“We need furniture,” William says.
I make a point of glancing around us, taking my time. There are two kitchen stools at the island, the rest of the room is empty. “It might be a bit too minimalistic.”
He laughs. “Fine, I give in. It was a bad idea to do all the rooms at the same time. I’m sick of eating dinner at the kitchen island. I want a table, sofa, and chairs. Can’t we pay someone to finish the paint job for us?”
Splitting the costs for the bathrooms and sanding of the floors has left me with two hundred thousand kroner in the bank, and I promised myself not to spend more. “We already paid for sanding the floors, and updating the bathrooms, but if you want to pay for it? Please.”
“I’m not paying for it if you won’t split it with me,” William says, piercing a large piece of egg with his fork, then pointing it at me with a playful grin on his face.
I shrug. “It’s only painting the walls and moldings left, then we’re done. And the office upstairs. We can do that.”
“The baby’s room, you mean,” he says.
After hearing about children now almost constantly since we moved in, my patience is wearing out. “William, please. If you want children this bad, you actually need to find yourself another girlfriend. I’m not ready.” Not that I want him to find someone else, but if that’s what he wants, he knows I won’t give it to him now.
“Okay, let’s call it your art studio then.” He winks.
I miss my classes with Miss Ask, and I can’t wait to continue designing again. It’s like a part of me is missing. “Deal.”
“But Saturday, you come Christmas shopping with me in Oslo. And we order some furniture,” he says, knowing I won’t be able to resist a glance at the Christmas displays in shop windows in the city.
“Double deal.” I chuck the last piece of egg into my mouth and clear the plates. “But first, let’s finish the painting together.”
William yawns. “I’m tired. Let’s start the rush tomorrow.” He kisses my cheek and heads toward the stairs.
In shock, I run my fingers through my hair and clench it. “It’s only eight o’clock.”
Sauntering up the stairs, William calls back. “I need a shower.”
My heart races. I don’t move at first. Is he going to skip out on the painting here every day? So far, I’m the only one who’s done any work. I pick up the masking tape and continue. He can’t expect me to do all this by myself.
At one o’clock in the morning, I’m done painting the kitchen and hallway, and have completed one coat in the living room. I prepare a cup of tea and slip my feet into thick winter boots. My yellow coat feels like a duvet on my body as I head outside. Walking down the empty street, mine are the only tracks in the blanket of snow covering every surface. Large clusters of snowflakes melt in the palm of my hand. Creaking of snow beneath my feet is the only sound. The sea is quiet, the birds asleep, and with no tourists, no music playing from any house. I inhale the fresh night air and stare through the darkness, past pine trees at Mom turning off her lights. She is safe for tonight.
Sauntering back home, the heavy snow reminds me of the snow lanterns Mom and I made. Rolling snowballs, careful to stack them in a perfect circle, layer by layer until they close up over the candle lighting up the garden.
As I sneak into bed, William wakes up.
I whisper. “I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes.” Since Dad’s return, I can’t sleep until I know she’s safe. William doesn’t approve, but if I don’t see her, I’m exhausted the next morning from lack of sleep.
He kisses me, and pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me.
I squeeze his hand to my chest and whisper. “Can we make snow lanterns one day?”
A snore escapes his mouth.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
RING
Five late nights later, William and I drive into Oslo. Golden Christmas lights light up the trees, and illuminated chandeliers glow and twinkle between buildings above pedestrians. Exiting the car, the scent of freshly-baked gingerbread and mulled wine makes my mouth water.
“We should get ornaments for the tree.” I jump out of the car and take William’s hand.
“What tree?” He points to a coffee shop, and we get in line.
“The one we have to find on our way home.”
We both order a chai latte. Inhaling its scent, memories of Mom telling stories about her ornaments while we decorated our tree flash by in vivid images.
About thirty ornaments, and a book for Nana later, we walk down the snow-filled streets as people rush by us with kids in tow.
William pauses outside a jeweler. “What do you want for Christmas?”
I glance into the emerald green window display. Diamond rings, wedding bands, necklaces. “Nothing this expensive. Great ornaments for the tree,” I say.
“Come on, let’s have a look.” He pulls me into the store, where a tiny clean-shaven man welcomes us.
“How may I assist you two today?” He appears like out of a catalog with his black suit and green tie matching the store’s décor.
My face heats up, knowing I’m blushing.
“My wonderful girlfriend needs something to match her beauty,” William proclaims to the man as if giving a speech.
“Very well.” The man pulls out a rose gold cuff bracelet, presenting it to us. “This is the latest craze. We only have one left, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone walks in to purchase it while you’re here.”
William takes it out of his hands and places it on my wrist. “Perfect.”
Holding my hand up, it sparkles in the fluorescent lights. “It’s beautiful.” I turn it over to look at the price and gasp. “William!”
It’s over fifty thousand kroner.
A quarter of all I have left in my savings account from selling Skar’s.
He glances at the price. “Do you like it?”
“I love it, but this is insane.” I send an apologetic look to the salesman.
He pulls out another drawer. “What about a ring?”
No.
I shake my head. This isn’t fun anymore.
“Yes, that I would love to see.” William lifts up a square-shaped diamond ring.
Still shaking my head, my palms are sweaty when he lifts my hand and holds my engagement finger out. I want to pull it back, but the man working in the store is watching my expression like a hawk. William places it on my finger. “Perfect.” His eyes sparkle more than the diamond.
“Oh, it looks beautiful on your finger,” the man says, rubbing his hands together.
Staring down at it, my hand shakes.
This isn’t right.
I can’t give William the impression that I’m ready to get married. We just bought a house, we’ve lived together a month only, we don’t even know each other. Mom married Dad, and it ended with him beating us up. I take it off. “I can’t wear rings to work.” I lean closer to William, and whisper. “Can we leave, please?”
His eyes widen. “But it’s perfect.”
My throat clenches, I need air. “Not for me.” I turn to the man behind the counter. “Thank you.” I walk out.
Pedestrians fill the street, so I lean up against the wall next to the jeweler with my face to the sky inhaling deeply. William wants to get married and have children, there’s no doubt about that, but I don’t. At least not now. Did I say yes to this by buying the house with him?
William is on my tail. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? Why did you want to place a ring on my finger?” I already know the answer, but we need to talk about this because he apparently hasn’t received my message.
He pushes snow around with his foot, eyes on the ground. “Because I thought you’d like it. And I want to know what kind of ring you like.”
“I’ve told you several times I’m not ready for any of that. It’s too soon, William. So why do you want to know w
hat kind of ring I’d like on that finger?”
“You know why.”
I do, but I need it out in the open because this is getting ridiculous.
He shifts his gaze to me. “I’m trying to give you a life others only dream about, Amalie. Why isn’t that good enough for you?”
“I’m not other people. I’m me. Amalie. And I need time to figure out my own life before I imprison myself in yours.” Great. “I don’t mean it like that.” Shit, I do mean it like that. Marriage is a prison. If Mom hadn’t been married to Dad she would have left him several years ago. We would have left him, I’m sure of it. Instead, she was stuck with a promise to be with him until death, which he nearly made happen.
“I know,” he says.
A woman in a white coat that looks like Erica walks past us, and I recall what she told me in the bathroom at their workplace when I met her. “He’s got some strange demands. Enjoy him while it lasts.”
“Is this why you and Erica broke up?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What does she have to do with anything? No, that was different. She just wanted to waste her life on silly things.”
“Like what? Work? Travel? Not being a stay-at-home wife?”
“No…You don’t get it. It was different, she was a typical city girl, and you’re not.”
“What am I then? A country girl that would love to follow in my mother and Nana’s footsteps? Marry young, have kids and give my life to the man I love?”
“That’s unfair. I’ve never treated you less than anyone from the city,” William says.
You just did.
It’s like he’s punched me in the stomach. “Three months ago you asked me to be your girlfriend. Two months ago, we bought a house, and we haven’t truly lived together yet because all we’ve done is paint and fix the house. We don’t even have furniture. And now you want to get married? Why is that so important to you?”
“It’s what people do.” William pulls his hand through his hair. “I want to show people that we belong together, that we’re happy.”
Oh, so if everyone jumps off a bridge, we should too?
“It’s not what all people do.”
“If they love each other they do. It’s what we’re supposed to do.”
“Why? Tell me what changes if we get married.”
He shrugs, then a grin forms on his face. “You get to call yourself Mrs. Sand.”
“I would never call myself that.” I can tell I’m hurting him, but if this is ever going to work, we need to figure this out. I’m the only one in our family to keep the Vogt name going, and I refuse to give that up. “Is it an ownership thing? You want to own me?”
“It’s a romantic thing. That way everyone we meet will know we belong together.”
“No, they’ll know I’m married to you. This tradition began as a business deal. If I’m ever going to agree to get married, we need to modernize it.”
Why do I need to change my name?
What about him? I can’t imagine him calling himself Vogt as his last name. “My father lived his life caring about how the world viewed him. See what good that did him.”
“I’m not your father. I want to do the right thing here.”
“For whom, William? It’s not right for me.” I sigh. “Getting married doesn’t change how happy we are. It’s not a happy pill, it’s still two people who have to get to know who enjoys doing the laundry, who enjoys hanging it up and who never takes it off the rack.”
William opens his arms, and steps towards me. “I don’t mean to push you.”
With his warmth around me, a shadow in the crowd freezes me.
He’s here.
My heart races, and I jump back. “Dad’s here.”
A CHRISTMAS WISH
“What?” William spins around, but he’s gone.
I run down the crowded street, scanning every person around. Nothing.
“Maybe it was someone that looked like him,” William says.
Am I going insane? “No! He was here. I saw him.” I bury my face in my hands. “Why haven’t they caught him yet? How hard can it be?”
“Let’s go home. I’ll drive.” William puts his arm around me and walks me to the car.
Halfway home, I’m fuming over the incompetence of the police when a sign for Christmas trees by the highway catches my attention. “Let’s get a tree.”
“Here?”
“Yes.” I need the distraction, and nobody can be angry while shopping for a Christmas tree. It’s unheard of.
I evaluate every tree from every angle and eventually fall in love with one that looks like it’s taken out of a Disney cartoon. “How about this Siberian fir,” I say.
“Sib...What?” William’s standing by the fire with the two men selling the trees, chatting and warming their hands over the campfire.
I point to the tree, and he nods. “That’s great,” he says and points to a tree close to him, half the size of the one I’ve chosen. “This one’s better.”
I’m in no mood to discuss this, and he clearly seems uninterested. “Sure, Nana will love that,” I say.
He laughs. “I’m sure she will.”
I pay the salesman while William lays down seats in the car to make room. I think we both knew they wouldn’t fit, but I’m grateful William didn’t make a fuss about it, and I chose not to care. We end up strapping some rope to the back door to keep it shut, and with me seated in the backseat behind William, we drive home.
When we stagger into Nana’s hallway with her tree, her face lights up. “Oh, how wonderful. I never expected a tree this year.” She cups my face and kisses both cheeks before repeating the gesture with William. “Don’t bother removing your shoes.” She shushes us into the living room and digs out a stand for the tree from a box in the corner, which I help support. She seems to be in pain and sits down to rest.
I go over to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing to worry about. My skin is reacting to the radiation, so it hurts a little. It will pass.”
“Should we go to the doctor?”
“No. It is quite normal.” She smiles. “Your arrival is perfect because I wanted to invite you two for Christmas dinner.”
I haven’t thought about Christmas Eve yet which is unlike me. Perhaps I was hoping Mom would return to her old self in time and we’d celebrate like before. “What about Mom? Is she coming?”
“No. You see, I spoke with Celina, but she wants nothing to do with me.”
I’m lost for words and can tell she is too.
“She will remember soon and be back to herself,” she says.
Knowing this version of Mom, it doesn’t surprise me, but still.
It’s her mother.
How can Mom reject Nana like that, especially now that she’s sick? “She told you she doesn’t want to celebrate Christmas with you?”
Nana nods, clearly affected by how much she misses her daughter.
“Then where is she going?” An image of Mom stroking Dad’s hand flashes before my eyes. The room starts spinning. I hold on to Nana’s arm. “She’s in contact with Dad.”
Nana’s response jolts out of her. “No. Mr. Jensen has invited her to celebrate with him in his home with friends of his from Oslo. So, if you want to celebrate with me, that will be lovely.”
Poor Mr. Jensen.
Mom used to be his best friend, and it’s clear he’s trying to help as much as he can.
William clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but we can’t. My mother wants us to celebrate with them this year.”
What is he talking about? Nobody’s asked me, and I refuse to let Nana spend Christmas Eve alone. Poor Nana.
“Of course we’ll celebrate here,” I say, ignoring William’s shocked expression.
“I told Mother we’d come,” he says.
William’s gaze shifts from me to Nana. “Why don’t you come with us, to my parent’s house?”
Thank you.
Nana smiles. “Are you sure?�
�
“Absolutely,” William and I say in unison.
“Lovely. Do you dress up?”
William shrugs. “I guess.”
Nana chuckles. “I do enjoy dressing up for Christmas.”
The following day, I drive Nana to her twelfth and last appointment for radiation treatment. The roads are white like fog, and the falling snow blocks my view. The windshield wipers hardly keep up, and the rhythmic thump when they pull back is hypnotizing.
I glance at Nana who’s tucked herself into her down coat, covered in a knitted scarf, with her gray wool hat pulled down. “Anxious?”
“Relieved.” Nana’s eyes follow the wipers. “Curious if my skin will be even more sore going forward.”
Watching her move, I can tell it’s bothering her. It looks as though she’s afraid it will stick to her sweater and rip off if she moves too fast. “The doctor could have some advice for you.”
At the hospital, Nana’s called in as soon as we arrive. I sit in the waiting room and read an interior design magazine I started at her first radiation treatment. There’s an article about Ilse Crawford, Mom’s favorite, or who used to be her favorite designer. Would she like her décor today? I stare at the soft yellow couch and can’t see Mom in it with me. Today she would probably shy away from yellow entirely which used to be her favorite color.
Her preferences are different.
Maybe that’s why my efforts to make her like me have failed.
Ten minutes later, Nana saunters out with a grin. “I need rest, Amalie. Please take me home.”
Outside, snow has already buried the car. I start it up to heat the inside and get Nana in, then bring the brush out to strip the car of its white blanket. When I finish, my hands are blue from the freezing air.
“I thought about Christmas Eve today, as the radiation machine hummed around me,” Nana says. She’s twisting in her seat to find a comfortable position. “According to the doctor, my skin is too frail to be in contact with any soap, deodorant or perfume. I hoped my fatigue would stop now that my treatments are over, but according to her, it will only worsen because of the pills I must take. So, I want to thank you for your kind invitation, but must decline. I will stay home this year.”
Let Go Page 24