushrooms! Everything was handmade, not a single appetizer bought. That would be a shame! What would the guests say?!

      In charge of the speeches was the head of the sales department who had actually rented out this very apartment to the couple only a couple of weeks ago. Before that, it had been rented by an office manager who managed to run away from a sixth-month debt, taking with her the TV set and the landlord’s faith in women.

      “I still remember, as if it was yesterday, the day eight years ago when a young university graduate answered our job advertisement,” the chief accountant began. Just a casual mention: She had been working in the company for only six years. “I took her under my wing straight away! Today this little bird is getting married! And who is she getting married to? Another fully-fledged specialist of our company. Good for you! Our small but close-knit team has become even stronger! Be happy!” With the last words, tears welled up in her eyes, smudging the heavy mascara.

      Paul and Rose had been indeed working together in a nuts-and-chips distribution company for eight years. Over this time, the office had expended by two more rooms, one warehouse, and six employees. The team members loved to say, “We are a family”. They also loved to poke their noses into personal, sometimes even intimate details of their colleagues’ lives. Frequent tea parties in the kitchen, Labor Day celebrations, and visits to local pubs somehow deepened the concept of family. In a family, there should be no secrets. Each piece of news was laid open for everyone’s inspection to meet with universal approval or condemnation. A gentle affection that had developed between the IT administrator and the delivery service operator quickly dominated all the informal conversations in the office. The women demanded that Paul marry Rose immediately and threatened him with all kinds of negative consequences. The men held the fort, silently. The defenses were broken in the spring. After another get-together in a pub, where everyone was teasing them and calling them lovebirds, Paul finally proposed. The proposal sounded somewhat like this: “Maybe we should marry after all. Why not?”

      Rose was relieved. At last, they wouldn’t bother her anymore.

      Chapter 3

      “Hi there. Starbucks at the Gallery, tomorrow 10 a.m. Does it work for you? Dina.”

      Rose read the message again. Then again. And again. Restarted the phone, but the message was still there. She thumbed, her hands shaking:

      “I am so pleased to get a message from you! Of course, I’ll come.” Erased.

      “You must have called the wrong number.” Erased.

      “I can’t, I have work to do.” Erased.

      “Maybe later, in the evening?” Erased.

      “Yes, it does!” Sent.

      The next morning, Rose was fifteen minutes late. She walked sideways into the coffee shop, picking at a hangnail on her thumb.

      “Are you always late?” Dina asked without greeting her.

      “I’m not. I’m sorry, the taxi got stuck in traffic and then the engine gave out. And besides – » Rose said even though it was a lie. She was about to burst into tears.

      “I got you a latte. It was a wild guess.” Dina smiled, scanning her.

      “Thanks. I love lattes.” Rose sat down on the edge of the chair and grabbed the paper cup with both hands.

      “I shall be honest with you. I’m looking for someone nice. Loyal. Smart. Hardworking. Someone with an eye for all these fashion trends. Someone who can tell Balmain from Bottega Venetta. And a couple more things. I want you to become my assistant.” Dina fell silent.

      Rose did not say a word.

      “The pay is decent, no worries. Business trips at my expense. Milan, Paris, Tokyo. We – I have customers from all over the world. Benefits. Nice working hours. What else do they usually have in the package?”

      What is she doing? Is she talking me into working for her? Rose stirred the tepid coffee with a stick, too afraid to look up. What if she does, and Dina is not here?

      “So, what do you think?”

      “Are you serious?”

      “About the hours? I definitely am! Why?”

      “No, about me. Me, Rose. Do you want to hire me?”

      “I do”. Dina looked at her intently, as if trying to read her thoughts. “You will love it. You’ll meet so many celebs. Come on!”

      “I don’t know, this is so unexpected – ”

      “Well?!”

      “I’m… Alright.” Rose did not take her eyes off the coffee, almost drowning in it.

      “That’s great! See you tomorrow.” Dina disappeared, leaving behind a fragrance trail and an empty cup.

      That