He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge

by Alexandra Winter

  I shudder, and my fist curls.

  If this is a second test, I’m failing it too. You must be checking my boundaries to see how interested I am, or to evaluate me for the chances of a kiss, or sex. You like psychology, but so far you haven’t operated like I would expect a typical player to behave. You’re an observer, and I bet you judge every situation you’re in.

  “You can’t sit here all frigid.” He lies back on the couch, pulling me down with him.

  On the TV screen, the main character is hiding from a black-haired woman and debating an escape plan with his friend. Squeezed between the back of the couch and Henrik, I envision a contract killer, and how she would get close to her target. An evil smile spreads across my lips. That’s the mentality I want.

  I’m here to do a job, not keep my morals intact. I stomped on those days ago.

  Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep your focus on the goal. Charm Henrik, make him love you.

  I shift to my side to get more comfortable, which leaves me in an awkward sideways position on top of his arm with my free arm straight down my side as if I were a tin soldier. I want to push him to the floor to get more space but instead shuffle for a way to lay next to him, without seeming like I hate it.

  Henrik’s eyebrow raises so slightly that if this was the first date, and I wasn’t prepared for a man with hardly any expressive body language, I wouldn’t have seen it. Tonight, I’m watching him like a hawk.

  Feeling like a traitor in my own home, I place my hand on his chest. His slight grin alarms me, and when he moves so that I end up in his shoulder nook, I stiffen.

  As though he’s afraid to scare me off, Henrik keeps still. “Can you see the screen?”

  His cologne is stronger tonight, a citrus scent even more pleasant than when we first met. “No.” I push myself back up into a sitting position and he follows, making sure to keep his arm around me as we position ourselves again, and it stays that way until the show ends.

  As the credits roll, he turns his head, his lips now only half an inch from mine. “Not your type of show?”

  The heat of his breath hits my face. My reflex is to straighten up off the couch and reach for my glass. Cecilia’s warning about Henrik’s pattern of dumping any girl not willing to kiss him on the second date rings in my ears. But my inner contract killer has vanished, and I’m in no control over my body’s instinctive reactions.

  That character is as hollow as you are.

  “I loved it.” I force a smile with the lie.

  “Me too. If I were to rate it, I’d give it a top score.” Henrik rises from the couch and yawns. “I should get going.” He doesn’t wait for me to protest or ask him to stay. Instead, he walks to the hallway, puts on his jacket and shoes.

  You’re leaving already?

  I follow him, walking as sexy as I can. I hold the whiskey glass in my hand and sway it alongside my hip as I move. After lying side by side for an hour, he’ll kiss me for sure.

  His hand is on the door handle when he turns to face me. I shift my weight to my right hip, straightening it to stop myself from instinctively stepping back when he’ll lean towards me.

  Henrik holds the door open and pauses for a second as if contemplating what to do next. He smirks. “Goodbye.” He then leaves. No hug, no thanks for a pleasant evening, nothing.

  Shit. It’s been years since I dated, but this is far from the response I used to get.

  I blow into my palm and smell my breath. It’s fresh with a hint of whiskey, but Henrik drank it too, so it can’t be that.

  Henrik either kisses a woman or has sex with her on his second date. Tonight he did neither. He didn’t even try.

  Is my cover blown? Do you know I hate you?

  My mind spins with thoughts about why he acted the way he did. We were alone in my apartment, lying next to each other, and he didn’t make a move. Is he toying with me?

  Henrik kept a photo of Isac dead in his car. Did he know who Isac was? Did he know about me before we matched on Tinder? Is this why we matched so quickly? Because he knew who I was?

  13

  I fluff pillows on the couch, refill my whiskey glass, and head upstairs.

  Scanning through his browser history, no signs indicate that he knows who I am, or that he knew Isac. Of all the absurd ideas to imagine. I must be getting paranoid. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my years in IT security, it’s that people are not complex.

  Cecilia told me that she made the first move both in asking him out and in kissing him. Perhaps Henrik gets by on what women initiate while he examines their behaviors, adjusting to match their needs. He’s not a playboy pushing what he wants onto women. He makes himself be what the woman wants and needs by reading her signs. He’s doing what I’m doing, making himself be the perfect man, just without hacking his victims. I fight the thought, but it still creeps into my mind.

  It’s praiseworthy.

  If he had kissed me tonight, I wouldn’t have handled it well. I underestimate him. I’m trying to be what he wants, for him to fall in love with me, while he’s doing the same to me, but as a professional.

  I have to step up my game. On date three, I’ll get Henrik to kiss me, and I’ll convince him I liked it, no matter how difficult it is.

  Imagining his lips on mine brings me dizziness and nausea.

  Shit.

  On Henrik’s phone, the screen turns red. I count but give up. There are about a hundred hearts from Katelyn.

  No wonder he had to keep his visit short.

  Three dots appear, signaling that he’s responding to her. I’m in no mood to watch him lie. I switch off the screen. My phone lights up.

  I like having you in my arms. What do you think?

  While I’m reading his message, he types a heart in response to Katelyn, telling her he’s heading out for a run and will text her later.

  Liar. You just arrived home. The tracker on Tinder shows you a mile and a half from me, which is the correct distance to your home. Too bad Katelyn’s over a hundred miles away, and only sees the maximum reach, and not how you moved from one place to another tonight before responding to her messages.

  I reply to get this after-date chatting done with.

  Arms are better than having your feet on me ;)

  You’re funny in a whole new way, D. I enjoy your dry answers. Thank you for a lovely evening and good company.

  Thinking about this as a job did help. I’ll continue doing that. Get into the role of a contract killer. Killer of hearts.

  I think we’re done texting when another question arrives from Henrik.

  Does having me over make you stressed?

  The way he acted would make anyone uneasy. But since he’s asking, I didn’t do my job well enough and might as well be honest about how I felt.

  It felt like an inspection, both of the apartment and me.

  Oh. I’m of course curious to see how you live. Want to understand you the best I can.

  And that’s your strategy? No wonder you’re more comfortable with text messages than in real life.

  Were you stressed?

  No. Curious, a little excited, a little happy, and a little pleased.

  Pleased?

  Yes. You have a very charming smile.

  I struggled at the end of the episode—completely empty. The cool air woke me on my way home, though.

  I forgot that Henrik has been fucking Katelyn all weekend and surfing with her entire family. He must have been too exhausted to come on to me.

  A minute passes before he texts again.

  I rarely see such clean and tidy homes, and I liked it. I’d love to see you in that dress again. Left me speechless.

  I’ll make sure never to wear it again then ;) You should talk more. I like you. Happiness is not ready-made. It comes from your own actions ;) I wanted to kiss you when you smiled. Thought about it before I left.

  Were you scared I’d reject you?

  It doesn’t matter.

  I grin a
s I text Cecilia.

  He likes me

  Told you so ;) I’m on a date, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

  Date? Aren’t you heartbroken over Henrik?

  With who?

  Stop by for breakfast tomorrow, and I’ll tell you then.

  I don’t know where you live…

  I could never find her exact home address online.

  I’ll send you the address. Talk tomorrow

  On the tram to Cecilia’s the following morning, the people outside seem miserable. An old man in a hat waits to cross the street, upset that no cars stop, although he’s not waiting at a crosswalk, a couple argues on the sidewalk, and two men push strollers, probably on paternity leave and deep in a heated conversation.

  Keen to know what Henrik is saying about our date last night, I brought the cloned phone with me. I catch myself grinning at messages where Simen writes:

  Giving up?

  Henrik responds:

  I’ve got it under control. But I actually like this girl.

  I laugh to myself.

  It takes a few minutes before Simen’s reply comes up.

  You should choose one of them if you want to start a family. I get you won’t marry any of these women right away, but choose one and get rid of the rest. It’s not cool to be single at forty. You have a good selection. It would suck being an old father with a toddler.

  Wow! He’s only thirty-five now. But Simen has a point. If Henrik continues like he’s done, he’ll never be a father. If he gets a woman pregnant in a year, add nine months, and he’ll probably be thirty-seven by the time the child arrives.

  Henrik responds:

  I know. I’ve thought about it and decided I’ll choose one before the new year.

  Unbelievable! It sounds like he’s on a diet and allowed a cheat day where he selects one chocolate to enjoy.

  Simen replies:

  Katelyn’s ready.

  Why the hell is Simen cheering for her? Does he want Henrik to move to Bergen? Or is he so coldhearted that he wants her to rip her kids away from friends and family to live here in Oslo with this asshole where she’s bound to meet women Henrik has slept with at every event they go to?

  The good news is that Henrik likes me. The bad news is that I’ve got only three months to make him dump Thea and Katelyn, stop spending nights with his ex Helle, and aim to spend his life with me.

  I step off the tram and take in the sight of Oslo’s affluent west side and its grand buildings.

  How can Cecilia afford to live here as a grief counselor? Are her parents wealthy?

  A flock of pigeons fly over me, blocking the sun. It reminds me of when the policewoman broke the news to me of Isac’s death, how she blocked the light from the window behind her, and my mind was about to explode.

  I straighten up. My stride is fast and hard on the asphalt, my eyes locked on the ground until I reach the archway into Cecilia’s apartment building. On either side are matching trees with red berries. Vines climb over the brick exterior. The courtyard is a luscious garden with a graveled track leading to her white front door.

  It’s charming, like every building on this block.

  The door flings open and a man practically falls out with a giggling Cecilia in his arms. His blond hair is pulled back from his face, he’s dressed in a gray suit, and his cologne is overpowering.

  “Daniella! Hi.” Her face turns red. “Um, this is Fredrik. We’re on a date.”

  “Date? I feel violated.” He laughs as he holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Sure.” I look over at Cecilia.

  What happened to your devastation over losing Henrik?

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Fredrik calls after us as Cecilia pulls me into her building. We go up a grand curving staircase to her second-floor apartment and through her double door entrance, which she shuts behind us.

  Her apartment is enormous with an open floor plan, ceilings double the height of mine. The walls are white and the kitchen is matte black with a white oak backsplash.

  Cecilia wraps her arms around me. “How are you holding up?”

  “Not as good as you, apparently.” I wrestle free.

  “Why don’t you come back to the group?” She gestures for me to sit on the couch.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  Cecilia sits back in a large armchair next to me, her arms folded in her lap like a shrink. “You’re clearly not. You can’t continue like this. You have to open up at some point.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t mix me up with any of your clients. I’m curious, though, about how fast your heartbreak from Henrik subsided.”

  Is she drunk? I’ve heard people in this neighborhood do daydrink a lot.

  “Plenty of fish in the sea. Breakfast then.” Cecilia stands, holding out her hand. “I googled a bit more about how to make Henrik fall in love with you and found two tricks.”

  I let her pull me back up. “Do tell.”

  “Henrik must feel connected, understood, and accepted by you for who he is at his core, not only on the surface but for every flaw.” She gestures for us to move into her kitchen. “The more secrets he dares to share, and you reward him for, the better.”

  I nod. “I can do that. Make Henrik trust me enough to open up.”

  Cecilia’s forehead wrinkles as she struggles with how to tell me her second trick. “The next thing is to look into his eyes for three minutes straight, without making fun of the experience.”

  “What? I can’t do that. I’ll collapse just thinking about how I’m deceiving my husband.” I can’t think about this anymore. I divert my attention to her minimalistic apartment. “Going for a Scandinavian feel?” Next to the dining table is a wall covered in black, white, and oak picture frames of people laughing.

  Cecilia nods. “Let’s not talk about my decor or dating life.” She winks and opens her fridge.

  I’ve seen organized fridges on Instagram and Pinterest, but nothing like her labeled plastic containers for vegetables, snacks, cans, and Cava bottles. She hands me a see-through bowl marked eggs with organic eggs in different shades.

  “Update me on Henrik.” She readies a pot of eggs on the cooktop for boiling.

  I pierce holes in four of them. “Come on. How did you get this place?”

  “Bought it,” she says, as though every person in the world has ten million in their bank account. When I don’t respond, she explains. “I run a fairly successful home-organizing company.” As though that explains it. “My team organizes messy rooms, closets, and other stuff into pretty labeled boxes for people who don’t have the time or creativity to do it themselves.”

  I should know better than to underestimate a woman just because she wears flashy clothes and matches her nail polish to her outfits. I used to do that myself.

  “Not just a grief counselor then,” I conclude.

  “No, I do that in my free time. After my sister died, I attended several groups to cope, but none of them worked for me, so I started my own. Partly to help myself and partly to help others.”

  In the picture frames, one face reoccurs of a brown-haired teenage girl. “Your sister?” I point to an image of a younger Cecilia captured nose-to-nose with the brown-haired girl. Cecilia wears the same necklace she still has on today with a ‘W’ on it. The girls are laughing so hard that tears run down their faces.

  “Yes.” Cecilia sets the egg timer. “How’s our plan coming along?”

  Her swift change of topic makes it clear she doesn’t want to talk about her family. Even though I’m still curious, I drop it. “Had our second date last night. No kiss, though.”

  “That’s odd, him breaking his own rules? You didn’t go in for a kiss, either?”

  I stare at her. “Me?”

  She laughs. “Of course you. Who else?”

  “I would never initiate a kiss. The man should do that.”

  “Yes, of course. Henrik should ask for the date, plan it, take the lead, pay, and you should lay on your back, le
gs spread wide, ready to provide children. We’re not living in the stone age anymore.”

  I gasp but can’t help agreeing with her. “Well. We did agree that Henrik likes the hunt.”

  The timer goes off. “I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to avoid having him kiss on your next date.” Cecilia empties the pot and soaks the eggs in cold water. “Unless you want to stop dating him.”

  “No. I know. I hope I don’t slap Henrik in response.” The thought of kissing him makes my mouth water. Not like when I’m hungry, but the way my spit glands go berserk right before I throw up. “Who knows, he might not even go for one. He’s acting so unlike what I expected, it’s unnerving.”

  My phone pings. “It’s Henrik.” I hold it up to show her.

  “You deal with him, I’ll finish breakfast.”

  You smell nice

  I slouch onto Cecilia’s couch and call back to her. “Apparently, I smell nice.”

  “So did I.” She takes out a loaf of bread from a drawer underneath the kitchen island.

  I laugh. “I noticed you’re not texting with Henrik anymore?”