«Regret of That First ‘Yes'»
«Maisy, whatever are you thinking?» Valentina tapped her wooden spoon against the saucepan like an alarm. «That Gennady phoned again! Third time this morning! What did you promise him?»
«Nothing!» Maisy snapped back, focused on the mirror where she carefully applied eyeliner. «I merely agreed to see a film. Once! What’s the harm?»
«Once?» Her mother threw her hands up. «He’s probably booking the Chester registry office already, if you ask me! Told your Auntie Linda yesterday he had serious intentions. And you? Barely turned eighteen!»
Maisy set down the pencil and turned. A familiar stubbornness flickered in her eyes, one Valentina recognised from her childhood.
«Mum, enough! We’ve been seeing each other a month. He’s a decent bloke, hardworking, doesn’t drink. What more do you want?»
«What do I want?» Valentina sank onto a stool, wiping her hands on her apron. «I want you not to rush. Life is long, Maisy love. There’ll be time enough for marrying.»
«Who said anything about marrying?» Maisy flushed. «We’re just… dating.»
But secretly, she already pictured a white gown, Gennady tenderly guiding her down the aisle at the church hall. He was the first lad who’d truly courted her—flowers, walking her home. After spotty schoolboys, he seemed so grown-up, dependable.
The phone rang. Maisy jumped, but her mother was quicker.
«Hello? Gennady, good morning. No, Maisy isn’t here. She’s gone into work.» Valentina gave her daughter a pointed look. «Yes, I’ll let her know you called.»
«Why did you lie?» Maisy demanded when her mother hung up.
«Why must he ring every single day? A man should have some pride. If things come too easy, they aren’t valued.»
Maisy snorted, grabbed her handbag, and dashed out. Gennady waited on the pavement—tall, broad-shouldered in a crisp new shirt, smelling of cologne.
«Maisy love!» He beamed upon seeing her. «But your mum said you were working?»
«Oh, she… she was joking,» Maisy stammered, embarrassed. «Mums are like that.»
Gennady nodded understandingly. He liked that his girl had a caring mum. He mentally saw himself as a son-in-law in that house, helping his mother-in-law with chores, fixing the leaky kitchen tap.
The cinema was showing a new romance. Maisy sat beside Gennady, feeling the warmth of his hand covering hers. On screen, young lovers pledged eternal devotion, and Maisy’s heart beat faster.
«Maisy love,» Gennady whispered during a particularly swoony scene, «what if we…?»
«What?» she breathed, eyes still glued to the screen.
«Well… if we got married? I mean it. I’ve a good job, the council offers flats for young couples. We’d have a nice life together.»
Maisy’s heart flipped. This was the moment she’d secretly dreamed of. Gennady was the first man to propose. How could she say no?
«Yes,» she whispered, without thinking.
Gennady squeezed her hand, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. On screen, the lovers ran towards the sunset, life seeming full of promise.
The wedding was modest, held at Valentina’s home. Maisy wore a white dress made by a friend’s mum and smiled for the guests. Gennady stayed close, attentive and caring.
«Lovely couple!» neighbours cooed. «Did you see how he looks at her? Proper smitten.»
Valentina bustled in the kitchen, hiding her worry. Something about the rushed marriage nagged her, but her daughter was happy. Wasn’t that the main thing?
«Maisy love,» Auntie Linda approached the bride, «hold onto your happiness. A husband is for life.»
«Of course, Auntie,» Maisy nodded, adjusting her veil. «We love each other.»
But after a month, the love felt less cloudless. Gennady, securing the council flat, plunged into DIY. Each evening brought drilling, hammering, shifting furniture.
«Gen, maybe tonight we could just sit and talk?» Maisy suggested timidly as he reached for the drill anew.
«Talk later, Mais. See? Shelves need putting up. A home without a man’s hand is like a ship without a captain.»
Maisy sighed, heading to the kitchen to cook. When they dated, Gennady listened intently, cared about her thoughts. Now, only chores mattered.
He’d also become critical of her appearance.
«Maisy, can’t you dress tidily?» he’d say when she popped to Tesco in old jeans. «You’re a wife now. Should set an example.»
«What’s wrong with jeans?» she’d protest.
«Everything. Get some decent dresses, skirts. Like proper women wear.»
Maisy bought unflattering dresses, styled her hair as he liked, cooked his favourite meals. It brought no joy. It felt like living someone else’s life.
One evening, her mother visited.
«You look peaky, love,» Valentina observed, peering at Maisy. «Feeling unwell?»
«No, Mum. Just tired.»
«Where’s Gennady?»
«Fishing with mates. Again.» Annoyance tinged Maisy’s voice.
«Goes often?»
«Every weekend. Says a man needs a break from family life.»
Valentina frowned.
«And you? Aren’t you family? Deserve a break too.»
«Nowhere to go. My mates are either married or moved away. Gen doesn’t like me popping round neighbours. Says a wife belongs at home.»
Her mother fell silent, then asked softly:
«Maisy, are you happy?»
The question startled her. Maisy opened her mouth to say «of course,» but no words came. She looked at her hands, roughened by housework, at her reflection in the dark window – a weary young woman looking older than her years.
«Don’t know,» she admitted honestly. «Suppose this is what marriage is like.»
«No, love,» Valentina shook her head. «It shouldn’t be.»
That night, Maisy lay awake next to her peacefully snoring husband, thinking of the cinema, of that first ‘yes.’ Back then, it felt like the perfect choice. Gennady was so romantic, attentive. She’d been sure it was love.
Now she understood: she hadn’t fallen for him, but for the *feeling* of falling in love. For feeling wanted, chosen. She’d never considered if they truly suited each other, shared interests, dreams.
Morning brought the usual routine: Gennady off to work, instructions for shopping and lunch. Maisy nodded mechanically but went to her mother’s instead.
«Mum, remember when you said I rushed into marriage?»
«Remember.»
Valentina poured tea, sat beside her.
«You were right.» Maisy lowered her head. «I married the wrong man. Or at the wrong time. Dunno.»
«What’s happened?»
«Nothing specific. We’re… just different. He wants a convenient wife who cooks, cleans, stays put. I… I want to live. Work, meet people, travel. We don’t even talk properly. He natters about fishing and work; I want to discuss books, films we’ve seen. We’re like strangers sharing a flat.»
«What will you do?»
«Dunno.» Maisy sniffed. «Divorce? But he’s not a bad man. Doesn’t hit me, doesn’t drink, pays the bills. Everyone says I’ve landed well.»
«Do *you* feel like you’ve landed well?»
«No.» The answer was quiet but firm. «Feels like I’m living someone else’s life.»
Valentina put an arm around her shoulders.
«You know, love, I rushed too at your age. Thought love was butterflies and wanting to be near somebody. Then I learnt: love is when you
She promises herself that next time ‘yes’ will come only after truly knowing both her own heart and the man asking, not merely in response to the asking itself.