Tell Me You're Mine

by Elisabeth Norebäck

  “I won’t know a single song. Or any of the artists.”

  “That’s a long ways off now,” Victor says.

  “I could freak out,” I say.

  “Freak out?” Johanna raises her eyebrows and grins at me. “That would be interesting.”

  “This is a conspiracy,” I complain and have never felt happier in my whole life. Except for that night, when I made out with Fredrik and felt his hands on my body. I wonder if he’s thought about it as much as me. I believe he has. I hope so. I want him to think about me. In that way. Like I think about him. And I want to do more than just kiss next time. Much more.

  “Do you think we’ve got you beat yet?” Medhi says. “Fredrik never gives up once he gets something into his head.”

  “And where are we going to stay?” I say.

  “I have an uncle in Gothenburg,” Victor says.

  “We can all crash there.”

  “We’ve crashed at Victor’s uncle’s the last few years,” Fredrik says. “He’s used to it. But sleeping arrangements will be tight.”

  Again, that smile.

  “That’s fine,” I say.

  One person who would definitely not think that was fine is my mother. She would be furious. If she even knew I was considering sleeping in close quarters with a young, handsome guy, she’d have one of her outbursts. They’ve only got one thing on their minds, Isabelle, remember that. Is it terrible for me to say that’s exactly what I’m hoping? I’m already wondering how to get away without her finding out. I definitely can’t tell her where I’m going, then she’d give me hell. I haven’t forgotten how she reacted when I planned to slip away to Sälen with Jocke. The boy who kissed me in the car outside our house. Somehow she found out and threatened to report him for rape. Jocke stayed away after that.

  But I have the right to break free sometimes, don’t I? I am twenty-two years old, after all. I’m a virgin. In more ways than one. It can’t be wrong to do what I want. For once.

  Long before the lunch rush begins, we think we have most of the assignment figured out.

  “I’m hungry. Shouldn’t we just get some food here before this place gets overrun?” Johanna looks over toward the counter. There are already a few people in line. Within half an hour, the line will snake all the way around the entrance hall.

  “Good idea. No need to go out in that crappy weather. Are you staying?” I say to the guys.

  “Me and Mehdi have to go,” Victor says. “Our group is having a lunch meeting.” He grimaces as he looks outside, and sees rain pouring down. We wave as they go.

  “I brought some food,” Fredrik says, “but I don’t want to go out there.”

  Yes!

  “Get in line, Johanna,” I say, “I’ll take care of the table.”

  I stand up. I raise my arms over my head and stretch. I notice Fredrik watching me. His gaze slides slowly over my body. Over my breasts. I pretend I don’t notice and stretch a little more. I run my hands through my hair. The shirt I’m wearing is tight and low cut. As I stretch, the shirt rides up to reveal a bit of my stomach. I’m glad I chose to wear it with my light blue stretch jeans. I think I look pretty good. And judging by the way Fredrik’s staring, he does, too.

  I put my pencil and eraser in my pencil case. Gather up the used napkins, coffee mugs, and papers we were making our calculations on. I bend over the table. Accidentally brush against him and lean over to reach some scraps on the other side. I can feel him put his hand around my waist, on my hips. Steadying me. I linger for a moment. Longer than I need to.

  “Everything all right?” he murmurs.

  “Uh-huh.” I look into his eyes again. Put my hand on his shoulder. I want to stay like that, but it feels silly. I go over to a garbage can and throw away the trash.

  When I go back to the table I look out through the big windows. Rain is streaming down outside. It’s almost cozy. Calming. Feels like no evil could reach me in here. A childish feeling, I know. But I am childish.

  A movement outside makes me take a step back and look again. Is that Stella? A woman in a gray coat and a colorful scarf, holding a red umbrella. I’ve seen her before, below our window. Long, dark brown hair.

  It’s her.

  It’s Stella.

  Why?

  There’s no reason for her to be here.

  Does she know I lied? Does she know I’m not sick?

  Mom could be right. There could be something wrong with Stella’s questions. But Mom is always worried about me. She always assumes the worst.

  I stand there, hiding behind a pillar. I see Stella walk along the windows outside. She stops occasionally and tries to see inside.

  “Bella?” I hear Fredrik’s voice. “Are you coming?” He approaches me and puts a hand on my arm. He reads me like an open book, sees what I feel with a glance. I wonder if he sees all of it. My anger, my hatred for my mother. What if he likes me anyway?

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I say. “I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

  He stands behind me and stares out. Stella is hard to see.

  Nevertheless, I get the impression that she has a purpose, that she’s searching for something. Searching for someone.

  Searching for me.

  Goosebumps rise on my arms, and I wrap them around me. I feel Fredrik hug my upper arms.

  “Who is it?” he asks.

  I see her pause, as if stopping to think for a moment. Then head down the stairs and disappear toward Valhallavägen.

  “No, I was wrong,” I say. “Come, let’s go buy something to eat.” I take Fredrik’s hand as we go back. I squeeze it tight.

  Stella

  This is wrong. My behavior is abominable. I walk along the windows outside the entrance to the library at KTH. I try to see inside. It is impossible in this downpour.

  I’m glad no one sees me. Glad nobody knows what I’m doing. Is this how a stalker feels? I suppose. The shame grinds away at my stomach. My inability to let it be, to restrain myself. The kick I get from crossing my own line makes it even harder to stop.

  What madness it was to come here. Ridiculous. How many students are there? Thousands. Even though Isabelle told me she often sits at the café near the library, the odds are that she’s not there. She could be anywhere on campus, which is as big as Old Town. She could be at home. She could be out of town.

  But this isn’t crazy because of how unlikely it is for me to find her. I shouldn’t be here at all. I should not be trying to contact her outside therapy. I’ve never done such a thing in all my years as a therapist. What would I say if I met her? How would I explain what I’m doing here? I’m grateful she didn’t see me sneaking around.

  Finally, the bus arrives and I hurry on. I sit at the back and ride toward Fridhemsplan. I lean my head against the cool window and close my eyes. Thinking about my irrational decisions. Thinking about Isabelle.

  About Alice.

  When I got her message canceling our appointment, I felt both disappointed and impatient. How am I ever going to get any answers? I can’t wait any longer.

  The bus stops at Fridhemsplan. I hurry off and open my umbrella. My lunch hour is almost over, but it wouldn’t have been faster to take the car.

  I’m not that hungry, but I should eat. I have time to make it into a café for a change.

  I hunch over in the wind, stare down at the sidewalk as someone approaches. I move to the right without looking up. Still, I receive a hard knock in the side. I’m about to tell them off when I notice the woman looks familiar.

  “Stella,” she says. “It’s me, Eva. We met here in the park a while ago.”

  “Oh, hello again,” I say, hiding my irritation.

  “Terrible weather, isn’t it?” Eva grabs my arm and pulls me under an overhang. “What a nice umbrella you have.”

 
“Thank you, I like it. Definitely makes me visible to traffic.” I shake and fold it. I nod to the Coffeehouse by George next to the pharmacy.

  “I was headed in. Would you like to join me?”

  Eva answers yes and follows me. We buy coffee and Danish pastries and sit down by the window. We make small talk about the weather, and I ask if she lives nearby. She tells me she’s visiting some acquaintances and only in town for a short period.

  “I have to apologize for last time,” I say. “I probably didn’t seem altogether sane.” I laugh awkwardly.

  Eva puts her hand over mine.

  “Life isn’t easy,” she says. She sounds sincere and compassionate. “What happened to your daughter, well, I can’t even imagine. I don’t even understand how you were able to go on. Did you have any more children?”

  “A few years later. A son. With my current husband.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that. You have somebody to take care of.”

  “I do. But I’ve never been able to forget. Never stopped wondering. And I always imagined I’d have a big family. It didn’t work out that way.”

  I don’t know what made me tell her that. I’ve reconciled myself to it. Yet here I am thinking about it again. What once seemed obvious no longer does.

  “What stopped you?” Eva asks and takes a sip of her coffee. I taste my latte and ponder.

  “I was very happy when I got pregnant again,” I answer. “But terrified, too. What if I suffered a postpartum psychosis? What if I couldn’t hold on to this new life? What if I’m actually just unsuitable to be a mother? I might be a terrible mother?”

  Henrik was twenty-nine and I was soon twenty-six when the pregnancy test showed a plus sign. I, or I guess we, had been sloppy. Once again I was irresponsible. For a short time I was a mess, but then I realized it was a gift. Milo was a much-longed-for baby.

  “It’s normal to wonder,” Eva says.

  “Maybe,” I say. “You’re probably right.”

  “So how did it turn out?”

  “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” I answer. “He is my everything. I love him. It’s wonderful to be his mother. But I’ve been overprotective. I’m always worrying too much.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s my fault my daughter disappeared.” I say it quietly. I don’t want anyone but Eva to hear me. “I was careless. I left her alone for a few minutes. I swore never to make the same mistake with Milo. In playgrounds, in stores, I never let him out of sight. He’s rarely allowed to go anywhere on his own. He, of course, thinks I’m such a huge drag.”

  Eva laughs. “My daughter is the same. All mothers go through that as their children grow up.”

  “We talked about trying to have more children,” I say. “But I reached the point where I realized I didn’t dare.”

  I sit quietly for a moment. “My biggest fear is that something will happen to Milo.”

  “That’s not strange at all,” Eva says. “But what about your daughter? You said you think you’ve found her? That’s incredible.”

  “I know I’ve found my daughter. I know it’s her. And this time I refuse to let her go.” I look into Eva’s eyes. “I refuse to let her disappear again.”

  It’s liberating to say it out loud.

  I feel like Eva understands; this stranger is actually the support I need right now. It’s an incredible relief to be able to talk to someone without being met with distrusting, doubtful eyes. Not having to weigh every word. Not being told that I’m not like myself, or that I’m making things up. Finally, I feel like someone believes me.

  She even seems to have tears in her eyes. “I feel for you, Stella. I really do. You haven’t had it easy. But what are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. And I don’t know why I tell her, but I do. “I’ve been following her. I have to know what she’s doing. I have to see what her life is like. It’s wrong, I know, and I feel ashamed for it. But it doesn’t matter. Everyone thinks I’m crazy anyway.”

  Eva says, “I know what you’re going through. I lost a child, too. She passed away a very long time ago. No one should have to endure it. So I understand you. Never give up.” She looks at the clock, stands up, and looks at me intensely. “Do you hear me?” she says. “Don’t give up.”

  I look after her as she leaves the café. Eva has lost her child; she knows what it’s like. She understands me, doesn’t judge me or think I’m acting irrationally.

  I realize neither of us ate a bite. The Danishes are still on their plates.

  Stella

  The next morning Milo and I are sitting at the kitchen table. After breakfast I’ll drop him off at school, then head on to Norrköping. This is going to be a good day; I can feel it. And I need it. We all need it.

  I know I’ll find out something at Sven Nilsson’s. Something concrete, something tangible. Something that was overlooked, and it will prove I’m not living in a fantasy world.

  I look at Henrik, standing at the kitchen counter. Yesterday I told him Sven Nilsson promised to show me the files from the investigation into Alice’s disappearance. I didn’t want to lie to him again. I want to prove to him that he can trust me.

  Henrik was far from sure the visit was a wise move for me. I haven’t been at my most stable lately. He didn’t say that, but I know he was thinking it. But then he changed his mind. Said he hopes it helps me find some closure.

  “I’ll be late this afternoon,” he says, drinking the last of his coffee. He pats Milo on the shoulder, and I follow him to the door. Watch as he performs his usual ritual. He ties his shoes, pats his pockets, and makes sure his phone and wallet are in place. He puts on his jacket and readjusts his tie. Picks up his briefcase and grabs his keys from the bureau in the hall.

  “You look tired,” he says. “Are you sure you need to go?”

  “Yes, I am,” I answer.

  “Can’t it wait for another day?”

  “I want to get it over with. And he could only meet me today.”

  “Maybe I should come along.”

  I readjust his shirt collar. “Why? You said you have meetings all day. Important meetings, too, apparently.”

  His suit fits like a glove, his tie is beautifully knotted, he has on new shoes. He’s newly shaven and handsome and successful-looking.

  His phone rings, and he picks it up. He apologizes, turns halfway and answers. He smiles and laughs.

  “I’m on my way. Yes, I am. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

  He puts his phone in his pocket and looks at me.

  “Sure you can handle it?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be late today.”

  “You already said that.”

  He walks toward the door but stops there.

  “By the way, I won’t be able to take any calls the whole day. Text me if you need anything, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, okay?”

  In other words: Keep an eye on your phone. Make sure you’re back by the time Milo gets home. Please don’t forget.

  “And if there’s an emergency—”

  “There won’t be,” I interrupt him.

  “And eat before you leave,” he continues. “I noticed you only drank some coffee.”

  He disappears through the door.

  “Do you want any more, Milo?” I ask when I get back to the kitchen.

  “Nah.” He finishes his sandwich before he says, “Are you and Dad getting a divorce?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You never used to fight,” he says. “Now you do all the time, even though you think I can’t hear you.”

  “I don’t agree with that. Not all the time.”

  “Both you and Dad seem angry. And sometimes you look sad.”

  “We’re not getting a divorce,” I say. “We
’re just discussing some stuff right now. And we don’t always see things the same way. It’s not the end of the world. I love your dad, and he loves me. Okay?”

  Milo doesn’t look convinced.

  “Are you done?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Then let’s get going.”

  I drop Milo off at school. Wave to him and then get back on the road.

  I’ve canceled all my appointments today. They’re going to start to talk at the clinic. Maybe they already are. I can’t keep on like this, neither at work nor at home. That’s why this meeting with Sven Nilsson is so important. After all this, I deserve a little good news. It’s awful that Milo is worrying about a divorce. That’s the last thing I want. I’m happy with Henrik, and he feels the same way about me. I’m sure of it. Despite everything.

  It’s overcast in Norrköping. I grab the bag of cinnamon buns I bought, open the car door, and hurry across the parking lot through the rain toward a row house. I ring the doorbell. After a while, a tall, skinny man opens the door. He’s aged, but I recognize him. Twenty years ago his hair was thinning, now there are only a few white tufts left behind his ears. His pants hang loosely on his thin body, his shirt is only half tucked in.

  “Sven Nilsson?” I say.

  “That’s me,” he answers.

  “Hello, I’m Stella Widstrand.”

  He looks at me uncomprehendingly. Am I at the right place? It’s him, I’m sure. Has he forgotten about my visit? I try again.

  “Stella Johansson?” I say. “We talked last week. You told me I could visit today; it’s concerning the investigation into my daughter’s disappearance.”

  No reaction.

  “It’s about Alice?”

  He jerks as if I’ve woken him from a trance.

  “Yes, please come in. What are you standing there for? Come in, come in.”

  I follow him into the kitchen. It’s neat and tidy, smells like freshly brewed coffee and something else. The faint smell of an elderly person and their urine.