Make Me Believe

by Karen Ferry

  For probably the millionth time, Suzy picks up her phone to check it for messages, and I purse my lips.

  “Still nothing from Thomas?” I ask her, careful to keep my tone of voice neutral. Inside, though, I feel so sad for her: if anyone deserves a man -- or woman -- to dote on her, it’s my best friend.

  She slams the phone back on my table and responds dejectedly, “Nothing.”

  Clinking my glass to hers, I urge her, “Forget him, love. He’s not worth it.”

  “Why are men such . . . such . . . ?” She falters, probably searching for the most offensive adjective to use.

  “Pigs? Bastards? Sons of whores?” I suggest.

  “Exactly! I mean, why do they play with our feelings like that? And . . . ” she sits up straighter in her seat, pointing at me. “Why do we let them?”

  “No idea. Well, I don’t do that, actually,” I tell her. Because it’s true: I never let guys get to me. I don’t want them to call me the day after we’ve hooked up because I don’t want to form any kind of emotional attachment with them.

  Immediately, Daniel’s face -- and his abs -- pop up in my head. Or at least I haven’t until now . .

  Searching for a way to distract her from the current bastard occupying her thoughts, I quickly change the subject.

  “Girls are probably not better than men,” I tell her and wink at her.

  Snorting, she says, “Well, some are . . . and some aren’t. I guess I was just tired of going to the same gay bars and wanted to be . . . normal for once.” She sighs and finishes off her wine.

  “Hey,” I admonish her. “You are normal, honey. Don’t you ever feel as if you aren’t, you hear me? Besides, what’s normal? I may not be gay or bi, but I don’t care one bit about labels. Love is love, Suzy...and whoever ends up loving you will feel lucky to have found you.”

  “Aww . . . ” She smiles wobbly at me.

  As I feel a lump begin to form in my throat, I quickly say, “See? I’m definitely not a prude.”

  Suzy giggles, her eyes dry once more. “Still thinking about that, are you?”

  I huff. “Well, yes . . . that was really such an impolite thing to say.”

  She shrugs. “We’re friends. Which basically means that politeness can take a hike; we don’t have to sugar-coat what we think and feel and wrap it up in a parcel with a nice bow on top of it. We just come out and say what’s on our mind, no matter what. Don’t you agree?” Smiling softly at me, she looks me over.

  I close my left eye, because it kind of seems as if she has two heads right now. “You’ve become awfully deep all of a sudden, haven’t you?”

  Chuckling, she shakes her head slightly. “And you’re quite drunk, aren’t you?”

  “Why, yes, ma’am, yes I am,” I nod vigorously, but quickly stop when the spinning in my head makes me feel slightly sick.

  Rolling her eyes, Suzy stands up and reaches down with a hand. “Come on, my dear. Let me put you to bed.”

  “But I don’t want to go to bed,” I whine and swallow the rest of the wine in my glass in one large gulp.

  She sighs and takes a firm grip on my hand and pulls me up. “You, sweetie, are completely sloshed, and it’s my duty as your best friend to see that you don’t have more tonight.”

  I follow her into my flat, dragging my feet, and she leads me to my bathroom.

  “Brush your teeth, do what you have to do, and I’ll fix the bed for you,” she orders and closes the door in my face.

  “You’re so bossy!” I yell at her.

  “I know!” she shouts back at me. I know that I won’t win this argument and do as she says. When I’ve removed all my makeup and brushed my teeth, I open the door and walk to my bed. It looks heavenly, and not caring one bit about the way I look, I walk to the end of it and do a face plant.

  Suzy laughs as she tugs at my right foot. “Sweetie, you need to get undressed. Or would you like me to do it for you?”

  “No,” I groan. “You’ll only feel me up.”

  Clucking her tongue, she says irritably, “No, I won’t. Do as I say, Emma. Get undressed. Now.”

  I turn to my side to find her standing at the end of my bed, arms crossed and a stern look on her face, and I sigh, defeated.

  “Alright, alright, I’ll take off my clothes.”

  She nods once. “Good. I’ll clear the table outside and tuck you in afterwards.”

  Snorting drunkenly, I reply, “I don’t need you to do that, you know. You’re not my mum, hon.”

  Stopping in her tracks, she turns her head and looks thoughtfully at me. “You’re right, I’m not. But we all need to be cuddled once in a while, no matter how old we are. Even a kick-arse girl such as yourself.” And with that, she leaves me alone.

  “Huh,” I grumble, but take off my clothes. Once I’m practically naked, only wearing my bra and knickers, I grab my duvet and tuck myself in. Curling into a ball, I close my eyes, and I sigh, content and, for once, unafraid to fall asleep. The last part, though, might be the wine in my system lulling me into a false sense of safety.

  I feel a soft kiss on my cheek and Suzy whispers, “Goodnight, sweetie.”

  “’night,” I murmur, already half-asleep. “Love you...”

  “Ditto.”

  Finally, sleep claims me, and I don’t even hear Suzy letting herself out of my flat.

  Chapter 23

  After leaving Emma’s flat earlier, I unpacked my docking station from one of my boxes, and then went out to shop for food; when I came back with enough food to last me for the rest of the week, I set it up and I have been listening to the relaxing voice of Charles Aznavour most of the evening.

  Music makes me relax. It stops me from thinking too much on the past and allows me to focus on the present instead. I’ve spent too much time dwelling on things lately, and I need to stop doing that.

  I’m now cooking dinner – an easy stir fry, nothing too fancy – when a knock interrupts me. Turning down the heat a bit, I walk to my door and look through the peephole. When I look through the peephole to find my uncle standing on the other side, surprise fills me, and I hurry to open the door.

  “Prof! What are you doing here?” I ask him, surprised, but I quickly take a step back, indicating for him to come inside.

  “I was in the neighbourhood,” he responds vaguely, stepping over the threshold, and he sniffs the air. “Something smells nice,” he says enthusiastically.

  Just in the neighbourhood, my arse.

  Shutting the door behind him, I quickly lock it and walk past him and into the kitchen opposite the entryway.

  “You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” I tell him and turn up the heat again. Looking to my right, I grin at him. “And I doubt very much that you were nearby, Uncle.”

  “Ah,” he muses and looks down at his feet, his hands in his pockets. Glancing up at me, he continues, “I just wanted to see your new place, Daniel. I hope you don’t find it offensive that I drop by unannounced?”

  Shaking my head, I look down at the food and stir the wok. “No, it’s no trouble, just a surprise. But as you can see, I have hardly unpacked my things yet, so I’m afraid we’ll have to eat here in the kitchen.”

  Grimacing, he asks me, “When will the rest of your furniture arrive?”

  “They should be delivered tomorrow. Don’t worry, I won’t be living like a heathen for much longer,” I tease him.

  “Am I that transparent?” he chuckles and walks closer.

  Shrugging, I say, “It’s your own fault for showing up so soon after I’ve moved here.”

  Nodding, he looks at the food and smacks his lips. “True. But this looks positively delicious, Daniel. I suppose it won’t kill me to eat standing up . . . just this once, mind you. Can’t make it a habit, though; it’s unhealthy for one’s constitution to not sit down and eat properly on a permanent basis.”

  Grinning, I shake my head silently. My uncle and his old-fashioned ways is a riot, and it’s clear that he was born in the wrong century be
cause of the way he acts sometimes.

  While we eat our dinner, we talk about this and that, nothing too heavy, and I am thankful for it. It feels . . . normal. Not being scrutinised or asked questions with hidden meanings is a reprieve, and I appreciate my uncle for it.

  “So . . . What do you think of Emma?” my uncle suddenly asks.

  Swallowing my food quickly, I try to make my answer as vague as possible. “She seems . . . nice, I guess.”

  Nodding, he takes another forkful of food, and we eat in silence once more. This is my uncle’s usual tactic: he asks me a question that seems perfectly innocent, but before I know it, I open up and elaborate further. Damn him.

  “We had our first tutoring session today,” I tell him and take a sip of water. “She’s good, I think. Very bright.”

  “Oh yes, that she is,” my uncle concurs, shifting a bit on his feet. He doesn’t meet my eyes, and I can’t help but wonder why that is.

  “She’s also very . . . guarded . . . She doesn’t talk much about herself,” I muse loudly. “She’s interesting . . . a bit quirky . . . and she doesn’t have a filter at all,” I finish off, slightly embarrassed that I have revealed so much about what I think of her.

  Chuckling, he says, “True. She’s a funny little thing. But . . . ” Putting his fork down on his plate, he finally looks me in the eye, a sombre expression in them that I can’t quite understand. “She’s a great employee, and she loves books,” he then says, “and I don’t want to lose her, Daniel. She’s a great asset to the shop, you know.”

  I still don’t get what his point is, so I reply, “I get that, Uncle, I do. But why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, my dear boy, I want to let you in on a little secret and you have to promise me that you won’t reveal anything to Emma.”

  Shrugging, I say, “Sure,” but he holds up his index finger in that professor kind of way that always makes you take more notice.

  “No, Daniel. Promise me: under no circumstances will you tell her about my plans, okay? You have to swear that you won’t say anything. Can you do that?”

  Frowning, I respond, “If it means that much to you, then fine. You have my word.”

  “Excellent!” Beaming at me, he leans closer and says in a conspiratorial whisper, “I want her to take over the book shop once she gets her degree.”

  Baffled, I open and close my mouth a couple of times before blurting out, “What?”

  “You heard me, boy. I want to retire in a year or so and travel to France. Maybe I will even invest in or buy a vineyard, who knows? Either way, Emma is perfectly capable of running the shop, and I know that, despite your love of books, you have other plans, and I respect them.” Pausing, he reaches for his glass of water and daps at his mouth with a napkin.

  “But . . . why are you so sure that she will want it?” I ask him and place my plate of food on the kitchen counter beside me. “She could have her own plans, Uncle. Maybe she’ll want to move back to England. Her family’s there and I’m sure she misses her parents,” I explain when he only stares blankly at me.

  “Oh, I have no doubt about that, Daniel. However, I don’t think she would be that unwilling to settle down in Denmark. Something tells me that her past in England is what led her here, and now that you’re here, too, I’m sure that’ll be another reason for her to stay.”

  I shake my head, not following his logic at all. “Err, what? How . . . ? I mean . . . what?” Narrowing my eyes, I ask him, suspicious as hell, “Uncle, are you playing matchmaker now? What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Well, you like her, don’t you?” he asks me and sets down his food.

  “Yes,” I answer curtly.

  “And I bet you find her attractive, am I right?” he questions me further, putting his hands in his pockets.

  “Well, of course I do.” Oh boy, if only you knew . . .

  “And I’m sure she thinks you’re not hard on the eyes, either,” he continues, seemingly astounded that I’m still not following him.

  “Get to the point, Uncle,” I tell him, really getting annoyed now.

  “You’re a boy, she’s a girl . . . you’re both good-looking, young people, both unattached -- why are you looking at me like that?” he asks me, squinting his eyes at me.

  I’m not about to come clean about my agreement with Emma, so I huff and say, “Uncle, just because we’re both attracted to each other -- and I don’t even know if that’s how Emma feels -- doesn’t automatically mean that we’ll end up dating each other.”

  He rolls his eyes, something I have never imagined seeing him do, and it almost makes me chuckle.

  “Good lord, the youth today . . . ,” he grumbles and takes a sip of water. “In my day, things were not as complicated as you lot seem to make it, Daniel.”

  I snort. “You aren’t that old. I would venture a guess and say that you’re wrong, though.”

  Suddenly, he winces and leans heavily on the kitchen counter, causing me to take a step forward in concern.

  “Uncle, are you alright?” I ask him, alarm evident in my voice.

  He waves me off. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, Daniel . . . just a bit lightheaded.”

  “Are you sure?” I persist, not believing him.

  “Of course I am,” he snaps back, and I take a step back, surprised of his reaction.

  Sighing, he straightens, and apologises, “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, Daniel.”

  “I see.” But I don’t, not really.

  We stand there, the previous conversation lingering heavily in the air, until his whispered words take me back even further.

  “Daniel, you forget that I, too, was young once. I have loved and lost . . . and I merely want you to understand that if you don’t go after your desires -- if you refuse to grab hold of them, and hold on tight, you will live a life of loneliness and regret. And I’d hate to see that happen to you . . . ”

  Thinking on his words for a while, I answer carefully, “Uncle, I understand what you’re saying. But playing matchmaker when you’re not even aware of the feelings of one of the parties may not exactly be . . . ” I search for the right word. “ . . . wise. Yes, I find Emma attractive -- everything about her interests me, and I’d like to get to know her better. But . . . ” I pause as he takes a step back with sorrow etched across his face, clear for any to see. “But we’re both young, and who knows if we’d even make a good fit?” I ask him and brush a hand through my hair.

  “You may well be right, Daniel,” he says quietly. “All I’m saying is that there’s no harm in exploring your feelings for Emma -- and I can see them written on your face, my boy, so don’t you dare deny them -- and perhaps try to make her see that her future could very well lie here, in Copenhagen, instead of at home, in Oxford. That’s all, I promise you.”

  Crossing my arms, I think hard about what he’s just told me. Finally, I tell him, “Alright, then. I gave you my word, so I won’t tell Emma anything about your plans, Uncle. And I can’t deny that I’m . . . errr . . . very keen to learn more about her, find out what makes her tick, you know?” Looking into his eyes, I feel rather foolish for having such a serious heart-to-heart with none other than the Prof, but, seeing his satisfied expression spurs me on. “Just don’t start imagining a big, fat wedding and Emma with a brood of children surrounding her, please. One step at a time, okay?

  Backing off, he nods and replies, “Of course.”

  “I never knew you were such a romantic . . . ,” I mutter, trying to lighten the mood, and it seems to work when I see the grin on his face.

  “Aaah, Daniel, if only you knew . . . ,” he murmurs and looks as if he’s about to start telling stories again.

  I hold up my hand and interrupt him, “Please don’t. I wish to remain in my innocent bubble for a while longer, thank you very much.” I do not want to hear any details about my uncle’s youth. Ack!

  He chuckles and resumes eating. “Very well then, I’ll keep my silence. For now, anyway . . . ”


  Giving him a warning look, I say, “Good,” and we finish eating our dinner.

  I can’t deny that the old chap has managed to surprise me a lot this evening. And while I know that he’s right, and that I have every intention of getting beneath the armour Emma carries around her, the fact that he just had a dizzy spell in my presence takes up my thoughts more than his attempt at matchmaking.

  I can’t help but wonder if he was telling me the truth or not before. The nagging feeling in my gut tells me he didn’t, and worry fills me for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 24

  As I stand in front of the old, nineteenth century building where I’m to have my first session with the psychologist, I want to run away and hide. I’m so nervous I almost look around for a bin to throw up in.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  Is this really the best course of action for me to take? I feel so uncomfortable about spilling the sordid details of my past to a complete stranger, no matter how nice she sounded on the phone. I wonder if she has a couch for her clients to lie on. In movies, they always rest there, spilling out their guts, and I am so not going to do that. That’s way too strange, even for me.

  The sound of a text momentarily breaks my thought process, and I pull out my phone from my clutch to read it.

  Suzy: Break a leg, honey! (Or, well, good luck . . . ) Love you! xx

  I smile as I put it away again. I was freaking out so much last night and ended up ringing Suzy; I couldn’t keep such a significant moment in my life from her, after all, and she’s been nudging me about seeing a professional, as she keeps calling it, about my issues the past few days. I mean, she’s my best friend, right? And I need to let her in. So I told her, and she was so supportive right away that I almost started to cry.