by Emily Childs
Axel doesn’t say anything; he is too focused on finding my mouth again. After a time, I pull back and rest my head on his shoulder. “I can try to come up to Wisconsin sometime.” I bite the inside of my cheek, nervous for the response.
“Yeah,” he says, his cheek on my head. “We’ll figure it all out. It’s your last semester, so you need to have some fun. I loved last year, now it’s all serious and work in the actual therapy program. Well, I take that back. I have roommates who still know how to have a good time. You should too, though. After school then it’s going to be real life, with finding jobs and all that boring stuff.”
“Fun and studying don’t really mesh well. I just want to get through and be done.”
“Oh, you’ve got to go have some fun. Meet new people. I challenge you to do something crazy this semester—out of the ordinary for you. I think you’ll be happy you did.”
“Okay then, what about you?” I say, arching to meet his gaze. “What new thing are you going to do?”
Axel considers for a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t know, yet. Maybe I’ll find a new study group every week. My roommates and I did that one semester, we met so many people.”
I can’t nail down why these suggestions feel a little different than what I think a boyfriend should tell his girlfriend. Wait. Is that what we are? We go out. Talk on the phone, text late. We certainly aren’t afraid to touch. What else is there that qualifies a relationship? The idea sends a spark of heat through my stomach.
“Are you coming back for the summer?” I ask, hopeful.
Axel glances at me his smile fades a bit. “I guess it depends on clinical rotations—like an internship basically. I have to get so many hours.”
I wrap my arms around his waist. “It just feels like life is changing, and this is just it.”
“Hey, we have fun, so when we see each other we’ll just pick up where we left off. I don’t have any plans to make any drastic changes soon, do you?” I quickly shake my head. “See, nothing to worry about then.”
We sit in silence for several minutes. I trace my fingertips along his palm. One of his hands tips my chin up toward his face. “I hate to say it, but it’s time for me to go.”
This moment has been coming, I’m ready. Not really. I can’t shake the gloomy thought that things will change. The unease is most likely from the distance, the newness of the relationship, and my tendency to overthink. But then Axel cups his hand around my face, my skin tingles beneath his touch. I grip his wrist, wishing we could stay like this all night.
“Drive safely. Will you call me, or text me, or whatever works for you?” I whisper.
Axel answers by kissing me. Hard, and the kind of kiss that leaves me limp and at his mercy. He brushes my hair out of my face for the millionth time and smiles his beautiful, charismatic smile.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he says right next to my ear when he pulls me into a tight hug. “This has been awesome, Brita.”
I flush and bury my face into his shoulder. “I would have to agree,” I say. “Okay, I’m going now, or I’ll never leave.”
“Remember,” he says through the open window. “Do something crazy.”
“Only since you asked,” I tease.
“Okay. Don’t let Jonas bug you.”
“I’ll try. Talk to you soon?”
Axel nods, takes my hand and kisses the top. I want to fling my arms around his neck and never let go. But I step away and wave like a woman bidding farewell to her love who is heading to war. The icy wind, the billowing snow, and my frozen fingertips are the bleak reminder that summer, when we might both be back here again, is astronomically too far away.
Chapter 10
Agnes sits next to me on the couch as we giggle and snap selfies together. I am named the best frowner, while Agnes blows my silly faces out of the water. Her left hand trembles as she exerts all her concentration to grip my cell phone. It takes every bit of self-control not to help her scroll through the photos. I know she needs to work her muscles. Axel took a slight interest in Agnes’s motor control, and mentioned a few kids he’d observed during school clinics. We didn’t get far into talk about cerebral palsy and kids before the conversation drifted to other things that didn’t involve much talking.
I’ve received one text since he left. The one I asked for; letting me know he made it back to school. He asked me to call him when I get back. He cares.
“Hey dweeb, feel special that I’m missing Amy Matheson’s party to hang out with you,” Oscar grumbles when he slumps onto the couch.
“Oh, please. I’m leaving at seven, what party starts before seven on a Saturday night?”
“That’s mean, Oskie. I’m going to miss you Brita. You always leave,” Agnes pouts.
I squeeze her small shoulders. “I always come back, and just make sure you’re on the calls every Sunday, okay? Oh, and flick Oscar’s ear once a day for me.”
Agnes squeals and tries to get her brother’s ear. Oscar teases a bit, dodging and ducking from her little fingers, but like a good big brother, soon Agnes grapples her thin arm around his neck and snags a good solid flick.
“Alright, everyone get in here,” Farfar calls. “One last family dinner.”
“You all act like I’m dying,” I say. “I’m going to be an hour away.”
The table is set nearly as grandly as Christmas dinner. Karl helps Inez with a heavy baking dish filled with a savory roast, followed by a heaping bowl of Karl’s famous mashed potatoes. Farfar beams when we all take our places. Dad sneaks in just in time for grace. Farfar harrumphs disapproval for his tardiness, but my dad only gives my hand a squeeze.
Oscar is still digging into the potato bowl for thirds when I groan and pat my stomach. “I think I ate enough for my first week at school. Thank you,” I say and take Farfar’s wrinkled hand in mine. “I’m going to miss you, but May will be here soon enough.”
“It will be wonderful having you back here. I know Inez is looking forward to your help in the shop again,” Farfar says, sipping his water. “It brings me such joy to see our family working what we built with our own two hands. Now, I am blessed to see you all leading the bakery so beautifully.”
“Are you wanting to run the bakery, Brita?” Oscar asks through an enormous gravy-soaked bite of potatoes. “I thought you would actually use your degree.”
“Of course she’s coming back,” Farfar says before I can reply.
I pick at my leftover bits of roll wishing a sink hole would open in the floorboards and swallow me up.
“Have you asked her, Pops?” Dad says, but he’ll always have my back.
“Brita has always wanted to work in the shop, right?” Inez asks.
Everyone is counting on my return, no one more than my aunt. “My degree is versatile,” I say softly. I’m weak and spineless. Harsh, but I deserve it. A glaring opportunity to spout off what I want, and I crumble.
That’s right,” Farfar says. “She can run the bakery and work with English on—what did you call it—telecoming?”
“Telecommuting, Pops. Some careers can be done from home,” says Inez.
“Very sensible,” Farfar offers with such pride. I feel my skin turning green. “Brita, you’ve always been so thoughtful to this family. You have worked hard these years at school and will do greater things with Hanna’s than I could ever imagine. We are all so proud of you, so we wanted to give you a little gift.”
Dad dips under the table and holds a wrapped package.
I smile, forgetting for a moment in a few months I will be forced to choose between partnering in my family’s bakery or chasing a dream career. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”
“You deserve it,” my dad says. “Your mom chipped in too.”
With new excitement, I tear into the brown wrapping paper. I’m stunned silent. A brand new, top-of-the-line, fully loaded, college-graduate-style laptop. Through all scholarly years, I’ve used the computer lab stocked wall to wall with outdated, testy compu
ters. I run a gentle hand over the box as if it might shatter if I press too hard.
“This is amazing,” I whisper.
“She hasn’t seen the best part!” Agnes shouts.
“What’s the best part?”
“Open it!” She clutches her curled hand in front of her mouth, as if trying to stifle another squeal.
The box is open. I slide out the sleek black computer and with uncanny speed the machine fires up. On the screen was a smiling picture of my family, beaming at me at the front door of the bakery. Oscar is making a face; Agnes’s head is thrown back in laughter. Karl is kissing Inez’s cheek, Dad smiles the way he always does, and Farfar truly looks like he has every treasure in the world.
“I love it you guys. I love it so much,” I say, fearful I might break down in tears.
“I knew she would,” Farfar says. “We will miss you, älskling. Nils, you should drive her. Don’t you want to drive her?”
“Farfar, I’m fine,” I insist. Dad seems ready to agree for a second. As much as I love my father, I’m looking forward to my drive with Jonas. We’ve found an easy companionship over the last three weeks. I’m not too proud to admit I enjoy his company. And I hope if I am with Jonas, it might fill the void of missing Axel. “Really, I like to go back and get settled on my own. I get my independence from you remember.”
Farfar smiles and nods. “I won’t argue that.” He glances at his watch. “Well, I suppose you should get your things. It’s nearly time for your bus.”
“I can wait with you at the stop,” Dad says.
“Really, please. I’d rather just say goodbye at the house if it’s all right with you all.”
“Like a band aid,” Karl says.
“Sure, something like that.” This happens every semester. When summer ends it gets worse. I am loved and needed. It feels good. I only wish I could be honest.
Ever since my mom and dad began having problems, I kept so many things inside so as not to add to the conflict. Now, the habit has morphed into hiding things. Not my most appealing personality trait, and I wish I could be an open book with the people who love me. Like about who I’m driving with; about Axel; about a career in the literary field. I’ve spun my own web of omission, and soon it will burst. I’ll be the only one to blame.
***
“Bye, sweetheart,” Dad says outside. He pulls me into a tight hug. “It was so nice having you at the office these last few weeks. Have a great semester.”
I breathe deeply. After the divorce, Dad buried himself in his work. True enough, I’ve cherished seeing so much more of my old dad this season too.
“See you later. Don’t gain those fifteen pounds, there’s still time you know, so you’d better watch it,” Oscar says.
“Don’t screw up the championships,” I reply. He slugs me and runs back inside to escape the frigid night.
I notice the black sedan across the street, its headlights are on and the car is running. Uh, does Jonas expect me to stroll over and get in the car. Look, I want to end the feud, but I’m not ready to be that bold yet. Then I hear the cheery bell ding and the door to Clara’s opens.
Farfar stiffens on his way to wrap his arms around me, his eyes shoot across the street. Elias, Jonas and Viggo trudge outside. Jonas carries a duffle bag and catches our staring eyes in the night. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
I hear Jonas’s voice. He pleads with his grandfather, who hobbles around the car with his own frustrated expression burning beneath the streetlamps.
“Philip, if I hear of you spreading nonsense that my grandsons shop at your café, you will not recover when I get through with you, you twit!”
“Farfar, please don’t.” My own appeals are swiftly ignored.
Inez links her arm with Karl. They turn back into the house, taking Agnes with them.
Dad insists the family go back inside, but Farfar doesn’t listen and moves around him.
“I would never say such a thing,” my grandfather says. “If I saw any sign of the likes of you in my shop I would lock up for the night and consider the day a failure.”
“Pops come on,” Dad says.
“Please,” I add.
He doesn’t listen. “Now, why don’t you send that boy off and leave us in peace. Any more words from your foul mouth will cause my ears to bleed.”
Jonas meets my eye. I want to scream; he looks like he might. But instead he ducks into his car and slowly pulls away from the madness. I dream of the safety of that car. Where a neutral line is drawn, where maybe, for a moment, an Olsen and a Jacobson can pretend there is nothing but friendship between the two names.
I watch Elias urge Viggo back toward Clara’s, but to my surprise he calls across the street to my dad.
“Nils, my father was out of line starting this, but you might work a little harder keeping the kids out of this. We don’t go after your girl.”
We’re not kids, but I feel small in the thick of this. Besides, Elias hadn’t been exactly friendly at the grocery store last week. If only he knew how much his family means to me. How much his two boys are a part of my life now.
“Elias let’s just end this here. I’m trying to say goodbye to my daughter,” Dad says, with a level of civility that brings a sense of pride to my heart.
Perhaps Elias has a head on his shoulders. He says nothing more, but gruffly nods his agreement and goes back inside.
“You shouldn’t have backed down,” Farfar says to my dad.
“He should have, Farfar,” I snap. Wow. I spoke up. “I love you and I love it here, but someday it would be nice to see the Olsen family without starting a war. Now, I need to get going. Please, don’t overwork yourself, Farfar. Dad, I’ll call you later, okay?”
Farfar grumbles over my shoulder when I hug him, but he smiles when we pull away. Dad gets another hug, and my feet are already freezing when I start the trek to the gas station.
I’m looking so forward to Jonas’s warm car that I don’t even have a chance to worry about my deception.
When I make it to the station his car is locked.
“Hey, Brita.” He sneaks up behind me, a plastic bag in one hand and a tray of hot chocolates in the other.
“Hi. Here, let me take that,” I say and take the tray out of his hands. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”
“It’s freezing, yes I did.” Jonas clicks his key fob and pops his trunk. Tossing the snacks on the driver’s seat, he takes my bag. I don’t wait before I get settled in the front.
Somberness, with a hint of feeling sorry for myself sours my mood and by the time Jonas takes his place behind the wheel, there is a grim presence in the car.
“What’s going on with you? Everything okay?”
I grip the hot chocolate and stare out the window. “Were you back there just now?” I snap. “I can’t do it anymore, Jonas. I’m positive my grandfather would kill you if he knew you were driving me right now. I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of this anymore. I can’t be the person to change it.”
Jonas lets me rant as he pulls into traffic. I take a deep breath after a moment and watch his jaw tighten, but his lips aren’t pressed together, his brow isn’t furrowed. He’s simply listening.
His voice is soft when he answers, and I feel calmer right away. “Who says you have to be the one to change it, Brita? When did other people’s grudges become your responsibility?”
I need someone like him right now, a listener and friend. A grin kisses the corner of my mouth. I want to tell him about Farmor’s letter, but something stops me. Not now, not tonight. I don’t want the reminder.
I take a swig of my cocoa. He put Irish cream in the chocolate and I almost moan at the first taste. “Forget it. It’s not up to me, I guess. I’m sorry, I was upset about something else, and then to see our families go at it again, but I’ll be a better road tripper now.”
“What else had you upset?” Jonas asks.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that,” I say, and reach f
or the radio. Eighties time.
An audible gasp passes over my lips, and I’m not sure what embarrasses me more; the gasp or Jonas’s intensity when he looks at me. My eyes trail down to my hand. Jonas has blocked my reach for the radio, his fingers still lightly on top of mine, and he shakes his head.
“I do want to hear about it,” he says. “We’re friends, right? I want to know if you want to tell me.”
I’m floored. I keep my feelings close. Yet, in the dark of this car with gummies, chocolate bars, greasy chips and cocoa between us, I somehow feel safe. There arrives a new kind of relief in trusting someone other than my family. Someone who genuinely cares. I know Jonas is sincere, the warmth of it rushes through me the same as the cocoa. With Jonas I never need to impress, so naturally he’s earned the honest, gritty truth of Brita Jacobson. With Axel, I guess I have more reservations. Seems backward.
“Okay,” I begin. “Does your family expect you to help run Clara’s someday?”
Jonas considers my words then slowly nods. “That’s sort of why I took an interest in business and finance. I want to be able to help my family like your dad helps yours. I found some old records of a scammer that nearly took the bakery right out from beneath my grandparents about thirty years ago. Since I’m a terrible baker—I’ll just get that right out there—I’d like to help protect the business from anything like that again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be a full-time face of the bakery. But it’s a part of me, you know?”
“I do know,” I say. “My grandfather believes I’m going to come straight home after graduation and be full-time in the bakery, and work from home if I want to use my degree. There was a perfect time tonight to tell everyone the truth about what I want to do, and I froze. Even led them to believe that I wanted to run things at home. Hanna’s will always be a part of me, and I always want to be a part of the bakery. But I have other dreams too.” I cover my face with my hands and release a strange little growl. “I’ve made a mess of things, I think. What am I so afraid of?”