‘There are hundreds of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place, so it doesn’t matter which path you take. The only person wasting time is the one who runs around the mountain, telling everyone that his or her path is wrong.” ~Hindu Proverb
Prisha could see the merit in following the predetermined path her parents had so carefully laid out for her. She had just graduated magna cum laude from Cal with a business degree. Next week her father would name her general manager of the newest addition to the family hotel chain, due to open in a year.
In the meantime, she’d travel to India and meet with the matchmaker selected by her maternal grandmother. By the end of summer she was expected to be engaged, with the wedding to be held in December. They would return to America and her new husband would work for her father, learning the business to eventually take over as she was the only child and a son must inherit the dynasty. She’d manage the new hotel until she had children, then she would be a stay-home mother. Just like her mother and grandmother and every other woman in her family before her. It would be a good life.
The petite redhead sidled up to the man in uniform sitting at the far end of the bar, leaning in to showcase her ample bosum. “Hey, Sailor, buy a thirsty girl a cold drink on a hot day?”
Tasha stood on the bow of the boat, sipping from a steaming mug of tea and watching the sun rise. Only an experienced eye could tell that a storm was brewing from the particular hue of crimson creeping across the eastern sky. There was a lot of truth in the saying, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.”
“When you turn the wheel right, the boat goes right” he said patiently. “Think of it as driving a car.”
Spring had finally arrived. The stark branches were dotted with pink flower buds and these little signs of life gave her hope. It had been a harsh winter and her husband had been laid off, making it twice as miserable.
“X marks the spot. Well, if that isn’t cliche,” Sarah rolled her eyes at her boyfriend as she studied the map that was poorly made to look like a pirate’s treasure map.
Heather stretched languidly in bed, inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen. She smiled, listening to her husband singing off-key to “American Pie.” He knew every word to all 20 plus verses. Up next would be a collection of Buddy Holly hits. His playlist was as predictable as Dan himself. 
The foursome were enjoying their sundowner cocktails and 
