by May, Lana N.
Johanna had taken over purchasing and marketing for the school, which made her an indispensable asset to Ms. Geyer. She had her own small apartment now. It was in an old building right in one of the central districts. It wasn’t exactly cheap, but it was close to the cooking school, which made it all worth it. She lovingly decorated her two-room pad. The heartbeat of her living space was the kitchen, where she built a lovely island. It cost a small fortune for her meager budget, so she skimped on all the other furniture; she bought a used bed, hardly worn out at all. She needed the kitchen more often than the bed anyway and spent most of her time cooking. When she couldn’t sleep at night, she would often try out new dishes, creating new tortes, pies, and cakes, perusing cookbooks as she drank a good glass of red or white wine—a Cabernet Sauvignon or, preferably, a Muscat.
She created a pleasant life for herself. She didn’t want to fall back into the old emotional patterns that had crippled her back in her hometown, though it took all her resolve to do so. She couldn’t forget Thomas, no matter how hard she tried; he was still in her head and, what was worse, in her heart. She was happy to invite her brother, Linda, and Linda’s friends over on the weekends. She cooked for them and served her best wines. Cooking and entertaining became her passion, and through them, she found a kind of self-realization.
Paolo came to visit often. They watched DVDs, listened to music, or made a mess in the kitchen as they chatted about love and life. Johanna had found a good friend in Paolo, and he’d helped her get over her initial heartbreak and disappointment in Thomas. She learned she could count on him when she couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time, called in sick, wouldn’t pick up the phone, or found herself surrounded by a sea of used tissues, listening to Travis’s “Where You Stand” on repeat. Now, though, things were getting better again; she no longer listened to Travis and didn’t spend a fortune on tissues. Her mood was more often good than bad, not always, but at least over 50 percent of the time, and that was an improvement.
Johanna woke up early every morning, earlier than she used to, brushed her teeth, and gently removed the remains of the poppy seeds from between her teeth. Her latest thing was eating poppy seeds. Then, around seven thirty, she rode her bike through the cold morning air to the cooking school, sat in her office—yes, she had her own office now, a nice room with sloping walls on the top floor of the building—and sometimes helped Paolo out in the kitchen. At night, she rode home exhausted. She’d turn down invitations to go out and dissuade spontaneous visits.
Sometimes, Linda tried to set her up on a date. But Johanna didn’t want to meet anybody: no nerds, no wannabes, no metrosexuals, no macho men, no terrifically good-looking or amazingly likeable men, no average Joes, no yuppies, no new-agers, and certainly no seniors or retirees. She didn’t want anything to do with any man except maybe for friendship, if that. Johanna preferred to stay inside her own four walls, cooking whatever her heart desired, writing down recipes, and reading good books. The most exciting thing that had happened was a phone call from Daniel at Christmas. She didn’t answer it, but sent him a text back that said, Fuck you, don’t ever contact me again. This text was motivated more by her hatred for Thomas than for the clueless, pushy Captain Quickie, who happened to be in the line of fire.
Simply put, Johanna and Thomas were both somewhere between mediocre and completely miserable. Their daily routines were listless, unromantic, and downright dull.
25
The temperature was hovering just above freezing on an April evening, and all was calm in the city. Life was good for Vienna’s 1.73 million inhabitants.
Thomas decided to go for another run. He’d already had to replace his running shoes once this season, which wasn’t a good sign. Outside of work and jogging, he didn’t do anything else. You’re pretty damn pathetic, he thought to himself relatively often, but it didn’t seem to change anything. Running helped him clear his head; with sneakers on his feet, he felt freer with every step. Running was easy; very little could go wrong.
It was icy cold, far too cold for April; as he ran, Thomas recalled the New Year’s Eve he’d spent alone at home, despite tons of party invitations. He’d had no desire whatsoever to go anywhere. It didn’t make any sense to make a big fuss about having a happy New Year’s, because he didn’t believe that his new year would be all that happy. So he’d fallen asleep before midnight in front of the TV, a whiskey glass in his hand as tipsy revelers danced merrily on the screen.
Thomas coughed; he knew he should really slow down a bit, but he was fixated on a high-intensity training program he’d started. So he ignored the creeping cough and kept pushing; nothing short of complete collapse would dissuade him from his training goals. He gave it his all, going even faster. A feeling of satisfaction flowed through him before he hit the wall, before his body’s limits could stop him. His masochist tendencies were evident to all but himself.
Johanna left her apartment to meet Paolo at the theater. Johanna looked gorgeous, wearing her velvet dress, beautiful brown boots that she had bought on sale, warm black leggings, and a coat. She’d been thinking about Thomas a lot that day; she wasn’t sure why. The thoughts just popped up in her head. It didn’t really surprise her when she thought about him again now, even though she didn’t want to. She thought of him most when she saw loving couples, prepared a Stefanie meatloaf, drank gin and tonics, heard salsa music, hung out with Martin, or inadvertently heard Travis’s music. She even thought about him when she brushed her teeth; there was hardly a moment when she didn’t think of him, and there didn’t seem a lot she could do about it.
Johanna turned the corner and stopped at the window of a spice shop she’d never noticed before; inside, there were small glass jars of saffron, pepper, nutmeg, sea salts from various parts of the world, paprika, and other colorful spices. She looked at the building number and made a mental note to come back. As she did, Thomas was running as fast as he could down the sidewalk on the other side of the street.
He glanced up at the spice shop, and at just that moment, Johanna noticed him. Their eyes met and Thomas pulled up short, staring at her from across the street. He waved hesitantly in her direction. She didn’t wave back, didn’t move an inch, but neither did she run away. A good sign, thought Thomas. He let a red-and-black streetcar pass between them, hoping he hadn’t just imagined her. When it was gone, she was still there.
“Johanna,” he said breathlessly, after he crossed the street to speak to her.
“Thomas!”
They looked at each other like they had at the salsa club, at the Travis concert, like they had the first time they’d laid eyes on each other at the cooking school. Johanna averted her gaze as the memories of the disastrous birthday party caught up with her.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long,” he said.
When Johanna moved away, he stepped closer.
“I wanted to break up with Clarissa back then. Honestly, I was going to do it on Sunday. She flew into town just before the party, and I didn’t want to disrupt the celebration by telling her right then.”
Johanna was silent; she didn’t yell or curse at him like she’d intended to. She looked at him and found she wasn’t able to say a thing. She took a step away and then several more. Thomas followed behind, pleading with her as she walked faster and faster.
“I’ve been thinking about you this whole time. I miss you desperately. I would have loved to . . .” Then he paused.
She stopped and shook her head.
“Johanna, please, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you. We didn’t know each other for very long, but it seems like an eternity for me, as if I’ve known you forever. I miss your smile, your presence, the way you move, your facial expressions, how you wrinkle up your nose when you don’t like something . . . I love to read the last text you wrote me, that said you definitely wanted to see me again . . .” He took her hand.
“But if I can’t tru
st you, why should I have any feelings for you?” she asked, and stared at the ground as if she was searching for cracks on the sidewalk.
“I swear that you can trust me. I’ll prove it to you,” he said as he pulled his cap off his head.
“Put that back on, you’re going to catch a cold,” she said, and he complied immediately.
He stood in front of her, sweating. Johanna didn’t like his beard, and his body looked thin and frail. He didn’t look like the old Thomas at all.
“Please, Johanna. I’ve barely survived these last few months!”
“Well, how do you think I felt after everything you did to me?” she cried as tears welled up in her eyes.
Thomas touched her face, and suddenly the overpowering intimacy they’d lost took root again. It felt like they could start anew. It felt like there had never been any pain between them, like there’d only been the cooking classes, the concert, and the salsa dancing; no Clarissa, no birthday party. Everything suddenly felt so familiar that Johanna could no longer submit to reason, because her heart spoke a different language, giving her commands, which for the first time seemed sensible; she listened to her heart for the first time. They moved closer to each other and kissed tenderly. It was a cautious kiss, filled with uncertainty.
“I’ve missed you so much,” said Thomas.
Every muscle of Johanna’s body was tense. She didn’t know whether this was right or wrong. But it feels right, she thought as she breathed in the familiar scent of his body, and she thought of dancing with him at the Salsaria again. She relaxed and fell into his arms, then looked at her watch.
“Paolo’s waiting,” she exclaimed.
“Go then,” Thomas said with a smile. “We’ll meet again soon?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
She looked at him and thought, What did I just do?
Thomas’s expression was full of hope as if to say, Please don’t let me down.
She couldn’t resist. She nodded, then hurried down the street.
Unbelievable, Johanna thought, as she made her way toward Paolo and at the same time called his number.
“Paolo, I’m so sorry. I’m running late, but I’m on my way now. Can you pick up the tickets? I have to tell you about something totally weird that just happened—not actually weird, but really amazing!” she cried into the telephone.
From down the street, Thomas watched her go. He bent over and sighed in relief.
“What happened?” asked Paolo as Johanna turned the corner, panting. She hung up the phone when she spotted him, then leaned against the crumbling walls of a building, struggling for breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gesticulating wildly.
“Don’t worry, calm down. The play doesn’t start for another ten minutes. We’ll be right on time.”
“I saw Thomas.”
“Thomas? What? Where? That Thomas?”
“Just now, and we even kissed!”
“Really, Johanna?”
“Yes, he was jogging. I ran into him on the way to meet you.”
“Just like that? Just ran into him? So what happens now? And you guys kissed?”
“Yes. And it was so intense. The whole moment and the kiss.”
Paolo grinned.
“Well, actually the kiss was a little strange, but we did kiss and that’s what counts!”
“What did he say? Did you guys have a chance to talk?”
“Just for a minute. He said a lot, considering how fast it all went. And then I couldn’t resist. Oh, I’ve really missed him.”
“No kidding, silly,” Paulo said as he took Johanna by the arm. “You knew each other only for a short time, but the way you talked about him, I could tell you were madly in love . . . um, you still are, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Now what? What’s going to happen with you two?”
“I don’t know, but we’re meeting again soon. Paolo, I’m going to see him again.”
Right then, the theater bell summoned them for the third and final time.
26
At six o’clock on Saturday morning, Thomas was up and about. He shaved his beard off, then he made an appointment to get a haircut. That was his plan. This was the end of Neanderthal Thomas. He’d been thinking all night about what he could do for his second first date with Johanna. He racked his brain and eventually settled on the unimaginative but effective idea of going out to dinner. He couldn’t call her yet; it was too early. He had to wait. So, he made himself a proper breakfast of ham and eggs and tried to read the newspaper on his tablet, but he couldn’t focus; thoughts of her were buzzing around in his head. He had to ease his mind somehow. He wanted to write everything down; he wanted to put into words how relieved and happy he felt. Thomas was in love, and he had been in love for a long time. He grabbed a notepad and started to write.
All the things I would do for you, my dear Johanna:
Hike up Mount Everest without an oxygen tank. (I would climb it if I could)
Shave my legs
Sing lullabies until you can’t bear to hear them anymore
Accompany you for hours on end when you go shopping (luckily, you’re not the shopping type, but I would do it for you if you were)
Give you a massage until I got tendinitis
Dye my hair blonde or pink or any color you want
Pick you up anywhere and take you anywhere you want to go
Never let you out of my sight
Be sad when you’re sad and happy when you’re happy
Go bungee jumping
Watch Sex and the City, Twilight, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer with you
Warm your feet when we go skiing
Bring you flowers I picked myself, just because I’m thinking of you
Thomas’s cell phone rang, so he put down his pen and closed the notebook. It was his mother calling, so this could take some time. He decided to continue the list later.
Johanna’s night was just as short on sleep. She was so excited that, since seven in the morning, she’d been peering expectantly at her cell phone every five minutes. She went through the phone’s settings a few times to make sure that she had decent reception and the ringtone could be easily heard—it was set on the maximum volume. Then she prepared some peppermint tea.
It was already light outside, and the sun struggled to peek through the cloud cover. Not even cloudy weather could bring her down today, though. She looked outside. Her apartment was a fifth-floor walk-up. This was okay because of the bargain she’d gotten on the rent—plus, all those stairs were great for toning her butt. From her living room window, she could see directly into a church’s small courtyard, and every weekend she’d watch newlyweds celebrating. She figured she’d see even more weddings there in the summer, because the chapel looked very romantic. She often sat at that window, soaking in the hustle and bustle of Saturday morning and/or cheerful afternoon wedding parties as she sipped a cup of tea or coffee. She would often ask herself, How long does love last? Until death do us part? That was a rather long time, considering life expectancy these days was over eighty years.
Thomas made his way to the hairstylist.
“We haven’t seen you in a long time. We were getting worried,” said the receptionist.
She took Thomas’s jacket and cap and freaked out a little when she saw his wildly overgrown hair—completely understandable, since she was so well-groomed herself. She could have been a walking, talking advertisement for the salon instead of its receptionist.
“Yeah, I had a lot to do . . . to be completely honest, I kind of let myself go, as you can obviously see.” Thomas gave her a charming smile, a smile that few people could resist. The old Thomas was back.
The assistant led him over to the sink area and plied him with coffee and magazines. Thomas checke
d the time; after getting his hair cut and styled, he was going to call Johanna.
She stood under the shower as the warm water streamed out. She put her cell phone on the washing machine, right in her line of sight. She soaped up, looked over at her phone, adjusted the shower nozzle, looked again, washed off the shower gel, peered at her phone again, then shampooed her hair . . . and of course that’s when her cell phone rang. She stuck her shampooed head out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and rushed over to pick it up.
“Hello,” she said, trying to sound casual. But her voice sound croaky, and she almost dropped the phone on the wet floor.
“Hello, it’s me,” he said. Pause . . .”Thomas!” Doesn’t she recognize me?
“Hi.”
“Did you sleep well?”
Johanna replied in the affirmative, a little white lie. I lay awake all night; I was too excited to sleep.
“I want to take you out to dinner tonight,” he continued as he stroked his newly shorn hair nervously.
She was distracted momentarily as she adjusted her towel, which had almost slipped off.
Why won’t she answer? Maybe dinner isn’t such a good idea? I should have been more original; I knew it.
“Yes, I would love to.” He wants to take me out for dinner!
“I’ll pick you up, then. How does seven o’clock sound? I’ll make a reservation.” Please say yes . . .
“Yes, that sounds perfect. Where are we going?” Johanna reached for another towel and threw it on the puddle she was making on the floor.
“Let me surprise you.”
He wants to surprise me, oh . . .” Should I wear something special, or does it not matter?” Oh my God, where are we going? I hope nowhere too fancy.
“Whatever you like; you don’t have to dress up. Just wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”