My Formula 1 System

London, UK.

It was evening time in the capital city, that odd hour between six and seven after the sun had set so beautifully. The sky wasn’t fully dark yet, but it was deeper than gray. Office windows, whether skyscrapers or boutiques, glowed with their lights, and the streets were filled with the shuffle of others.

As thunder rumbled through the sky, many looked up and grumbled before continuing on their way.

"It’s always when you need the Jubilee the most, isn’t it? Never fails."

"Just take an Uber, mate."

"Uber prices? Pure robbery!"

The Tube was currently on strike in the city, though the government had just promised everything would be settled by the end of the week.

But the damage of inconvenience had already been done, forcing thousands to stumble to their destinations on foot for four days. Some even discovered paths in the city they’d never known existed.

Coming out of a supermarket was Isabella, dressed in a cream top, blue jeans, and a beige coat on top. Her hair was lovely, styled with face-framing tendrils, earning her a total of six compliments just from this single visit to the supermarket.

And in her hand was an umbrella purchased alongside the few groceries, after a kind worker advised her to watch out for the impending rain.

The two men who had been discussing the Tube strike and the price of Ubers abruptly paused their conversation when a young lady came out of the supermarket and headed toward a waiting Uber at the pavement.

From the way she was dressed and the way she carried herself, both men knew such a woman was rare to find in this economy of modern dolls.

Isabella ignored their stares as she checked the Uber driver’s ID before getting in, the Honda Civic pulling away on its trip to Clapham.

On the ride, even Isabella hoped that the Tube strike would be settled quickly. It was unfair how the surface of the city had become too crowded because its underground had been temporarily paused, the government doing what the government always does.

The ride was delayed because of the traffic, and Isabella dozed off a couple of times. Eventually, the tires hit smoother lanes, indicating sparser populations and neighborhoods.

Rousing from her micro-sleep, she called Mrs. Rennick and informed her of her arrival.

Mrs. Rennick, happy to see Isabella, left the bedroom she was preparing and exited the house entirely to stand on the lawn, the same way she did whenever Luca was coming.

Eventually, the Honda Civic rolled to a stop in front of the duplex. The passenger came out after making the payment, rating the service 4 stars and leaving a tip. The driver was grateful, wished her goodnight, and then drove away.

"Ohhhh my baby girl!"

"Hi, Mom."

Mrs. Rennick embraced Isabella like she was a giant teddy bear, even before she stepped onto the lawn. Affection and fuss came from the older woman to the younger one, reassuring her a dozen times, brushing her hair, and checking for any fatigue.

"How’s school? I hope they are not overworking you? Are you eating properly?"

Isabella laughed softly as they walked back to the house.

"School’s fine, Mom. Same stress, different semester. And yes, I’m eating."

"Are you sure?"

"Yessssss."

"You are lying," Mrs. Rennick concluded with a determined look. "The other day, you told me you’ve been having more deadlines. One day I’ll march into the school and lecture those professors on something they’d never forget."

Isabella couldn’t hold back her laughter after Mrs. Rennick’s proclamation. Once they were inside the house, she leaned onto the table, laughing her guts out. "If you do that, I’ll definitely graduate late!!"

8 PM

Mrs. Rennick and Isabella’s close relationship wasn’t new to anyone who knew both of them, but this was one of the few one-two-three times Isabella had come to Clapham to spend the night with her.

Tonight, both women had planned a special event for themselves. It was Mrs. Rennick’s idea, and Isabella followed when she was invited to join.

One of the orphanages in London where Luca was a big donor was hosting a weekend gathering very soon. Mrs. Rennick had been there a couple of times, and in her love, she promised to bring something homemade for the children at the event.

Instead of treats bought from shops, Mrs. Rennick suggested baking fresh buns and even meat pies for her church. Isabella agreed to help, which was why she had bought some baking ingredients along the way from campus to Clapham.

Although it was late, the women figured they could at least start with one or two trays. If some groundwork could be done tonight, then the bulk would no doubt be finished the next morning.

After Isabella refreshed herself, they began by washing their hands, laying out the bowls, measuring cups, and rolling pins.

Soon, the counter was dusted with a fine coat of flour, butter was cut into small cubes to soften, and the yeast was stirred gently into warm water.

Isabella had almost zero experience in baking, so it was mostly Mrs. Rennick who did all the work. And baking was the woman’s specialty, the ease in the movements of her hands indicating it was a long habit.

Learning step by step, Isabella helped by passing ingredients when asked, stirring when told, and occasionally taking over for a moment or adjusting when corrected.

The rhythm of assistance felt fun for her and even for Mrs. Rennick, who felt like she was reliving part of her youth a little with someone younger.

By minutes to 10, when they chose to conclude for the night, they were able to finish kneading and setting aside enough dough for the buns to rise by morning.

They had also prepared spiced fillings for the meat pies, and these were neatly wrapped and placed in bowls for the fridge.

At the end of it all, only a single tray of buns went into the oven for the night, filling the house with a soft yeasty smell.

Proud of Isabella and her contribution, Mrs. Rennick served her a plate of chocolate cake, her favorite, and watched her eat slowly at the dining table, her eyes staring at nothing.

’Poor girl. She’s still disturbed,’ Mrs. Rennick thought with a sigh before she wiped her hands clean to join Isabella.

Placing her hand on Isabella’s, she comforted her without saying a word.

Mrs. Rennick knew exactly why Isabella was upset, and this baking night was partly a medium to help cheer her up.

But Isabella didn’t look like she would be cheered up anytime soon.

"What if he’s slowly losing interest... until he decides to end everything and dump me?" she asked.

Immediately, Mrs. Rennick slapped the table hard as if the words pierced her so sharply she acted out of reflex.

"Don’t say that! Why would you say that.....?"

Isabella fell silent and focused on her cake, looking like a stubborn Sophia in that moment. On the other hand, Mrs. Rennick was still recovering.

"Honey, is it because you travelled to Monaco, and he refused to embrace you? Just that?"

"Mom, it’s more than that..." Isabella replied, as it pained her to remember that she and Luca hadn’t slept together in almost three months now.

It made her wonder if he was casually getting the sex elsewhere, or maybe in some way, he wasn’t seeing her as attractive anymore.

A girlfriend’s fear is never logical; thus, Isabella’s mind had travelled far, searching through every crack, trying to figure out why the distance between her and Luca felt wider than miles now.

Mrs. Rennick, who remembered once being in the same position herself, believed she had some advice to share. Touching Isabella’s hand again, she cupped it in hers and looked into her amber-brown eyes.

"Listen to me, sweetheart. Just because he’s been distant, just because you two haven’t been intimate, doesn’t mean he’s planning to walk away. Do you understand that?"

"Then what does it mean?" Isabella asked after hesitating.

"It could mean stress, it could mean exhaustion, it could mean his mind is crowded with other worries. Men pull back sometimes for reasons that have nothing to do with anything. I can assure you this."

Mrs. Rennick sighed when Isabella knitted her brows, indicating she didn’t grasp anything. She decided to rephrase more clearly so the girl would understand.

"Luca is not the same boy you met at first, sweetheart. He’s an established man now, with far more things on his shoulders than before. And that, unfortunately, means you can’t always be the very first on his list every single day."

Frowning, Isabella asked, "So I’m supposed to just accept being pushed aside?"

"No, darling, not pushed aside. You’re still his woman. But this is where many girls falter—they start nagging, sulking, turning sharp and bitter. And when they become that way, they drive the man further off. Don’t make that mistake."

Isabella gulped to force down the lump that formed in her chest. She remembered Luca calling out her actions in the hotel in Monaco, and it already made her feel guilty. "So... what am I supposed to do?" she asked Luca’s mother.

Mrs. Rennick smiled as if she were happy to give this little lecture of hers.

"Well, you have to level up with him, dear," she answered. "Luca is growing, becoming better, and he needs to see that you’re growing too. He hopes to get more value and more virtue in you... than the intimacy you keep worrying about. He can get that thing anywhere, but he can’t find a woman of substance easily. So, you become that woman, and you can retain him."

Isabella’s brows stayed knitted as she sat there, trying to untangle what those words truly meant.

She had always believed herself to already be that kind of girlfriend, but the way Mrs. Rennick spoke made her feel as though she was still falling short of something she couldn’t quite name. What was this anyway?

Concerned that she might not be measuring up, and another girl or woman could be right now, Isabella asked, "So how do I become this stuff he wants?"

Mrs. Rennick let out a sweet laugh, delighted that Isabella had asked the question. "Oh, my darling, I’m so happy you asked," she said warmly. "It sounds easy when I say it, but in truth, it can be the greatest task of all: You have to make his life easier and happier."

"What...??"

"Yup! You must think of yourself as the florist, planting beautiful flowers in his life. His life may be a simple grassland field, but with your care, it can bloom into something far more lovely! It was the same strategy I used to lock down his father. Haha! I think you should use it."

Isabella sat there bewildered, her fork idle against the half-finished cake as she tried to process everything.

Mrs. Rennick, meanwhile, lightly tapped the back of her palm, a little sign that her lecture was concluded, before rising to her feet and heading back into the kitchen.

The young lady was left confused, staring blankly at her plate, but she eventually heard something from the kitchen.

"AND DON’T FORGET—HAVING A CHILD FOR HIM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE WILL SECURE EVERYTHING!"

~~~~~

11 PM

Unlike Luca, Isabella always had late bedtime routines, so 11 PM wasn’t that late for her.

She had taken her bath, slipped into a soft nightshirt, and brushed her teeth.

Seated before the mirror in Luca’s room, Isabella slowly tied her hair back, then dabbed cream across her cheeks. Mrs. Rennick’s words still replayed in her mind every second, but at least now, she believed she understood.

"Urgh. Damn you, Luca," Isabella whispered to herself, feeling some indignation toward her boyfriend for getting her worked up like this.

She couldn’t believe how the dynamic between both of them had totally changed.

If her memory was right, Luca was the one who was chasing her at the beginning, but now the tables had turned—she was the one chasing now, to the point where she even had to sit through lectures on how to keep him.

But her worry was gone.

Isabella felt relieved that at least there was something she could do about it, and she was going to work towards success.

Making a man’s life easier... How hard could that be?

The young lady finished tying her hair neatly, and leaned back to admire her reflection. Her gorgeous face stared back with a quiet fire in her eyes, and she let out a small smile.

’This is Operation Make-My-Man-Happy.’