by Isa Hansen
Celia followed the hall past a bathroom in pastel colors and a home office that looked like it wasn’t used much. From the room next to it she heard voices.
First a young, light female voice speaking angrily. Then a darker male voice yelling back at her.
Celia slowed, tipping her body to peek into a bedroom where she saw Nicole arguing with a man. The man looked to be around Erik’s age. He was large and stout with light short-cropped hair.
They yelled back and forth until the man grabbed Nicole by the ponytail and jerked her head back. Nicole was so small against his weight and height that she flung back like a rag doll. “Horunge,” he hissed and gave her a hard slap across the face.
Celia heard herself gasp. She took several steps back in horror.
When she looked up again, Nicole was staring straight at her.
Nicole’s head was still pulled back, the man holding her hair in a tight fist. Her eyes were large and filled with hate.
The man had his back to Celia; he hadn’t seen her.
Panicked, Celia whirled around and rushed back down the hall. She glimpsed the woman fiddling with the stereo in the living room. For a second she considered raising her voice over the music to garner the woman’s attention. But then she lost her nerve and ran for the door.
She didn’t stop until she was at a safe distance from the house. She squatted down, swallowing hard, her heart pulsing.
Her mind plowed through what she’d just witnessed.
She rose to her feet, hugging herself, trying to latch on to some kind of plan or course of action. Should she go back in? Call the police? Call 112? She was still trying to decide when footsteps sounded: a clip-clopping against the cold, shadowy street.
Nicole was headed in her direction.
She walked in over-sized clogs, wearing a hooded sweatshirt. Her arms were pulled into the body of the hoodie, leaving the sleeves hanging limp to the sides. “What are you doing here?” Nicole’s voice was strange, empty. As if she wasn’t sure what emotion she wanted to fill it with.
Celia went blank. For a moment she forget why she was even there.
Nicole moved up close to Celia, her brows drawn together. Her face was a ghostly shade of white. “You need to stay quiet.” Nicole nodded toward the house.
“Who was that?” Celia stared at Nicole. “Your dad?”
Nicole gave a furious shake of the head. “My mother’s boyfriend.”
“Your mom doesn’t say anything?” Celia knew this kind of violence existed, but it had always been so far away from her world. To be right there and see it happen—it cut straight through her. “Does your mom know?”
Nicole’s shoulders lifted, her eyes not wavering from Celia’s. “You didn’t answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?”
Celia straightened. She had come there for a reason: for Zari. The image of Zari cleaning off horrible words from the wall of her house brought Celia back. “I know what you’re doing to Zari and her friends,” she said. “It needs to stop.”
“Why do you care?” Nicole scowled. “Why are you even friends with her?”
“With Zari? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because she’s one of them.”
“What do you mean she’s one of them? I don’t get it. What’s your problem with her anyway?”
“My problem’s with immigrants,” Nicole stated. “They’re everywhere. Taking over our society, our culture. Fifty years from now there will be no real Swedes left. They need to go back to where they’re from.”
Celia cocked her head to the side with an angry little twitch. She was torn between feeling empathy for Nicole and feeling rage toward her. “You think that gives you the right to attack innocent people?”
“What we did was nothing. They are the violent ones. Do you know how much crime we have here because of immigrants?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you should find out. Look it up.”
“And I suppose I need to go home, too,” Celia said, vexed. “That’s why you put the fish in my locker, so that I’d leave?”
Nicole’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you talking about?” Then she said flippantly, “I don’t like you, but you’re no immigrant—I don’t care if you’re here or not.”
“The fish wasn’t you?”
“Why the hell you going on about fish for?” Nicole moved in closer to Celia. She flapped a sleeve toward the house. “You don’t say a word about that, and we’ll leave your friends alone.”
Nicole glared at Celia until she gave a nod in response.
Without saying anything further, Nicole turned around. Celia watched Nicole’s small frame clog back to the house and vanish inside of it.
When she began walking again she felt sick to her stomach. She’d just negotiated someone’s safety at the expense of another person’s safety.
She wondered what kind of reality Nicole was forced to endure at home. The thought made her even more nauseous. At least Zari would be left alone now. She tried to find some consolation in that although absolutely nothing about this felt right.
It was all too much. Her head hurt, her chest hurt, she was cold and where the hell was she?
She stopped to gage her whereabouts and recognized the neighborhood. Simon and Stella lived close by. Maybe Oskar would be there. Not that Oskar wanted anything to do with her, but she had meant to make amends with him. She might as well try. Things could hardly get any worse.
A few minutes later she stood on their front step, using the metal knocker on the door.
Simon answered. He held an electric Advent star in his hand, the cord wrapped loosely around his neck. From inside the house there was an herby, sweet smell of bread baking.
His face immediately brightened. “Why Celia, hello there.”
“Hi,” she mustered. “Is Oskar here?”
“Yes, he is,” Simon said, stepping back to make space in the hall: “Come in, come in.”
When she didn’t immediately budge, Simon must have noticed her expression. “Is something wrong?”
She looked up at him and that’s when it finally got to her. The genuine kindness and concern in his face made something burst inside of her. Something that stemmed from grief and confusion. Exhaustion. Being scared and powerless; the anxiety over making the wrong choices. Of missing home, missing her parents.
And just like that the tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh my dear,” Simon said, placing his free hand on her shoulder. He gently guided her into the house and closed the door behind them. Stella showed up in the doorway to the kitchen. “My goodness, what’s wrong?” She approached Celia and placed a comforting arm around her. “What’s happened?”
Celia wasn’t able to produce any words. She just kept blubbering away while Stella hugged her and Simon patted her shoulder.
Now Oskar appeared in the hall looking bewildered.
When Celia saw him she tried to pull herself together. She took deep breaths and wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat. She had wanted to cry, but doing it in Oskar’s father’s hallway in front of everyone wasn’t what she’d had in mind.
Stella observed Celia and Oskar standing there watching each other. “We’ll let you two talk.” She firmly steered Simon and his Advent star away.
Oskar’s hands were in his pockets, he swayed back and forth on his heels. “Go to my room?”
“Yeah, that’d be good,” Celia said quietly. She slipped off her shoes and followed him across the hall. They went up the stairs, turning into the first doorway. He flipped the light switch and took a seat on the bed.
She looked around for a second before sitting down next to him.
It was the first time she’d been in his room.
Across from the bed a row of metal shelves held woodworking tools and projects. Atop a large desk, there were more tools, sketches, and crumpled up papers. The space wasn’t neat or orderly but it seemed focused, purposeful.
Oskar folded his
hands between his knees. “What’s going on? Do you want to tell me?” His expression was mild and inquisitive. If he was upset with her he wasn’t showing it.
“I’m sorry,” Celia said. “I didn’t mean to come here and create a scene. Your dad asked me how I was doing and I guess I just broke.”
She unbuttoned her coat, thinking about where to start. Carefully she draped the coat next to her while she began talking. Hesitantly at first. She told Oskar about seeing Anette with the airport driver. About how betrayed she felt; how she didn’t feel comfortable going home. After that, everything just flowed out. She talked about Zari being bullied and Alex being weird. She told him how she and Ebba broke into the archives and how they’d been followed.
Oskar listened.
Sometimes he slipped in a question or made a small remark, but mostly he just listened and nodded.
After laying it all out, she said: “My mind’s a mess. I don’t know what to do … what to think. Where to go. I feel so lost.”
“I don’t know what you should do,” Oskar said, drawing a hand through his hair, “but you can stay here, if you’re worried about where to go tonight.”
Celia considered the invitation. She knew she couldn’t keep avoiding Anette. She’d been staying with Ebba over the past week. Anette had sent a text earlier wondering how she was doing. She texted back with a brief I’m fine just to give a response. She had to deal with Anette soon, but she didn’t have it in her to do it tonight.
She could always stay with Ebba another night, but there was something so comforting about being there with Oskar and his family in their toasty warm home that smelled of baked bread.
“Are you sure it’s OK if I stay?”
“It’s totally OK,” Oskar said, sounding like he meant it. “Do you want something to eat? We ate already, but I’m sure we could find—”
She said, “I’m not really hungry…”
“Maybe watch a movie?” he suggested. “So you can take your mind off of everything for a bit?”
Celia gave him a pathetic little nod. They got up from the bed and she went with him down to the living room. There they settled down together on a comfy suede sofa and Oskar put on something light and British. Celia wasn’t sure what it was, she wasn’t paying too much attention. But she was glad for the chance to just sit back in a completely safe environment.
Simon and Stella retired to bed early, but before they did Simon came in and served them freshly baked saffron buns. After they’d left, Oskar and Celia stayed in the living room and finished the film. When it was over, they nibbled on seconds and thirds of the moist, sweet saffron bread. Apparently she was hungrier than she realized.
Eventually they headed up the stairs. Celia cleaned up for the night in the upstairs bathroom.
When she came into Oskar’s room, the light was out and he was in bed. She closed the door behind her. Silver-gray moonlight spilled in through the window, just enough to silhouette the furnishings of the room.
“Do you have something I could wear? Like a soft pair of pants or something?”
“In the drawer next to you. The one farthest down. They’ll be big on you.”
“That’s OK.” Celia opened the drawer and pulled out the first pair. Soft with a drawstring in the waist. She maneuvered out of her jeans and into the pants, pulled the waist strings as tight as she could and rolled up the legs.
Wearing a tank top and Oskar’s trousers, she slipped into bed next to him. The bed sheets were cool against her bare arms.
He shifted his body to make room for her.
“Here’s a pillow,” he said, handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She lay down on her side, so she could see him.
“Oskar?”
“Mmm.”
“You’ve been mad at me.”
“I’m sorry.” He angled sideward. “I didn’t know everything you were going through. Ebba tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. If it’s any comfort, Ebba yelled at me for being a self-absorbed prick. I was going to call you this evening if you hadn’t showed up.” Oskar shifted onto his back, his face sliding into the shadows. “I like you a lot, and I guess…” he trailed off.
“I like you, too…” she said.
He said, after a pause: “But not enough?”
“No, not exactly that.” She repositioned so she was also on her back. There was no point in delaying the truth. “There’s something I’ve figured out about myself. I’m asexual.”
A long moment of silence. Then Oskar said, “Oh.”
He made a sound as if he were about to say something more but remained quiet.
“I do like you, though, a lot … but considering everything, I think we should probably just stay friends.” She avoided looking at him. “You know, keep things the way they’ve been.”
“Probably easiest that way,” he said.
He fidgeted, seeming dejected, and her heart sank.
Here she was in bed with him, the space between them so small she could reach out and touch him. He was beautiful, he made her heart flutter; like there were little bubbles tingling around in her chest, and there was nowhere in the world she’d rather be than right there with him.
And she longed to move up even closer, to nestle her arms around him and breathe him in. Maybe even kiss him. But all of that would easily turn sexual for him and then she’d be stuck, not knowing how to take it from there.
So she stayed in her spot, rigid and stiff-backed.
A car passed out on the street, the low rumbling of a motor, headlights lighting the wall, then darkening again, the sound fading soon after.
They were silent, both staring up at the ceiling.
Realization dawned on her that crawling into bed with a boy and then telling him she was asexual was a pretty awkward move. Great work, Celia, she thought. She gave Oskar a sidelong glance. “Thanks for letting me stay,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem.” Oskar lifted his arms up and rested his head against the flat of his hands.
With that, Celia saw that he’d given her his only pillow. “Oh, here, take this back.” She pushed the pillow toward him.
“I don’t want it.”
“No, I feel bad. Take it.” She placed it on top of him.
He pushed it back to her. “No, I want you to have it.”
“But I—”
“Take the damn pillow,” he said, acting mock-irritated, but his tone was light.
“Maybe there are more pillows?”
He nodded. “Wait a second, I’ll go look.” She pulled up her legs so he could scoot past her. There was some shuffling out in the hall and he came back with a poofy pillow under his arm. “Are you allergic to cats?”
“Uh, no.”
“Good, because my cousin’s cat may have slept on it.”
“That’s cool.” Celia propped herself up on the pillow while Oskar crawled past her. They both settled down into bed, going quiet soon after.
Celia stared up at the ceiling again.
When all the distractions were taken away, the image of Nicole came back to her. Nicole’s hair lifted up and pulled back. The slap across the face, being flung around like a rag doll.
She rubbed her hands across her shoulders, her leg jiggling nervously.
“Oskar?”
“Joo.”
“What would you do if you knew someone was faring badly at home? I mean like a violent situation, but you couldn’t say anything because if you did you’d be letting a friend down. And maybe your friend would get hurt.”
Celia had kept her promise to Nicole and left out that part of her story when she told Oskar everything else.
“I would have to know more details to answer that,” Oskar said.
“Yeah, I suppose,” she said.
Her thoughts kept swirling around. She couldn’t get the chilling image of Nicole out of her head. She stayed awake thinking about it, long after Oskar had fallen asleep.
CHAPTER 31
/> When Celia awoke the next morning, it was just past 6 am. It took a moment for the sleep haze to dissipate and to establish her whereabouts; that she was in Oskar’s room, in his bed. He was in deep sleep next to her, burrowed under the duvet, just a tuft of red hair stuck out.
She wriggled out of bed and gathered her things. Took off Oskar’s trousers, folded them and placed them on the bed. Put on her clothes and slipped out—shutting the door softly behind her. She wanted to get out before the household woke.
On the short walk to the bus, she thought about the conversation ahead of her.
Today she was finally prepared for it. She was going to demand to know Anette’s connection to the airport driver.
Anette was a perpetual early riser. She’d be up even though it was Saturday morning. There was nothing stopping them from having a talk right away. It made Celia queasy knowing she was just minutes away from a confrontation that would likely change her whole relationship with her aunt. Possibly also her uncle. For all Celia knew, Erik could be just as involved as Anette.
When she was back in the neighborhood and approaching the house, she saw Anette in the kitchen window. Her stomach churned in protest, but she kept moving forward and entered through the front door.
Anette had just set her coffee cup in the sink.
“Celia?” she said, noticing Celia’s grim expression. “I haven’t seen you all week. Are you OK?”
“I’m not OK,” Celia burst out, the door closing behind her with a heavy thud. “I saw you, at the bar.”
Anette’s face was blank. “I don’t think I understand—”
“The man from the airport. You were with him.”
Recognition drew across Anette’s features, instantly followed by something that resembled deep shame or regret. “Oh, Celia,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I’m so sorry.”
“I need to know what’s going on,” Celia glowered.
“Let’s go to the back room.” Anette glanced up in the direction of the stairs. “Erik’s still sleeping.”
Anette didn’t wait for Celia to respond, she’d already turned down the hall.
Celia followed her to the den. At first Celia stood, but when Anette gestured to the seat next to her, she positioned herself on the edge of the sofa, fixed upright.