“I need your help if we want this to work. It can’t always be a one-way street. Isn’t sex supposed to be something to look forward to?”
“You dread sex with me?” He turns his back to me demonstratively.
“I don’t mean it like that. I want us to figure this out together, try different things, until we find out what works for me, for both of us.”
No response.
“William?”
“I’ve never, not even once experienced anyone this difficult to please in bed. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s Christmas after all.”
I slide to my side of the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Maybe they were faking it.
Not that that’s anything I’ll want to suggest out loud. “How was Christmas dinner with your parents?”
No response.
“Want to go shopping with Erica and me in Oslo when the stores open again?”
William turns around, facing me again. His expression is curious. “Why do you want Erica to come along? I mean, of all people?”
“She’s got the style I’m looking for,” I say.
He frowns. “Okay. Call her tomorrow. She hardly ever responds to text messages, so that’s no use.”
That explains why she hasn’t answered my text. “I will.”
“What exactly have you and Nana been talking about tonight?”
I grin. “That I’m enough.”
The next morning, I call Erica.
“Hi, Amalie. So sorry I haven’t gotten back to you yet. I wouldn’t buy in Årøysund, not the best investment.”
She must have saved my number to know it’s me calling. I listen to know if William can hear what I’m saying, but the water is running in the shower, so the coast is clear. “I’m actually not calling about that. Are you free on the twenty-seventh? I’d like to bring William and take you up on your offer of shopping and wine.”
“Sure. Did Sonia call you about Porto?”
The shower stops, and I whisper. “No.”
“She’s a bit eccentric, but the best at both finding properties and making them look amazing. I’ll remind her to get in touch.”
On December twenty-seventh, William packs up the car with the lunch I prepared last night, while I lay out my yoga attire, white sports bra, and light gray tights on my mat next to the bed. To make Mom see me in a new light, I have to look the part, and with the sales starting in Oslo, William has agreed to tag along.
“Are you doing yoga again?”
“I’m trying for Salamba Sarvangasana. It’s a shoulder stand. Hoping to do a handstand soon.”
“Standing on your arms is a workout? Why don’t you come running with me instead. This standing-still-breathing-stuff doesn’t really seem like exercise to me.”
“But sliding, slipping, and trying to run on snow is better?”
“You wear spikes. We can buy some in Oslo today.”
“No, thanks. I have all the equipment I need for yoga, and besides, I love it, and I’m getting better.”
“You do seem stronger, I’ll admit that.” William hands me my coat. “Are you sure you want Erica to meet us?”
The way he pronounces her name gets my attention as I climb into his Mercedes. “Should I be worried about you two rekindling your romance?”
“No.”
It hits me that she’s one of the women he refers to when he talks about sex. He told me he wasn’t a fan and couldn’t wait to get away from city women.
But is she a fan of his still?
Get a grip.
Erica’s meeting us to help me.
Or is she?
ERICA
William pulls open the wooden door for me, and we enter Steen & Strøm, a shopping center filled with designer brands where I’ve agreed to meet Erica. Make-up sections cover the ground floor, with perfume floating in the air and shoppers explaining how they want to improve themselves.
From the bottom of the escalator, we walk around the corner and turn left to a bar taken directly out of a design magazine, its floors and ceiling black with dark wood. A stunning blonde woman dressed in an off-white pencil dress stands out. She waits with a glass of red wine in her hand.
“William!” She opens her arms and hugs him tight.
What is this? Have I just fed my relationship to a lioness?
Not only that, but I’ve revealed I’m keeping a secret from William to her, Erica, who’s still holding onto my boyfriend. My brows want to furrow, but I fight them, so she won’t notice my reaction as she turns to me. “And Amalie. It’s so lovely to see you again.” Before I’m able to respond, she hugs me too, the exact same way she did William, which immediately calms my suspicion.
When she lets go, Erica waves the waiter over. “Let’s have a glass before we begin. I need to understand what you’re looking for.”
“We’re not here to drink, Erica,” William says.
“Oh, relax. Are you still controlling other people’s alcohol intake? One glass won’t hurt anyone.”
William rolls his eyes. “It’s never only one glass. But fine. We’ll have what you’re having.”
The waiter nods then scurries off.
Erica plays with her glass, caressing her thumb and index finger up and down the stem, all the way to the edge of the foot, then back up. “What’s your budget?”
I stare at William, without knowing why. With two hundred thousand kroner still in my bank account from Skar’s Auto, a grin forms on my face. “I haven’t thought about that. But I guess I don’t have one.”
“Perfect. Can you walk in heels?”
I swallow. “I’ve been walking since before I was two, I think. Not in heels, but sure. I can walk.”
Erica chuckles. “That’s a no then. Don’t worry, I’ll show you how.” She sips her wine, and the waiter brings William and me a glass each. “So what style are you looking for?”
I let my eyes wander down her dress, pausing at her taupe high-heeled shoes, then back up to her face. “This.”
She bursts out laughing. “Aiming for the best, huh? Can’t blame you.” She has another sip of wine. Although I appreciate her taking the time to help me, I can’t help but fear that this will be a trying day.
I explain why I want to change while we finish up our wine. William only has a few sips of his.
“I’m sorry about your mother, but let’s get shopping, shall we? Shoes first.”
Erica takes my hand and drags me with her to the escalator. I hold back. “We have to pay for our wine.”
Erica doesn’t stop. “William will take care of that. Come on.”
I glance back at William, who rolls his eyes, but gestures for me to follow her, so I do.
“You have to think like a horse when you walk in heels. If not, you will look terrible,” Erica says.
I cling onto the moving handrail. “Did you say horse?”
“Haven’t you ever seen a horse walk? I’ll show you. Because it doesn’t matter what you wear, if you don’t move correctly, there’s no point dressing to impress.” We get onto the next escalator, and she points to a woman our age, on the floor below. “See how she holds herself? Shoulders hunched forward, never extending her legs?”
The woman wears an outfit almost the same as Erica, but Erica stands out in the crowd, while this woman disappears in it. “Yes.”
“Well, beauty coming from within is something I don’t agree with. Maybe once you get to know someone. But confidence triumphs all beauty if you want to get attention. If she would hold her shoulders back and walk elegantly, I wouldn’t have had to point her out to you, because you would have noticed her already.”
I glance back at the woman, but although I understand what Erica means, I can’t see it.
“Sit here, I’ll find you a shoe. What size?”
“Thirty-eight.”
Erica runs off, while I sit on a sofa. There are shoes in every direction, covering the whole floor.
“These will be great to start off wit
h.” She holds out a pair, looking precisely like hers, half the height of her heels, though.
“I think I need higher heels,” I say.
Erica positions herself in front of me. “You need to be able to walk in them first. Trust me. This is what you should look like. Like the front legs of a horse.”
With poise, she almost glides away from me. I have to force myself not to stare, along with two men shopping with their wives two rows down. She spins around. “But this is what you’ll look like. The hind legs of the horse that never stretch out.” Erica trots down the same path. “You don’t want to be the butt of the horse.”
I can’t help but laugh. The men don’t notice her this time, but I can see what she tried to point out earlier. Her legs bend the entire time, and shoulders hunch, like the woman downstairs.
It can’t be that difficult.
I put the heels on, pull my shoulders back, and walk. “I need higher heels to impress Mom, I’m sure.”
Erica runs up to me, as elegant as her gliding walk before. “Trust me, it looks so much better with lower heels that you can walk in, rather than higher heels you can’t. Besides, the fronts of your calves will be burning tomorrow. So don’t overdo it.”
“The front?” There is a full-length mirror to my left, so I straighten up even further and walk over to it. I sigh at the sight of myself. “I move like a robot. How do you glide?”
“You’ll get there. Just remember to stand straight, shoulders back, and straighten your knee out as you put your weight on that foot.”
She reminds me of my grandmother’s instructions. Walk to impress, dress to impress, it all sounds exhausting. “I’ll get these.”
“I’m glad to hear William’s more eager to spend his money, though. He was such a scrooge when we dated,” Erica says.
She thinks he’s paying? “Oh no, he’s not paying for this. I am.”
“He finally found the perfect woman then.”
I laugh. “I sold my father’s dealership. I have some money left from that.”
Erica follows me to the register. “Well, you shouldn’t be spending it on clothes, that’s William’s job. It’s so typical. We spend all our money looking good for them, and they invest in real estate and get rich. I refuse to do that, and so should you. Let him pay for you to look good.”
This one pair of shoes is more expensive than all my other shoes combined, but I close my eyes and swipe my card. “Sorry?”
“Your message. You should buy in Porto. I have the perfect new apartment project for you.” Erica lifts my shopping bag down from the counter. “It won’t be done until next summer, but it’s a steal. Porto’s been dreadful for years, but with the low-cost airlines opening direct routes there from London, Berlin, and Paris, in a year or two, I guarantee you’ll have tripled your money.”
My heart beats like it’s coming out of my chest while I walk back and forth in my new high heels. Images of Nana and me on a balcony in Porto flash before me, but William’s laugh drags me out of my fantasy and back into reality.
“I think you need some practice, honey.” His eyes sparkle, trying to withhold a giggle. “How’s it going?”
“I’m terrible,” I say, hoping William didn’t listen in on our conversation.
Erica’s voice overpowers mine. “I was telling Amalie about Porto. I can’t believe you haven’t advised her to invest there already. Are you slipping, Mr. Investment-guru?”
Oh no.
William’s sparkle disappears. “We have no contacts there.”
“I do, you can use mine,” Erica says, nudging me with a massive grin on her face.
“We’ll discuss it in the car.” Two wrinkles appear between William’s brows and make Erica take a step back.
She clears her throat. “I recall that look. I’ll shut up now. Let’s look at dresses, Amalie.” Erica retakes my hand and leads me down to the fashion floor. “Sorry to see he’s still controlling.”
“I don’t think he’s controlling. He’s scared to lose me.”
And I can talk to him about it after.
“The reason doesn’t excuse the behavior.” She holds up a light gray dress. “This would be perfect on you.”
Seven dresses, three skirts, two pairs of pants, and three hours later, we pack up the car to go home. “Thank you so much, Erica.”
“My pleasure.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight while whispering in my ear, “If you ever need help buying an apartment for yourself in Norway, or anywhere else, you know where to find me.” She lets go and continues in her normal voice. “If you need anything, call any time.”
I fight the urge to tell her I won’t. I probably shouldn’t have involved her to begin with.
She gives William a quick hug, one more distant than when we met. “Drive safe.”
When William speeds up on the motorway, my adrenaline speeds up with the car, and I can’t wait to ask anymore. “Why is it so problematic for you that I invest in Porto? Erica’s offered to help, and she says it’s a great investment.”
“It’s too far away,” William says.
“It would be perfect for me.”
“No, but I won’t fight you about that. It’s your money, do whatever you like. I, on the other hand, would like to invest in us.”
That comment could easily have been a knife to my stomach, at least it hurts like that. “I invest in us too. Most of the furniture at home is mine, that’s for us.”
He doesn’t answer me. When we get home, he parks the car and walks into the house without a word. The driveway is filled with snow, so I shovel a pathway for myself, then carry my bags inside. “William?”
No answer. I look in the kitchen, the living room. He isn’t downstairs. When I reach the top of the stairs, his snoring creeps out from the bedroom.
I sneak in, get my yoga mat and clothes, then tiptoe downstairs, not able to shake Erica’s sympathetic look. I turn on the app and warm up. The soothing voice is telling me to go into down dog, up dog, through warrior three, building up to shoulder stand. I’m forcing my breath far into my stomach. My eagerness to do this motivates me as I push the air out.
“Press your lower back down, inhale as you lift your legs up and back.”
I tip over to the side, growl to myself, and try again. Then again.
“Exhale. Place your hands on your back, then swing your legs up to the sky.”
One leg at a time, I extend them up into the air. I did it. Breathe in, breathe out, calm down, I tell myself. Instead, I laugh. I can do this! I stretch my back up, put my hands on my shoulder blades, keeping the pose. Not able to hold back the grin, I can’t fight it. I’m doing a shoulder stand!
When I finish, I want to run up to William to tell him. I roll up my mat and round the corner into the hallway where my shopping bags are. If I can stand on my shoulders, I can walk in heels.
I slip on my new shoes and strut across the living room floor. An hour later, Erica gets her point across. The front of each calf is burning every time I force my leg straight.
How can I impress Mom if I can’t even walk?
My grandmother comes to mind again. Although I haven’t heard from her, she might know how to make someone like her and Mom like me. She’s been eager her whole life to tell me how to dress, talk, sit and act so why not let her.
With William asleep and angry at me, I pull out my sketchbook for the first time in what feels like forever and draw my dream apartment with floor to ceiling windows, an open plan kitchen and living room, and a breathtaking view of the city. William might not support this, but I don’t need his approval.
The next morning, I shower, dress in a new beige skirt, and white blouse, leave a note for William who’s still asleep that I’m borrowing his car, and drive off.
ABORTION
Moonlight glistens in the falling flakes when I drive up my grandparents’ street, and in front of every house men and women are out shoveling. Although Grandmother considers unannounced visits impolite,
had I called, she would probably ask me to come another day, and I don’t want to wait. I park the car and tread lightly up the icy slush-covered staircase, my finger sticking to the frozen polished-brass doorbell. I take a step back while three chimes sound from within. It’s unnerving to be here, and it’s almost as if I’m calling them out on their failing empathy for our family. Still, she’ll know how I can impress Mom. After all, Mom already has Mrs. Skar’s new wallpaper up.
From inside the house, the clacking of heels moves closer, a long pause before the door opens, a scent of argan oil. “Amalie? How lovely to see you.” Grandmother blocks the doorway with her body, glancing behind her, before calling out. “Amalie is here.” She pauses, waits for a response that never comes.
Who are you calling out to? You don’t believe in calling for people. That’s why you have that silly bell of yours.
“Can I come in?” I peek past her, but no one’s there.
Stepping aside, she lets me pass and closes the door behind me. “Place your shoes there. Wait for me in the drawing room.” She heads off. There’s a wet spot underneath the empty shoe rack she’s pointed to. I place my shoes on it, knowing it’s only for guests. I’m puzzled by why it hasn’t been wiped dry. Grandmother does keep an immaculate home. It’s as if someone’s had their snow-filled shoes there and removed them in a hurry. If grandfather’s gone out, he still wouldn’t keep his shoes here; this rack is for guests.
Strange.
I sit on the sofa Mom and I sat on a few months ago. On the table in front are the same hunting and interior design magazines, but with Christmas decorations on the covers. A painting now sits where the framed newspaper article of Dad posing in front of Skar’s Auto on its opening day was.
“How is William?” Grandmother sits down in her armchair, then rings the bell.
Naturally, she asks about him, not Mom or me. Not even Dad.
Like last time, their maid rolls a cart of coffee in and hurries out as soon as it’s on the table. Grandmother pours two cups, hands me one, and slurps from the other while holding her pinky high in the air.
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