Astrid casts a quick glance at her own plain wedding band. She and Henrik weren’t particularly concerned with how it looked. Expensive and well made, it is just like everyone else’s. The important thing is what it symbolizes. That’s what they told each other, and it sounded good at the time.
“As Henrik said, you’re welcome to come over to our apartment,” Astrid tells Linda. She’s suddenly nervous that their home might seem ordinary or dreary, or even a bit ugly.
Linda murmurs a gracious thank-you, then Astrid excuses herself, explaining she’d really better be getting home.
Astrid, Henrik, and the girls walk ahead of the others. When they reach the front door, Astrid thinks the decorative birch branch, also part of the graduation tradition, seems to be sagging. And the balloons aren’t taped properly around the door.
“You didn’t do a very good job with the balloons,” Astrid complains to Josefin.
At the same time, out of the corner of her eye, she notes Henrik reassuringly placing his arm around Josefin’s shoulders, as if to say, “It’s okay, Mamma is just a little out of sorts, so let’s try to be understanding.”
There’s something about the whole scene that Astrid finds annoying. She glares at Henrik while he tries to look encouraging and sympathetic. She wants to say, “Okay, I know you’re nice and considerate. I know, I know. I keep hearing that over and over again . . . I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m suffocating.”
“I’m sorry,” Astrid offers instead, unable to tell him what she’s really thinking. Gloomy thoughts occasionally fill her mind, and she does what she can to clear them away.
The glasses have been arranged on the dining room table. The blue-gray linen tablecloth is newly pressed. Blue ceramic bowls hold the Parmesan chips and walnuts roasted in honey with dried chilies and a sprinkling of salt.
Astrid goes into the kitchen where she has prepared the buffet. The staging table is filled with vases of white roses and the silver candleholders that Kerstin has contributed for the occasion. The candleholders are passed from one sister to the other—whoever is having a formal party borrows them. There have been times when Astrid has contemplated buying her own, but by now the sisters are devoted to those particular candleholders, and think it would be impossible to have a real party without them.
All the food is ready in the fridge: pasta salad with spearmint pesto and shrimp, chicken salad, melon slices and Parma ham, chicken skewers with lemon and thyme, and a green salad with avocado and creamy mustard vinaigrette. Astrid knows it’s all there, but she can’t stop herself from opening the fridge to double-check. She pushes a strand of hair back from her flushed forehead as she studies all the food she has prepared, plus several good—and carefully chosen—cheeses.
The sound of the front door opening and people arriving reaches Astrid’s ears. Sara and Josefin go out to greet them. They’ve each been promised a hundred kronor if they welcome the guests, show them where to hang their coats, and make sure their glasses are filled.
In the meantime, Astrid and Henrik take care of the last-minute details in the kitchen. Henrik retrieves some napkins, the ordinary paper ones they use every day.
Astrid brusquely takes them from his hand. “Those aren’t the ones we’re using. God, what are you thinking?”
Henrik says nothing as he turns around and rummages in the drawers. He finds a couple of packets of blue Marimekko napkins, which he holds up for Astrid to inspect. Barely concealing her annoyance, she tells him it would be better if he went out and entertained their guests. When she finds the napkins she bought for the party, Astrid can’t help but mutter to herself about Henrik’s mistake.
Josefin comes into the kitchen and offers to help. Astrid asks her to place a napkin under each plate in the stack. But when she notices that Josefin keeps swiping grapes from the beautiful fruit arrangement, Astrid orders her out of the kitchen as well.
“I don’t like it that Michael and his family are here,” Josefin says flatly. “Poor Pappa. He’s super nervous. Didn’t you notice? He has to stand there speaking English, even though it’s really hard for him.”
Astrid doesn’t have time for this. “That might be true, but you need to go out there now. I’m paying you to see to our guests, remember?”
When she looks up again, Josefin has left the kitchen and Michael is standing in the doorway, looking at her. Astrid dries her hands on her apron, feeling her cheeks flush.
“Oh. Hi. Hello.”
Astrid casts a quick glance at the table she has set, as if to see what he sees—as if she’s personally on display. She looks again at Michael, and he meets her gaze.
“You’ve really outdone yourself. Looks great,” he says.
Astrid shrugs. “Oh, well, you only graduate from high school once. It’s important to make the most of it.”
“How true,” Michael agrees.
For a moment they stand together in silence. The years seem to have taken their toll on him. He looks more worn, like dried-out leather. Then he gives her a big smile, and the Michael she used to know suddenly appears. Astrid wants to gasp for breath. Has she really allowed him to come here? She wants to retrieve that middle-aged image that has nothing to do with her.
“You look beautiful, Astrid.”
“Me?”
Michael nods happily. Or is there a hint of melancholy in his expression, of tension in that smile of his?
Astrid raises her hand to touch her earring. Beautiful? Her? Really?
Michael glances around the kitchen, looks at the buffet table and then back at her.
“I don’t know what it is, but you always make everything so lovely. You’re wonderful.”
Wonderful.
Astrid blinks nervously, as if she’s been pushed onto a stage that she left long ago. Beautiful Astrid? That’s no longer how people see her. She is forty-seven years old. She is an architect with a family, a home, and a thick skin that protects her from view.
“Thanks. That’s . . . nice to hear,” she answers automatically.
“Thanks? I’m the one who should be thanking you, Astrid. After all, we haven’t . . . Well, I haven’t really had the chance to thank you properly. Not in person. To tell you how grateful I am.”
“You know full well that I never wanted to see you—”
Michael interrupts her with a dismissive gesture. He’s so quick to take on the role of the betrayer that Astrid feels annoyed. How dare he come here and play the chivalrous scoundrel! How dare he make her into the unmistakable victim! Is she supposed to accept his praise as if it were a coin tossed to her by a beneficent lord?
“I understand, Astrid. But I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for Viktor—for what both you and Henrik have done for him. He looks great and seems like a really nice kid. Please accept my thanks, from the bottom of my heart.”
Astrid crosses her arms. She’s furious.
Or rather, she wants to be furious.
She ought to be angrier. But there’s something in the gentleness of Michael’s face that stops her rage from building.
Astrid quickly takes a deep breath, as if to summon her forces for battle. “Thanks? As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who lost out. I got to watch Viktor grow up, and you didn’t. So I’m not the loser here. Not by a long shot. You are.”
Michael looks startled by her assertive hostility, but he quickly recovers. “I know. You’re right.”
Astrid nods and then pushes past Michael, leaving him alone in the kitchen doorway.
Two hours later, Viktor is finally back home. Henrik taps on his glass and the hum of voices fades. Astrid goes over to stand next to Henrik and gazes at the gathered crowd. Viktor is whispering to his friends, Ludde and Theo, but he stops and does his best to appear respectful when he realizes that everyone’s attention will now be directed at him. Sandra is looking tight lipped, which is how she usually gets whenever Per is drinking. Lena is sitting in an armchair, still very pale, probably from
jet lag. And there’s Kerstin, with her bouffant hair. Astrid wonders whether her mother really thinks anyone is fooled by that bitterly restrained smile of hers. The older Kerstin gets, the more difficult it is for her to hide her feelings.
Right now Kerstin is glaring at Michael and Linda. When Linda glances her way, Kerstin abruptly flashes a brittle smile, which just as quickly vanishes as Linda continues to look at her.
Henrik says, again very politely, that he will give his speech in English out of consideration for their guests “who have come such a long way.” Astrid notices that Josefin and Sara look at each other and roll their eyes.
“Viktor, special circumstances brought us together,” he continues, “but there is no doubt that we are father and son.”
Henrik casts a quick glance at Michael, but then fixes his gaze on Viktor. “And as your father, who loves you very much, I want to wish you all the luck in the world. Also, please know that if you ever need help or encouragement or support, I’m here for you.”
Henrik smiles widely at Viktor before turning toward Astrid. “And now I’d like to propose a toast. Astrid, would you like to say something first?”
Astrid nods. She unfolds a piece of paper. Then she, too, looks at her son.
“This is too important for me to say in English, so please, forgive me for talking in Swedish,” she says. She offers a brief wave of apology toward Michael and then, her cheeks flushed, she turns back to Viktor.
“I can see you’re thinking, ‘Oh no, now Mamma is going to get all emotional again.’ So I’ll try to keep this brief—and factual.”
Astrid pauses for dramatic effect as she looks around, but no one laughs. Everybody is waiting to hear what she’ll say.
“So, at any rate, as I said, I’ll try to avoid . . . well, never mind. This is really hard for me. I could say all those motherly things to you, Viktor, like you need to think about your future and figure out how you’re going to make a living. And you should go out and see the world, and be happy and eat proper meals . . .”
Astrid looks around again, realizing that everyone probably thinks this must be frustrating for Michael, Linda, and Leonard because they can’t understand Swedish. So, blushing even more, Astrid switches to English.
“I’ll say the rest in English.” Astrid takes a deep breath and continues. “The first year of your life was . . . How should I say this? Tumultuous. So if there’s one thing I’d like you to take with you in life, it’s the art of love. Everything will be fine as long as you focus on love—on the people you love and those who love you.”
Suddenly somebody giggles. It’s Viktor’s friend Theo, whose face is bright red. He slips away after Viktor gives him a hard poke in the side.
“Sorry, but I need to finish this in Swedish,” Astrid says. “Remember to nurture and protect love. Let it guide your choices in life. And, well . . . congratulations, my dear son—I can’t believe how wonderful you are!”
Astrid and Henrik raise their glasses to toast Viktor. Henrik puts his hand on Astrid’s shoulder.
“Skål! Here’s to the best son in the whole world!” Henrik proclaims.
“And remember: love is everything!” Astrid adds in English, not daring to look at Michael.
Viktor swiftly steps forward to hug Henrik and Astrid. Everyone is relieved that the moment is over and an exhilarated mood sets in. More toasts are proposed. Astrid feels Henrik squeezing her hand, as if to say, All right. We’ve done it.
Love is everything.
Astrid squeezes his hand in return. The celebration has gone well, and soon this whole party will be over.
A little while later Viktor is in the front hall, putting on his jacket, and Theo and Ludde are waiting for him. Viktor takes off his good shoes and puts on his usual sneakers. There’s something about him leaving the apartment on this particular day that makes Astrid feel odd. He’s going to leave her. He’s on his way.
“Sweetheart, you won’t forget . . . you’re not going to . . .”
Viktor isn’t completely sober. His eyes have a veiled look, and that serious, childish expression of his has vanished. His boyish, intelligent rowdiness is gone.
“No, Mamma, I promise. I’m just going out to shoot up some drugs and get drunk and lose all my money and get into a fight and then catch a ride in a cop car.”
“Viktor! That’s not funny,” Astrid admonishes. “Did you say good-bye to Michael?”
“Yes. They’re leaving now, too. But I’m going to meet him for lunch tomorrow.”
As if prompted by the same impulse, Astrid and Viktor turn their heads and catch sight of Michael as he comes into the hall.
“I was just telling my mother that we’re going to have lunch tomorrow,” Viktor says in a stilted tone of voice, as though making a point of how odd it is to be speaking a foreign language in a family setting.
“Why don’t you join us, Astrid?” Michael asks.
Viktor gives his mother a pleading look. “Yes, why don’t you, Mamma? It would be great to have lunch with the two of you together.” He looks at Astrid and murmurs in Swedish, “Please.”
Astrid realizes this is not an easy situation for her son. He’s clearly not sure what sort of drama he’s landed in, and for his sake, she should accept the invitation.
“Of course,” Astrid replies. Then, as if through a fog, she listens to Michael and Viktor decide on the time and place: one o’clock in the garden of the Museum of Modern Art.
“My real mom and dad,” Viktor says. Astrid thinks it sounds forced, as if all he wants is to go out with his friends tonight, to be young and leave behind the claustrophobic corner he’s painted himself into with the grown-ups.
Henrik appears and gives Viktor a hug. The sadness in Henrik’s manner suggests he must have heard what Viktor said about his “real” parents. But his smile looks genuine when he says he thinks the lunch is a good idea.
Finally, most of the guests leave, but it’s after midnight by the time Astrid and Henrik wave good-bye to Sandra and Per. They had one last drink on the rooftop terrace, to cap off the evening, and Astrid cursed herself for being stupid enough to have agreed. It had been Henrik’s idea, but she could have put a stop to it. With Sandra and Per, one glass is never enough. And the more they drank, the more they bickered as the hours slipped by.
Now they’ve left, at last. The effect of their barbed remarks is still evident in Astrid’s hunched shoulders. She tries to relax as she sighs into the silence that has settled over the apartment after their departure.
Astrid, as usual, played the role of silent observer. Occasionally, over the course of the evening, Sandra would cast a glance at her sister, but Astrid saw this as merely an attempt to decipher her mood. Sandra must have wondered, How annoyed is Astrid? How pissed off is she now? Astrid wonders how she ever got pigeonholed like this—the one who criticizes, the one who judges. As if her own life were wrapped up in a nice, neat package.
With determined frenzy, Astrid begins cleaning up the kitchen. When Henrik tries to put his arms around her, murmuring in her ear that they can leave everything for the morning, she pulls away and says, “Not on your life. I want to eat breakfast in a clean kitchen.” But after she puts the last plates in the dishwasher, she looks around, hoping to find something else that needs to be done. She doesn’t want to stop.
Henrik leans against the counter, watching her wipe off the kitchen table. He takes a swig from the bottle of beer he’s holding, then raises his hand to his mouth to hide a belch. “Sandra and Per seemed in high spirits, didn’t you think? Those two really know how to party.”
Astrid is rinsing out the dishcloth. She has to raise her voice to be heard over the running water. “But why did you have to ask them to stay? You know how they get.”
“Hmm . . . Well, I think they outdid themselves tonight.”
“I know things are bad with the dance school. Mamma says they could go bankrupt any day now.”
“That’s a shame. They’ve really tried to make
a go of it,” Henrik replies, taking another swig.
Astrid turns off the water. “I know. But Mamma always has to be so dramatic. Maybe things aren’t that bad. They both drink too much. That’s probably all it is.”
“By the way, what time did your mother leave? Did she go with Lena?” Henrik asks. “I thought your sister was acting kind of strange today. She hardly said a word.”
Astrid wrings out the cloth and hangs it up to dry. “She probably thought I was hogging all the attention, or something like that. But I really don’t have the energy to analyze my sisters right now. I just assume that they both find me annoying in one way or another.”
The kitchen is now neat and clean. Astrid dries her hands on a fresh dishcloth as she looks out the window at the summer night. If she had her way, she’d stay up alone. But she knows that Henrik is watching her every move. He wants her attention and her reassurances that everything is fine.
In other words, that nothing has changed.
“So, how do you think it went today?” Henrik asks.
“Other than the fact that my sisters both behaved strangely? It was good,” Astrid answers.
Henrik waits for Astrid to go on as she keeps peering out at the light night sky.
“Good. Or, um . . . I mean, everything went smoothly.”
She turns away from the window and yawns. “You heard about the lunch, right? I promised Viktor, so even though it doesn’t sound like much fun, I guess I have to go.” She looks at the clock, then back to Henrik. “Let’s go to bed. It’s awfully late.”
Astrid tries to slip past Henrik on her way out of the kitchen, but she knows he won’t let her go. He kisses her throat and grabs her ass, but he’s slightly drunk, which makes him clumsy. Astrid resists.
“Henrik, sweetheart. It’s late. Can we wait until tomorrow?”
Henrik releases Astrid but cups her face in his hands. She forces herself to stand still under his searching gaze. To avoid the whole situation, she murmurs a few soothing words as she lowers her eyes and then pulls out of his grasp.
[2013] The Heart Echoes Page 2