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Topper rang my doorbell at noon with tasting samples for his company’s party next month. He demanded that we try them together, and before I could even answer his request, he stormed inside and headed straight to the kitchen while insulting the rug in the entrée for being outdated and more fitting for his nan’s barn.
Who puts a rug in their barn to begin with?
I wasn’t really up for stuffing my face with cake while trying to smile every minute of our sampling. I wanted to curl up and die a little. But misery loves company, and Topper made it a bit more bearable. After all, he brought a terrible, sad mood to the mix as well.
After we had our little tea party, Topper needed help coming up with ideas to write about for his magazine’s spring edition next year. They like to plan ahead, thus the reason why we moved to the home office. This room is a place that never disappoints with its authentic furniture and old bookcases filled with original copies of classics and books about inner workings of the human mind. A large brown desk stands in the middle with its tears and lack of paint serving as a timestamp from the centuries it went through. The wooden floor creaks under our footsteps and gives it even more of a vintage feeling. I love this room because it is beautiful and serene, and fits in perfectly with the rest of the house.
The rain splashes against the windows, making it difficult to see a particular house on the other side of the street. A house inhabited by a man, who compared me to Frederic and kissed my cheek a few days ago.
Even though it had felt like summer was visiting the country a week ago, it finally remembered it’s supposed to rain in England at least three times a week. The weather matches my mood completely. As if it listened and reflects whatever is going on inside my head. I hope the sun will break through the clouds. Maybe then I’d feel better as well.
“What about the perfect spring hat for garden parties?”
“Hats? Garden parties? Did you become Mum or something?”
“Not my best, I know.” He spins around once again; a frustrated groan leaving him. Normally, Topper is a vault of ideas, and he just needs to focus on one of them for it to become a great article. I’ve always been impressed with his nonstop input of creative ideas. But now it’s garden hats and job interviews.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“All good, sweets. What about you?” He lies, not hiding the fact that something is bothering him.
“All good.” I lie as well. I hear the chair’s fabric moving before Topper’s head snaps up in front of mine. His face hovers above me before he raises both his eyebrows. I mimic his expression.
“You first,” I mumble.
“Work.”
“What about it?”
“I’ve been offered a position at another magazine. It sounds great, Evangeline.” I hear the longing in his voice.
“Then what’s wrong, Topper?” I whisper, wondering what has my best friend’s mood all twisted up. Topper is a smiler, not a frowner, and him not doing what he’s so great at worries me.
“I feel loyal to the magazine that saw something in me that others didn’t. They made my dreams come true. They gave me opportunities I didn’t even let myself dream of because it sounded impossible. But I’m stuck there. Outgrown almost.”
“But dreams change and adapt, Topper. You’re allowed to dream of something else now.”
“I know. I am dreaming. Big, Evangeline.” I see the conflict in his eyes. The fear of disappointing those who started his career. Who helped him get to where he’s at now. But there’s a shimmer as well. A light that shines when one has dreams and the urge to chase new opportunities. Topper wants more. He always wants to reach for the moon, and I believe he’ll get there one day.
When we were younger, we pretended to have our own magazine titled ‘T&E.’ He was the chief editor, and I was the one writing about the latest fashion trends of our dolls. I quickly realised becoming a journalist wasn’t for me, but Topper never let go of the idea of owning his own magazine. It lives in his mind. It always has.
I drop my hand on his cheek before smiling his way.
“It’s a job, Topper. Don’t hold on to things you want to let go of. Chase your dreams or else you'll regret not fighting for them when you’re old and grey. Just make sure you’re grateful for all they have done for you, which you are or else you wouldn’t feel this way.”
A small smile makes its way onto his face, and he nods slowly. Topper would have told me the exact same thing if I would have been in the same situation. He’s already aware of letting go because he wants to reach that dream. He simply needed a reminder.
And as the smile grows on his face, a feeling awakens inside me. One I don’t want to acknowledge. I want Topper’s dreams to come true, but it makes me realise how little chance I have of reaching my own.
I want to go to school and work for my opportunities and dreams. Even Topper’s dilemma is a luxury. It makes me long to be in a position where opportunities are offered. A chance to satisfy that hunger of reaching everything you ever wanted in your life.
I want that, but every step I take forward is quickly stopped by my brother. No school because Mum wasn’t allowed to go. No choice of husbands because his wealth needs to be checked.I’m not the director of my life. Frederic is, and he takes that role very seriously.
“Your turn.” Topper’s voice snaps me out of my train of thoughts, even though they’re about that exact issue.
“Frederic told me he narrowed down my pick of husbands.” Letting the words roll off my tongue makes me physically ill. My stomach is in knots, and I can’t think of anything else but what Frederic said during breakfast this morning.
“That prick.” He seethes.
