One Week

by Roya Carmen

I laugh. “Oh my god… you must have seen the dress. That’s exactly what it’s like. I’m positive I’m going to have a nip slip.”

  “I need to go to this wedding,” he jokes.

  I laugh again. “Maeve is a little ditzy sometimes, but the sweetest girl you’ll ever meet. She loves notebooks with kitty cats and puppies. She wears flowery dresses, cardigans, lots of polka-dots, funky socks, and has the cutest shoe collection I’ve ever seen. It’s like she’s stuck in a permanent child-like state, which is fitting because she’s a manager at a children’s clothing store. I think she actually gets some of her t-shirts and clothes there.”

  “She sounds fun,” he says.

  “She is,” I tell him. “And then there’s Corrie who’s brash and loud. She always tells you what’s on her mind. She used to be a paralegal but she’s a homemaker now, although I’m not sure how much homemaking she does because she has a cleaning lady, and no kids yet. She and her husband were trying, but they’re separated now. She dresses to the nines, and has the body for it too. She’s a tiny little blonde thing.”

  “I prefer brunettes,” he chimes in with a grin.

  I smile up at him. “And then there’s Kayla. She’s the mellow one, a mother earth type, a modern-day hippie. God, she would love Christiania. Anyway, she teaches yoga, and is also a massage therapist. She’s not one for relationships… she has a thing with a friend right now.”

  He smiles. “A thing with a friend?”

  “You know… friends with benefits,” I elaborate. “Kind of like us… except it’s not just a week for them, and he lives not too far, and not across an ocean.” I smile up at him, but he’s not smiling.

  “So this journaling club… what do you all do, share diary entries?!” he asks, curious. He seems fascinated by the whole concept.

  “Pretty much… journal entries, poetry,” I explain. “I feel like I can share anything with them. We’re pretty close. Once in a while, we’ll get a new member, and I won’t share anything too personal, but the new members always come and go. The four of us, we’re constant.”

  “How many times do you meet?”

  “Once a week,” I tell him. “It’s something I look forward to every week.” I pull out my phone and quickly scroll through my photos. I pick out my favorite selfie of the four of us. “That’s us.”

  He smiles. “You girls look good together,” he says. “You’re lucky to have them.” His words are soft and there’s sadness in them. I know he’s happy for me, but I think he wishes he had that too.

  “How ‘bout you. You really don’t have anyone?!”

  He grins, but his smile is sorrowful. “Well, I have Floyd,” he says. “And Albert… but Albert’s gone most of the time. My friends Trevor and Dave… we go for a beer once in a blue moon. That’s about it.”

  So sad. “How ‘bout back home? Anyone back home?”

  “Well, there’s my sister, and a few friends I’ve lost touch with.”

  He really has no one. “Well, all you need is a dog,” I say cheerfully, “and your health.”

  “And one good friend,” he says, and shoots me a sweet smile.

  God, I know I’m going to hurt him. I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to say goodbye. But I’ve made a promise to John. And above all else, John and the kids come first. God, I’m going to break this man’s heart. I want the ground to swallow me up whole.

  He takes me on another ride on his gorgeous Vespa. It’s perfect — the wind in my hair, the fresh air, and the beautiful morning sun. Something about the whole thing makes me feel like I’m in one of those old-time romantic comedies, one of those black and white films starring Audrey Hepburn. Actually, I feel a little bit like Audrey Hepburn. I have the capris, stylish flats, and oversized sunglasses. All I need is a scarf.

  He even lets me have a go at it. I go slow, afraid to crash his beloved scooter, and make a fool of myself. It’s a lot of fun. Again, for the millionth time, I feel like a kid. Everything feels new and like an adventure.

  Everything tastes so good here too — the local foods with names I can’t pronounce, flavors I’ve never experienced. The open sandwiches are delicious, and the sauces on the burgers are definitely worth a try. We have sandwiches for lunch, but just the fact that they’re not typical fare makes them tastier.

  I think that’s the fun thing about travel — for a week or so, or however long you go, you get to live so many new experiences, be immersed in a whole new world. Most of us repeat the same day over and over again, eat the same meals every month, see the same people day after day, and do the same old thing. Our life is like Groundhog Day. Maybe that’s the attraction with Eli. He’s something new — a bright unexpected stroke of color in a bland and grey predictable painting. Every day, he surprises me. And maybe that’s because I barely know him. Or maybe it’s because he’s something special.

  After lunch, he plays a few tunes on his guitar for me. He doesn’t have the best singing voice, and his guitar skills are pretty basic, but I love it nevertheless. I make a few requests, and he obliges once or twice, but he only seems to know one or two lines of each song, mostly nineties tunes.

  Then, we go downtown again. He knows I love sweets, and he says he absolutely needs to take me to this place. It’s a bit of a touristy spot, he says, but apparently, it’s worth the line-up.

  Just the shop windows alone are worth the trek. I’ve never seen anything like it; towers of pastel colored macarons, the prettiest cupcakes I’ve ever seen, and the most exquisite cakes; works of art, all of them. I snap pictures with my phone. I’m totally Instagram-ing this. The place is hustling and bustling — a quaint little space with a Victorian flair. Tea cups and tea pots. The walls are pink and the carpet is green with flowers. It’s the place to be.

  We have the hot chocolate, and it’s the best I’ve ever tasted. It’s basically pure melted chocolate. In America, hot chocolate is hot water with a dash of chocolate flavoring. In Denmark, it’s actually melted chocolate!

  “I want to live here forever,” I tell him.

  He laughs. “You should,” he says. It’s a joke. We both know it. I could never. I have a family back home. I’m stuck there forever. In Vermont. And I’m fine with that — I love it there too. I can make my own real hot chocolate at home. I wonder… what would life be like if I didn’t have John and the kids? Would I move out here to be with Eli? I would in a heartbeat. I know I would.

  I study the beautiful angles of his face as he peruses the extensive dessert menu. “Are you in the mood for cake?”

  The hot chocolate is filling enough. “No, I’m good. I won’t fit into any of my clothes if I keep indulging like this,” I tell him. “I feel like I’ve already gained ten pounds.”

  He grins playfully. “You look perfect,” he says. “I love every curve.”

  And with those words, he leaves me speechless, yet again.

  We stroll and window shop. When I spot one of those fish spas, I go kind of wild. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t seem too enthusiastic. It’s one of those places where you stick your feet in an aquarium, and tiny fish nip at your toes. They bite off the dead skin apparently. It’s one of those weird things people do. I only want to do it because Kayla raved about it. Apparently she had her toes nipped in a cenote in Mexico once, and she couldn’t stop talking about how fun it was.

  “Really?!” Eli says.

  “Really,” I say. “Let’s do it. My treat,” I offer. So far, we’ve been sharing a lot of the costs of our outings. He sets out to pay, and I often stop him, and tell him I want to cover it. We argue, and end up going Dutch.

  He laughs. “I’ll hate it.”

  “I thought you were adventurous,” I tease. “I’ve gone along with everything so far.” I inch closer. “Remember… sex in the alley,” I whisper. “That was pretty scary.”

  He bites his lip, remembering. “You loved every second of it.”

  “That’s not the point.”

&
nbsp; I finally convince him to do it. The spa is nice; cherry blossom trees, and floral decals on the walls, candles, and soft music. There are comfortable leather chairs, and in front of each one, there are aquariums on the floor filled with tiny fish.

  Our coats and bags are taken, and we’re given flip flops; women’s 8 for me, and men’s 12 for him. We both take a seat on the comfy chairs. He’s sitting right across from me. He hesitates a few seconds, and then he dips his feet in very slowly. His half-smile-half-wince is priceless. I follow suit. The water is pleasantly warm, and the fish get right to work. “It feels so weird.”

  “It does,” he agrees.

  “It tickles.”

  The little nips take me by surprise, and make me laugh. This might be one of the silliest things I’ve ever done. I look over at Eli who has the biggest grin on his face, and I know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

  I’m exhausted by dinner time. My feet feel so soft, and I decide to apply some fresh toe polish. Eli is making dinner again; flanked steak and potato salad. Every time he cooks, I tell myself that I could get used to this. He’s such a good cook, even better than me.

  Following a really good dinner, he teaches me a few card games. Then we drink more wine while we listen to some of his records. The wine makes me sleepy, and I instantly regret it. It robs me of my time with him. We make love, sweet and slow. We get tangled up in the sheets, we laugh, and we kiss. It’s perfect. The only thing dragging us down is the knowledge that our time together is about to come to an end.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Day 6.

  IT HURTS TO THINK ABOUT IT. This is our last full day together. One week is all we get. Not even a full week, really. It’s closer to six days. Six days and six nights. Tonight is our last night together.

  His arms are warm, and his breath is hot on my skin. We’re spooning, and I want to stay like this forever. We haven’t looked at each other yet. It’s still dark out — it’s early. I’m glad we haven’t slept in too late because I want to make the most of our last day. He drops a soft kiss between my shoulders and I smile. “Good morning,” he whispers. I’m not sure how he knows that I’m awake.

  “Good morning.”

  “What do you wanna do today?” he asks.

  “I want to stay in bed all day.”

  He laughs into my back. Just then, Floyd makes an appearance, like he does every morning. He shakes us out of our little cozy cocoon. Eli ruffles his furry ears. Floyd licks my face again, which I’m not particularly fond of, but it makes me laugh. Eli gets up to take care of him, and I catch a glimpse of his gorgeous ass before he slips into his boxers.

  “I want to take you to Christhaven,” he says. “There’s a market there I thought you might like, and some old towers to see.”

  Well, it’s not quite all-day lovemaking, but it does sound pretty nice.

  “And then, I thought we could go to Paper Island to eat.”

  “Sounds great.”

  I make Eggs Benedict for breakfast; a specialty of mine, and then we’re off for the day. We walk Floyd and leave him with Evelyn again. Apparently, she’s a designer, and works from home. She loves to take care of Floyd when Eli is away, which apparently is not too often.

  We begin our excursion with a trip to a little outside flea market. There are tons of vendors selling their wares: antique watches, vintage clothing, old records, worn books, small furniture pieces, art, old cameras, and so much more. I’m drawn to the cameras — they’re so cool. It’s hard to believe that not so long ago, cameras were this complicated. They worked around rolls of films, developed in labs by other people. The person who took the picture was rarely the first to see it. And now we snap quick shots with our phones, and we can take as many photos as we wish. I think we take that for granted.

  I turn to Eli. “I still remember when I was a kid, and we had this old-school camera. My mom would scold us if we took too many silly pictures, reminding us how expensive each photo was.”

  He smiles. “Oh, I remember. Wasn’t it fun going to the pharmacy, and waiting to see the pictures?”

  “It was the anticipation that made it exciting,” I tell him. “Delayed gratification.”

  “Yeah… there’s no more anticipation these days, no more delayed gratification,” he says with a hint of nostalgia. “Everything is so instant these days.”

  I set the camera back down with the others. “You and I, we’re old souls.”

  He smiles. “Yeah, we are.”

  I end up buying a small glass elephant for my collection, and an old vintage leather purse, in mint condition, from the fifties, I’m told. I also buy some fun pins for the kids. Eli buys a paintbrush and a crime fiction novel.

  Not one to ever let me rest, Eli convinces me to climb up this old tower, one of many in Copenhagen. It stands very tall, and is part of an old church. The church is just stunning inside; dark carved pews, al fresco religious paintings, and a massive organ.

  At first, the climb is leisurely, but the higher we climb, the more exhausted my legs become, and my breath starts to come out in short puffs. It’s narrow and dark and quite rugged, but quite cool. Thankfully, we stop for a minute or two in a dusty room with broken plaster and cobwebs. A huge bell commands our attention — I feel like the hunchback of Notre Dame climbing up to ring the bell.

  The higher we get, the narrower and narrower the steps become, I begin to feel a little claustrophobic. The old worn wooden steps are replaced by copper ones as we make our way to the very top. The view is to die for, and we take a few selfies.

  Thankfully, the trek down is easier. We’re both tired and famished when we leave the church. We hold hands as we head toward the boats.

  It’s a very quick trip to Paper Island, and although I was famished, I’ve lost my appetite. I can’t stop thinking about what I’m doing to Eli. He deserves to know the truth. I haven’t been completely honest with him because I didn’t want to ruin our short time together. But I’d told myself that I would be honest with him on our last day. Should I wait until tonight?

  As we walk hand in hand, I take in the beautiful island and all the people around us. It’s a nice perfect day, which apparently is a rare occurrence in Copenhagen this time of year. It’s often rainy and overcast. I decide that I’ll fess up today.

  We venture into the street food market. “This is the best place to get Danish street food,” he tells me. “Anything you can imagine.” Sure enough, the place is packed with all kinds of vendors: open-faced sandwiches, sushi, oysters, burgers... everything. When Eli mentioned ‘street food’, I thought it would be cheap, but that’s not the case. I opt for a sausage on a bun with cheese and pesto and a lemonade for a cool fifteen dollars.

  Eli has lamb Moroccan stew and a foreign beer. We sit in open cafeteria style seating. The woman next to me is having sushi, and the man to my left is having what looks like a ham and cheese sandwich. The sausage on a bun was expensive, but it’s delicious. I’m all about the lunch and have almost forgotten about my worries. We people watch, and every once in a while, we smile at each other. We’re not very chatty today. I think the both of us realize it’s our last day together, and we’re both kind of upset about it. I wonder what he’s thinking. I want to know, but I don’t dare ask.

  We walk over to the paper trees. “People from all over the world leave little notes and hang them in the trees,” Eli says. “Wishes. Messages of hope. Notes to loved ones. Goodbyes.”

  “It’s easy,” he tells me as he takes a small white scrap of paper. “Just grab a pencil and a piece of paper. Write it down and hang it in one of the trees.” He scribbles something quickly, folds the small piece of paper, and hangs it. I desperately want to know what he’s written but I don’t ask.

  I grab a small pencil and a piece of paper, and write down a wish. I fold it in two, and smile up at Eli. I hang it up in the tree, right next to his. He doesn’t ask me what I wrote. He simply takes my hand and leads me down the path, where we end up in a tiny litt
le café, and share ginger cookies and coffee.

  We’re tucked in at the back of the little café — there’s no one here but us. The day’s moving along nicely with more to come — Amalienborg, dinner, and a quiet evening at his place.

  I don’t want to do this at his place. I want him to remember only the good memories when he’s lying in his bed, when he’s reading a book on his sofa, when he’s whipping up a meal in the kitchen. I don’t want him to remember this conversation, this revelation. Yet, I don’t want to be a coward, I don’t want to wait until I get back home, and tell him in a Facebook message. He deserves more than that. He deserves so much more.

  “Thank you for everything, Eli,” I say.

  He wraps a hand around his coffee cup. “My pleasure. Thank you for coming.”

  “It was one of the best weeks of my life,” I admit. “If not the best.”

  He smiles shyly, and then his gaze searches for mine. “For me too.”

  Oh god, this hurts so much.

  “One week,” I say.

  “One week,” he echoes.

  I want to cry.

  “I’ll miss you like crazy when you leave,” he says, “but we can chat like we used to, video chat, send each other silly pictures and memes. We can video chat and you can be a pirate, and I’ll talk to you with a cat on my head.”

  He’s smiling, and I just want to crumble. He’s completely clueless.

  “The thing is,” I start. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t want to do this. “The thing is…” I just can’t. My pulse is racing. I rub my palms down the length of my skirt. I stare at my half eaten cookie. I stall.

  “What?!” he asks, impatient. “The thing is what?!”

  The words finally come out in a swift sentence. “The thing is… I didn’t tell you everything about my arrangement with John.”

  He cocks a brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I told you that John and I agreed on a week only, and that he was adamant that it would be a sexual relationship only.”

  Eli nods, not quite following.