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

by Alexandra Winter

  No help for free in their family.

  The doors to the drawing room open and Grandfather blocks the doorway rubbing his hands together. He looks agitated.

  “My son will stay with us tonight. I'll drive him home tomorrow.”

  Mom gets up from the sofa. Dad sits at the dining room table, his head hanging low, staring at the empty whiskey glass. He turns carefully and nods to her for us to go.

  “Are you sure?” Mom takes a step in his direction.

  “Of course! I need to take charge of my son’s hopeless situation.”

  All evening, Mom’s acted like a shadow of herself, like she usually does with Dad and his family around. But now, Mom straightens her back and tells Grandfather with a clear voice, “With all respect, I didn’t ask you. I asked my husband.”

  When Dad turns to Mom, he has the same empty look on his face as the boy in the family picture in the hall. “Just—Go. I'll be home tomorrow.”

  What is going on? Dad must be desperate for help to stay here.

  How could I have missed this? Tomorrow, I’ll get up early and clean as many of the cars at Skar’s Auto as I can before he returns.

  Before I have time to think, Grandmother escorts us out into the hallway, hovering over us as we put our shoes back on before opening the door to let us out. Outside, dark clouds cover the moon. As I grab the door handle to get into the car, a neighbor strolls past the gate with her black king poodle. Its cotton ball haircut makes me smile. The woman notices and smiles back as Grandmother’s voice rings through the air in a joyful tone. “Well, this has been lovely. I wish you the best of luck with your prestigious school in Spain, Amalie.”

  I turn back to her in time to see the door close on the maid mopping the hallway floors where our shoes stood.

  On the way home, Mom doesn’t speak.

  Neither do I until we cross the drawbridge. “Can I borrow your car tomorrow morning?”

  Mom loosens her tight grip on the steering wheel. “Of course, what do you need it for?”

  “I want to help Dad, so I thought I’d clean the cars again before he gets back.”

  “I’m sure that will please him,” Mom says.

  “I don’t know about those samples, though.” I look back at the two bags placed in the back seat. “Velvet wallpaper?”

  “We can’t use it. Your grandmother means well, but a home is not a museum, and by adding wallpaper that we can’t clean, our home will no longer be a home and a place to relax. I mean, what if someone accidentally spills something? Why on earth she wants us to turn our home into the prison she lives in every day is beyond me.” Mom sighs. “I’m sorry, Amalie. I guess I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Your grandmother means well.”

  I nod, but know she’s trying to convince herself more than me. If she meant well, she’d ask Mom if she even wanted to redecorate, not push it on her. “It’s our home too, not just Dad’s.”

  The rest of the way, we sit in silence. Maybe Mom’s mind is stressed as much as mine about tomorrow. What kind of mood will Dad be in when he returns? I can’t shake the unnerving feeling that this is a changing moment in both his and our lives.

  WHISKEY

  To make sure I don’t look tired when meeting William later today, I’ve set my alarm to seven o’clock this morning. Still, summer is approaching, and at five thirty the sun is up, and so am I. My purple yoga mat catches my attention. I change into yoga pants and a sports bra I can breathe in before pressing play on my app.

  Soothing piano music competes for my attention while I desperately strain to straighten my legs out in down dog. Yoga is new to me, but I’ve tried running to clear my mind, without success. It seems so relaxing in movies, what characters do to de-stress, jogging along rivers and through forests, but my thighs rub together and my boobs hurt too much. Either the sports bras won't give me enough space to breathe, or my boobs jump around like flipper bats in a pinball machine making me feel too silly to go on. Now, trying to control my breathing while having my butt sticking up, I don’t feel any less foolish, but at least, no one sees me.

  The whispering woman’s voice instructs me to gently shift position and sit with my legs stretched out in front of me, grab hold of my calves, and relax my upper body over my legs. As if that is possible. No matter how hard I push my upper body forward, I can’t reach further down than my knees. I glance over at the lean figure demonstrating how relaxing this should be and turn her off mid-sentence. I get in the shower and wash my hair. I want to be prepared for meeting William later, in case Dad asks me to work late. Before driving Mom’s car to Skar’s Auto to begin cleaning, I check the mailbox. No letter. Knowing I’ll meet William, I blast the radio and sing along to every song on my way to work.

  Three hours later, the sun warms my face, and I lay down the power washer, dry off my hands on the towel tied to my waist before holding them up for heat. Rubbing my fingers together, sensation seeps back, and I turn on the washer to continue. Dad has a strict routine for washing cars, and although it takes three times as long to finish, I follow it to make sure I don’t upset him when he arrives. Already I’ve dried off five Porsches and blamed them for his financial struggles. Not even Mom knew about it, and the more I clean, the more curious I am to hear his side of Grandfather’s accusations when he comes home.

  No customers stop by, so at six o’clock in the evening, I rush home to meet William. I pause at my closet. My old favorite red sweater is teasing me from the back of the neatly folded tops. I yank it out and pull it on. Wearing it feels wrong now that Dad’s told me it doesn’t suit me, and although I used to love it, I no longer do. I change into a white long-sleeve and run downstairs to add a scarf and a jacket.

  On my way to The Bluebird, I check the mailbox; it’s empty as usual. The walk is only ten minutes, but when I get there, William is sitting on a bench out on the harbor, motionless, gazing out on the water. It trickles past only inches away from him; there is no direct sunlight at this hour, but the ripples still sparkle.

  “This view is the best part of living here,” I say, taking a seat next to him, not knowing if I’m referring to the water or him.

  Behind us, the low chatter from the restaurants fills the silence. Moisture in the air cools my skin against the sun-warmed wood beneath us.

  “It’s reason enough to stay,” William says.

  With no letter from DAP arriving, I still have a chance to get the scholarship. It hasn’t registered with me until now, but sitting here, next to William, forcing myself to look at our surroundings reminds me what I might be leaving behind. This is my home. I know every pine tree, the smell of every grass, where to find the best mussels, and every sound the different waves make crashing or gliding into our shore by heart.

  “Or come back to one day.” I look at him, his green eyes, and smile. Is it smart for me to get to know him better? Every time I see him, my smile grows wider and the butterflies in my stomach flutter like crazy. I force myself to look out on the water when all I want is to stare at him, his full lips and the way they move as he speaks.

  William leans back, casually placing his arm on the backrest behind me. “Are you going somewhere?”

  I stare out on the water. “I don’t think so.”

  But I hope to.

  “You think,” William says.

  I pause and take a deep breath. I don’t want to scare him off. “I applied for a scholarship for a design school in Portugal. But getting it would be like winning the lottery twice, so no. I’m not going anywhere.” I get up and stroll along the water. He follows.

  “Good. Would be lovely to know someone here if I decide to move.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What about old friends or your parents?”

  “Someone other than family. My friends no longer live here.” He glances up to the cars parked in the square in front of The Bluebird. “How’s the dealership going? It can’t be easy to sell luxury cars in a place like this?”

  I don’t want to embarrass Dad, reveal
he’s struggling. “It’s not. Unless you know what you’re doing…” I turn away from the water, and we walk one street up. “Here’s Nana’s house. If you listen, you can hear the sounds from boats on the water. It travels all the way up here.”

  I stop to listen. William stops too, but he doesn’t face the water, he looks at me.

  My palms moisten again. I swallow. “Do you hear it?” I pretend to listen closer to shift his attention. Far off in the distance, a boat cruises by, a woman on board talking about her dogs. When he slips his hand into mine, I’m the only one listening in on the dog conversation.

  “Why don’t you have lunch with me in Oslo this week?”

  I pull my hand out of his, wipe it on my sweater while imagining myself strolling hand in hand in Oslo.

  Shit. Am I falling for him?

  I don’t even like Oslo, too many people. My mind is spinning. Dad warned me he might make a fool out of me, and if I fall in love with him, that wouldn’t be difficult to do. “I work all week. I can’t.”

  But what if he’s only trying to be nice? Maybe he’s a good guy, not out to fool me? I try to sound casual while bubbling with excitement inside. “Um, I’ll let you know if an opening comes up.” What am I talking about? I sound insane. Dad’s warning is coming true right now. I’m embarrassing myself. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, I…Um…Would that be a date to you? Or are you…I don’t know…What do you want with me?”

  William laughs. “Calm down. I want to get to know you, that’s all.”

  I’m shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I don’t want to be played, or embarrassed. “So, if I come to Oslo, what would we do?”

  “Come, and I’ll show you.” He strolls on, leaving me behind in front of Nana’s house.

  I grin, and an urge to jump up and down comes over me. I let William walk off so I can calm myself. This is insane. One comment like that, and I lose all control? No, I have to stay rational about this. I walk up to him. “Why?”

  “Well, if you must know. You’re different. I like that.”

  “How?”

  “Up until now, you don’t seem needy, or clingy,” he says.

  I laugh. Knowing myself, I’m more capable of pushing William away than clinging on. “Are you?”

  A smirk slides up his lips making him appear above the concept of needing anyone as if it doesn’t apply to him. “No need to be.”

  Of course, there wouldn’t be. According to both Dad and Grandfather, I would be lucky if a man like William even looks at me. But he is looking, and he’s asking me, not Josefine, to Oslo. Or maybe he’s asked us both? No, he’s not that type of man, is he? “You said you wanted to know someone here. You know Josefine, right?”

  William laughs. “She strikes me as too emotional to want to be around, don’t you think?”

  Remembering her outburst at the bakery, I nod. “Her father has always been too kind to her. It’s not her fault.”

  “Of course not. But a parent’s job isn’t to be the child’s friend. It’s to prepare them for the world. I guess you and I have had more of the same upbringing. She’s clearly not prepared for anything. Let me walk you home, Amalie. It’s late, and I have a long drive ahead of me.”

  “You’re leaving for Oslo tonight already?” We both catch the desperation in my voice. I’ve spoken of restraint and shown none. “I’ll walk myself. Have a safe drive home.” I turn and walk down the street away from him. I must have said something stupid since he wanted to leave, but I don’t want to ask him about it. That would be clingy and not like me anyway. If I said something wrong, it’s better to get away from him as soon as possible, so I march down the street.

  William calls after me. “See you in Oslo.”

  I call back without turning. “I can’t. I’m working.” Asking Dad for a day off now that he needs me more than ever is out of the question. But when I leave the last bit of asphalt behind, and the silence of our soft dirt road caresses the soles of my ballerina shoes, I’ve planned the whole day out in my head.

  By the time I reach the mailbox outside my house, I’ve searched for every excuse I can use to get a day off. I check the mail, knowing the postman hasn’t been here, still relieved to find it empty. No matter what I think doesn’t change the fact that Dad is struggling and I have to help him.

  Inside, Mom has set a plate aside for me with chicken breast and root puree. Dad’s plate sits on the table, and I’m about to ask Mom about it when Grandfather’s car headlights pierce through the trees leading up to our driveway in front of the house.

  Mom hands me my plate to bring to my room. “I need to talk to your father alone.”

  I don’t question her. Dad hasn’t spent the night at his parents before, so I don’t want to be in the way when he gets back. Heading upstairs, our family portrait stares back at me. I was only six years at the time, and Dad and I had joined Mom at a party at The Bluebird. In it, Mom has her arms around me while Dad looks off to the side. It’s the last photo taken of Mom, Dad and me together.

  Stalling outside my door, there’s the muffled sound of a car door closing, followed by Dad’s shoes up the stairs to our house, his step sounding different than usual. His movement carries a heavier rhythm.

  I open my door simultaneously as Dad enters the front door downstairs. I wait to listen in.

  “Did your father pay for these suits?” Mom asks carefully.

  Dad’s frustrated voice echoes up to my room. “Of course not. Why do you have to make everything so hard for me, huh? I need these. My old suits don’t fit anymore. I’ll pay it off in a few weeks, don’t worry.”

  I close my bedroom door. I don’t want Dad to catch me eavesdropping.

  Sitting down at my desk to eat, I open the drawer and pull out my sketchbook. If I had only asked Mr. Dahl about what he’d like the first time. Now that Dad promised him I wouldn’t bother him about it, I can’t. I’m such an idiot. A sheep, not a leader. Dad’s right. I need to think things through more, not just act. I put my earplugs in and stare at the white page. My first attempt was too modern, so this has to be more traditional. Browsing through a graphic design book Nana gave me, I decide to change the fonts. So, I start over.

  On the last page of the book, Nana has written: One day, our dreams become our reality. But before that day, we must dare acknowledge what they are.

  I read the words over. She’s relentless. I have no issue acknowledging my dreams. I want to get into DAP to make her proud of me; I don’t need a reminder. Maybe Dad’s right that Nana doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and having her nag me about it doesn’t help my fall if I don’t get in.

  I tuck the note into my drawer and stare down at my sketchbook. For years I have drawn and painted my thoughts, and now it’s up to the school board to decide if I’m good enough. Feeling powerless, my thoughts move from fear to preparing myself for failure. According to Dad and Mr. Dahl, I don’t stand a chance of getting in. Perhaps they’re right. Anyways, it’s a new country, Portugal, I’ll have to start a new life there, and I don’t even speak the language. On top of that, I don't know anyone. No, it might be better to get declined, stay here.

  After tweaking my ninth attempt at a new poster for Mr. Dahl, I place it in my desk drawer with the rest of my designs and lock it. The leftover food I didn’t finish has dried up on my plate, and although I know not to leave my room until Mom or Dad tells me, I bring it downstairs.

  The house is quiet. I tread lightly with every step holding onto the railing.

  While I enter the dining room, Dad exits the bathroom, newly showered, his hair wet.

  The room smells of whiskey. “Is Grandfather here?”

  Mom stands up from the table instantly. “No, he dropped your father off in the driveway.” She puts my plate into the kitchen and ushers me back toward the stairs. “You can talk to Dad tomorrow, Amalie. He’s tired.”

  Behind us, Dad lumbers over to the dining table and slumps down in his chair. Something is wrong. I look at Mom
as she climbs the first step of the stairs behind me.

  If Grandfather hasn’t been inside the house, the whiskey smell must come from Dad. Before I’m able to stop myself, I blurt out the words. “Are you drunk, Dad?”

  He straightens his back, no longer hanging his head. “How did your date with Mr. Successful go today?”

  My mind races for answers. I’ve never seen Dad drunk before. Like me, he hates losing control. On the floor in the hallway are large paper bags, fancy ones with silk string handles, so the suits he bought can’t have been cheap.

  Mom ruffles her hair while forcing a smile.

  Dad’s playing with the food on his plate while mumbling. “You should have sold him a car.”

  I whisper as I walk with Mom up the staircase. “Is this because of Skar’s Auto?” I can’t find the words to question Dad directly because I don’t want to start a discussion or upset him. He seems troubled enough already. So much so that he’s tried to drink his way out of it. Something he’s told me only stupid people do because they can’t see a way out of their problems when they just haven’t looked deep enough.

  DAD

  The following morning, I open my yoga app, staring at the woman on the image behind the menu. She is doing the scorpion handstand, and at that moment, I set myself a new goal. One day, I’ll be strong enough to do that pose, and enjoy it. I slip into my workout wear, roll the yoga mat out on the floor next to my bed and set my app to a forty-five-minute session, the longest one yet.

  The soothing woman’s voice instructs me, “Let’s begin in child’s pose.”

  I follow her movements. Seated, with my butt on the heels of my feet I lean forward, stretching my arms as far as I can with my nose glued to the mat.

  No problem, I can do this.

  “Take a deep breath in.”

  I do, and my lungs expand. Yoga isn’t so hard. I exhale, and I am about to take another deep breath when the woman’s voice tells me.

  “Then exhale,” she says. I don’t have any air left to let out. I quickly inhale to exhale with her. From there, I can’t follow a single command. After tipping over in a tree pose, I turn the app off to shower.