Love and Leases

Iris

“What did you say?” my father asked, his voice laced with upset. His chocolate-brown eyes, which I had inherited, were fixed on me, devoid of their usual warmth. They were cold and furious.

“I-I said no, I refuse,” I reiterated, wishing my voice didn’t tremble. I longed to feel strong and brave, but all I felt was fear and discomfort.

“That is not an option you have, Iris,” my father said, his voice deceptively calm.

“It is, and I’m taking it. I don’t want to marry some stranger to ensure the contract between your company and his is a ‘done deal’. We don’t live in the Middle Ages; we don’t live in a country where women have no say. I can refuse this marriage!” I sounded more confident than I felt. I had never done this before. I had never said no to my parents, to my father. Not for something small, and certainly not for something this significant. It turned out I had my limits. Who knew?

“I may not be able to force you legally to accept this marriage, but have you forgotten that I can take away everything you have?” my father asked. I felt myself go pale, my blood turning to ice. He wasn’t wrong. It was all part of my inability to say no. My parents had chosen my school and what I should study. Not that I truly minded. They had chosen a top college, close enough for me to commute to. I enjoyed studying business, and my Bachelor of Business Administration was something I could have chosen for myself. After graduating, I had dreamed about finding a job, my own apartment, and starting an independent life. My father had told me he didn’t send me to school for me to be independent. He did it so I could have the right pedigree for a marriage. My mother reminded me of what a terrifying world we lived in. Women living on their own got taken advantage of, and worse.

I didn’t argue, I didn’t object. I did what I had always done. I adjusted my goals and dreams to what my parents expected of me. In an act of previously unheard-of bravery, I talked to my father about at least getting a job. After thinking about it, he agreed. It would look good, he said. He just needed to make sure it was an appropriate one. We didn’t want me to end up in a bad situation where my reputation could be ruined. That is how I ended up as Mr Gooseman’s secretary. Mr Gooseman was a mid-level manager at my father’s company. He wasn’t very important, and his duties mostly comprised shuffling requests and decisions between those below and above him. My job mainly comprised making sure he didn’t forget any meetings or deadlines, getting him coffee, helping him understand his computer, and sending his wife flowers weekly – not because he was cheating and needed to cover it up, but simply because he loved his wife and knew that white roses and red carnations made her happy. It was a nice job. It didn’t require me to use any of the skills I had learned in school, but it was nice and safe. So yes, my father was right. Everything I had in life, he could take away. I didn’t even own a car, as he made sure I always used one of his drivers. It was just safer that way, my mother told me.

“You are right,” I said aloud. He looked pleased, as if he had managed to get me to see reason. “I’m still not doing it. I can’t,” I told him.

“You don’t have a choice. Either you agree to marry Benedict, or you end up on the street. I need you to make up your mind right now,” he said in a cold voice. I wasn’t used to his coldness. I had always been his little princess, his pride. More so than my older brother and sister. They had started fighting back control of their lives when they were teens. My sister more than my brother. As such, they were seen as difficult, while I, the one who always said yes, was the golden child.

“I will pack my bags,” I said, doing my best to hold back the tears.

“What?” he asked, as if he couldn’t believe what I was saying.

“I assume you will want me to leave at once?” He stared at me.

“Yes. Get out! And don’t dare to take anything with you that was bought with my money,” he hissed. I nodded because if I spoke, he would hear the tears in my voice. I turned around and walked to my room. The two-floor apartment we all lived in was luxurious beyond belief. My mother spent a large part of her day making sure it stayed that way and didn’t go out of style. Our home had repeatedly been featured in high-end interior design magazines. My mum had designed it all, including all three of her children’s rooms. As I walked into mine, the first tear rolled down my face. Had I gone mad? How on earth was I going to do this? I had no job, no place to live, some money in my account, but not a lot. I had been naive and foolish, in the worst kind of way. I knew I was about to pay for it now. I took out my two suitcases on wheels. I had bought them with my first real paycheck, as my mother wanted to celebrate the occasion by flying the two of us to the Maldives for two weeks.

My issues started when I tried to remember which clothes I had bought with my own money and which ones my mother had given me. In the end, I was happy to see that a lot of my office clothes were mine. At least I could dress for job interviews. Other than clothes, not much else was bought with my money. I packed the jewellery my grandmother had left me in her will, some photos, and my old teddy. My teddy had technically been bought with my father’s money, but it had been a gift to me when I was born, so it didn’t count. I barely filled my two bags. I took out my phone and froze. It wasn’t mine. My dad had got it for me, and I was on his plan. I wanted to sit down on my bed and cry. There was a knock on my door.

“Yes?” I called out. My brother stuck his head into my room.

“Are you crazy?” he asked. He then walked inside, uninvited. “You never say no, and this is the time you chose to rebel? Seriously, Iris?” he asked.

“I can’t do it,” I told him, like an echo of what I had told our father.

“I’m proud of you and I would like to help you,” he said.

“But you can’t. He would do the same to you if you tried. It’s okay, I get it,” I told him. He nodded. My parents had made sure we all were within my father’s control.