Let Go

by Alexandra Winter

  “I won’t.”

  I ease my feet to the floor, clenching my teeth for the impact and make my way up the stairs. “Thank you.”

  The next day, my twentieth birthday is a blur at work. I wear pants and my old shoes, but it doesn’t help. I can hardly stand by now. I hoped the skin would thicken, but it never did. I stay away from Mom as much as I can. Josefine brings her expresso so I won’t have to. One lousy comment from Mom today would ruin me.

  Ms. Berg makes me my favorite cake to celebrate, an apple crumble made from oats, butter, mint leaves, lemon, coconut, vanilla seeds, and honey with a mouth-watering homemade vanilla ice cream on top. Everyone who works here gathers in the kitchen to share, taking turns to wait on customers.

  Mom, of course, feels it unnecessary to waste time and money on a day that “happens every year for the employees.” She applies different concern for the guests, though. Any guest with a birthday must be celebrated and fussed over, but not us. Not me.

  My feet are heavy as I walk home, pain shooting up my legs with every step, and I can’t wait to be alone, read a book, and relax. With the temperature switching between freezing and the sun warming the remaining snow, the road is like a polished ice rink. It takes me twice as long as usual to walk home.

  When I finally open my front door, William meets me in the hallway with red roses in his hands. Behind him in our living room hangs a big banner with Happy Birthday. Balloons and red roses cover every surface. He looks excited as he strokes his fingers through his hair. Adrenaline rushes through me as my suspicion rises. He’s on one knee. Why is he on one knee? Is he proposing? He can’t do that. He won’t. There’s no way he’ll do that to me now.

  SURPRISE

  I hang my coat and remove my shoes, but won’t look at William. Still, it doesn’t dampen the enthusiasm in his voice.

  “Welcome home, birthday girl.” He takes my hand and stares up at me. I’m panicking inside.

  Don’t do this, William. You promised me I could have my birthday alone, and you know I don’t want this.

  I want to scream in his face that he’s ruining my day, that I’ve been through enough to handle anything else. But I can’t. I stare back into his hopeful puppy dog eyes while a tear runs down my cheek.

  Please don’t do this to us.

  “It might not be the best timing. But we’ve gone through so much together, and we still stand strong. I can’t imagine spending my life without you. Will you marry me?”

  My breath catches in my chest. I want to sit. My feet are killing me, and William is too.

  Why?

  He pulls out a green jewelry box. I recognize it from my scare at Christmas and wonder for a second if he bought them both at the same time. He opens the box slowly, revealing the diamond ring I tried on in Oslo before storming out of the shop.

  I choke as tears flood my face which only makes it worse, as his eyes light up, followed by a smile.

  He thinks I’m moved by this, that I’m crying out of happiness.

  A need to slap him rises within me, to yell at him to take it back.

  My throat is still sore from Dad strangling it yesterday, which gives me a reason to take my time before I speak. Ideas rush through my mind of me forcing him back to his feet and throwing the ring out the window.

  Please retract your proposal!

  If I say yes, it means agreeing to a wedding that I don’t want, and he’ll expect me to get pregnant. Which means having sex. Which we still haven’t figured out. Why does he want to marry me?

  Shit!

  This can’t be happening. I don’t see how I could have been any clearer, telling him repeatedly I’m not ready, it’s too soon.

  My life will never be mine again.

  A life Dad made sure never began.

  When I finally find the words, I dread saying them out loud. It’s not that I don’t want to be with William, but I don’t support the concept of marriage, and anger fills me as I think of how he knows this, yet decides to ignore my wishes and on top of that, propose on my birthday. I close the ring box and take his hand, pulling him up to his feet. My voice is shaking. “You know I can’t.”

  I want to kiss him, say everything will work itself out. But we both know that this is my ultimatum. I thought it was coming at Christmas. Instead, he waited for my birthday. The one day I asked to be alone. Now I’ll torture myself with guilt for days, years even. Every birthday, I’ll remember walking in the front door of my home, only to break my boyfriend’s heart. He’s shown me the path he wants to take. I’ve showed him mine. His eyes are distant as he tucks the ring away and walks into the kitchen.

  “I expected you to say yes.” He buries his head in his hands. “I invited my family, Nana, and Mr. Jensen to share in our joy. I didn’t tell them about the proposal, though, it was supposed to be a surprise. They think they’re coming for your birthday. They’ll be here any minute.”

  I swallow to force my anger at him as far down as possible.

  You don’t get it, do you?

  I need to be alone today. “Why did you ask me how I wanted to celebrate my birthday when you don’t care?”

  William throws his arms out in frustration. “Who doesn’t want a birthday party? Any other woman would be thrilled, why aren’t you?”

  “I don’t fit into a normal mold. I never have, and I probably never will. I thought that’s what you fell in love with?” I lean on the countertop, exhaling loudly.

  “It was. I just didn’t expect it to apply to all areas of our life together.” William opens the fridge, but stands there with the door open and his back to me. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and walks out of the kitchen asking, “Can you fix the cake?”

  It breaks my heart to do this to him, but he knew this would happen. I glance into the living room, at the bookshelf covered in balloons and roses, and swallow again.

  So much for a calm birthday.

  I stare out at the hallway. It would be so easy to leave, go to Nana’s and explain what’s happened. She’ll understand and let me stay in my room there for the night. He’s sniffling in the bathroom upstairs and knows I don’t have the conscience to leave him like this. And I’ll burst into tears the second I go up into my room at Nana’s, and that would be how I celebrate my twentieth birthday.

  No.

  I pull myself together to get through this with William. I refused his proposal. I can at least show him that I’m here for him.

  I pull out a chocolate cake from the fridge and gasp at the writing on it. Beautifully handwritten letters in red on the chocolate brown surface read:

  Happy birthday, my lovely fiancée.

  It’s like a slap in the face. I don’t even hear William coming down to the kitchen again until he’s in front of me, glaring at the cake. He rolls his eyes, takes out a spatula and smears the writing. I don’t stop him. I want it gone too. It’s all wrong, so heartbreakingly wrong.

  Now it only says Happy birthday.

  “I don’t get it,” he says. “What do you want?” The doorbell rings. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  He doesn’t move, so I go to open the door. Nana stands on the front steps, covered in a hat, scarf and coat. Only her glasses peek out at me.

  “Did you walk?”

  Nana looks exhausted leaning on the house wall with sweat running from her forehead. “Not one of my finest ideas. Still slippery.” She points to the spikes underneath her shoes.

  I pull her inside, take her coat, and feel her suspicious eyes on me until I get her seated on the couch. “Something is wrong,” she says.

  I can’t talk about it without tears flooding my face, and I can’t have this turn into a family drama. “I’ll tell you some other day,” I say.

  Mr. Jensen arrives and immediately takes on the role of entertainer. I mouth a “thank you,” to him and after that, I go into a zombie-like state where I smile, laugh and go along with every happy emotion expected of me.

  I greet William’s parents, who seem utt
erly oblivious to anything other than their own issues, which only makes me sadder. They should sense when their son is in pain, he’s like an open book, but they don’t. Their two dogs sense something is off, though, and refuse to be anywhere other than near William. Like two gray shadows, they follow his every move. At one point, his mother jokes about seeing wedding bells in the future for us, and he excuses himself. The dogs follow him upstairs while she continues to rant about the theme of our wedding.

  It’s one of the most extended evenings of my life. One part of me wants to sneak off to the bedroom to read and pretend this isn’t happening, that there’s no birthday party going on, while the other wants to finish the lingering conversation with William that I started earlier.

  As I open my presents, I try to send him a smile, to show him I care, but he won’t look at me. I can’t blame him. From his parents, I get an iron. They’re old-fashioned and think I iron his shirts, even though he’s corrected them on several occasions.

  I play with the dogs a lot. It might be the last time I’ll get to see them, and I’ll miss their company more than that of his parents. I don’t dare talk to him about us while everyone is here. Anything can reignite an argument. He’ll have to let me go, and I’ll lose my best friend. It’s inevitable. But first, we have to get through this evening.

  Nana’s gift to me is a travel book of Porto. As I flip through the pages, drawings of her and I that she’s added appear in the pictures of Café Majestic, next to a peacock and other places she imagines us visiting together. This is the first time William’s gaze meets mine, and it’s clear to me. He doesn’t love me, but the idea of a girl from the countryside where he can live out relaxing days while she takes care of the home and children. This book shows another person he fought so hard against, that he doesn’t want to know. I gaze down at the images of the city, Nana’s drawings of us smiling. To cope with Mom, Dad, Skar’s, Nana’s cancer and William, I have put myself entirely on hold. Porto was my dream and still is. The person William wants to marry doesn’t exist anywhere else than in his mind.

  Mr. Jensen gives me a bottle of wine, which brings a real smile to my lips for the first time all evening. It will come in handy, and although this is not some movie where I plan to get drunk to deal with my problems, a glass of wine and a book sounds like paradise. “Thank you.”

  When they all leave, I drive Nana back down to her house to make sure she doesn’t slip and break any bones. She’s exhausted. I get her into bed and decide not to talk to her about William and me. She has enough on her plate.

  Back home, I slump onto a kitchen chair. William has attached a balloon to it in the shape of the number twenty. I turn it away from me and stare out the window at the full moon hovering in blue hues above the treetops.

  Does it look this beautiful in Porto too?

  Water runs in the bathroom upstairs, and I prepare myself for a difficult night. I dig into my half-eaten cake and fill my mouth with chocolate.

  By the time William comes down, the frosting reads ‘Happy birth’. I almost laugh out loud from the irony staring me in the face. There will be no birth, no wedding. I can’t give William what he wants from me, a wife and kids. It’s as if it’s not mine to offer, at least not yet.

  Why isn’t what we have now good enough for him?

  I flick the balloon strapped to my chair three times and watch it dance in the air.

  “I understand that you want children. I think I want that too, someday. But why the rush?”

  William leans onto the dining table. “I want the celebration. To show the people we love that we believe in us, to give them the security of knowing we’ll be together forever. And I want to get married to have children, which is not something I think I want. I know I do.” He collects dirty plates from the table as he speaks, not bothering to remove leftover chocolate cake before stacking them. He knows I’ll get annoyed watching chocolate squeeze between them. I choose not to care.

  “What do you want, Amalie? You need to tell me. We have had this discussion for too long now. To me, this is easy, everything feels right. I love you, and you love me. We have steady jobs. We have a beautiful home together. Why is this not right for you?”

  I have a steady job that kills me.

  William places the tower of chocolate-covered plates in the sink, walks around the kitchen island, pushes my balloon aside, and takes my hands. I can’t look at him. I don’t know what to say anymore. He’s ignored me saying I’m not ready, and maybe he’s right. If this felt right for me too, perhaps I would want to marry him. It all feels so sudden, and if he can’t respect my wishes now, how can I expect him to do so if we’re married?

  “Amalie, look at me,” he pleads.

  I can’t.

  I don’t have the right answers for him yet. I don’t want to tell him I haven’t seen proof I’ll be happy with him. It’s not on him, it’s me. I haven’t seen evidence that I know what kind of life I want.

  I’m only twenty. It’s too soon to decide the rest of my life.

  “Amalie, I'm going crazy here. What do you want?”

  “I don’t want to end up like Mom!” The words fly out of me in despair.

  William frowns. “You think I’m like your sick father? Is that it? You won’t marry me because you think I’ll beat you?”

  “No, I don’t think that. I just…” I bury my face in my hands.

  Shit. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to choose.

  “I want to be with you, but I also want to create my own life. Dad took that from me. I’m not even designing anymore.”

  “I get it. It’s all about you. I’m not a part of this relationship, and I’m only here to cater to your needs.”

  “I’m trying, William. I’m sorry. You’re not like Dad. You won’t betray me like he did.”

  At least I hope you won’t.

  He groans. “I’m so tired of this discussion, you have no idea. My god, you’re self-absorbed.”

  “No, William. I’m terrified.” As I say the words out loud, a sense of calm comes over me. I’m scared, and us together doesn’t take that away. His need for me to be what he dreams of only amplifies it. I know what I want. I want Mom to be her old self, I want my old life back, I want to go to Porto for school and work in design. What I’ll design, I have no idea, but I miss being creative. I don’t want to serve food at The Bluebird. But I can’t get myself to say this to him. None of these thoughts include him.

  “I love you, Amalie. I don’t see what else you need to get married. Do you?”

  “Love is not a transaction. It’s supposed to be unconditional.” I let go of his hands, march up to the bedroom, close the door behind me, and throw myself on the bed. William has been here for me when I’ve needed him. When Dad beat us up, if William hadn’t helped me with Skar’s, who knows where I’d be today. Probably bankrupt. He means well, and he’s been my best friend through an incredibly difficult time in my life.

  That's when I see it. On top of the blue closet lays the yellow suitcase. I pull up a chair and take it down to the bed. It looks as new as the day Mom gave it to me. I open it, and the first thing I see is the silver frame with Mom at my age and Nana smiling at the camera. Next to it lays the picture of Mom, me, and Dad from the evening at The Bluebird. The night Dad decided his ego was more important than his family. The night my grandfather embarrassed his own son in front of the whole town. The night Dad hit Mom for the first time.

  I scream. I can’t hold it in. Months of frustration belt out of me.

  Opening the frame, I tear Dad out of the picture and throw his face on the floor. I look at Mom and me, and a tear lands on Mom’s face, blurring her out. I dry it off and place it into the silver frame with Mom and Nana, ripping the edges, to make sure it doesn’t cover them. From the floor, Dad’s face makes me boil. I shred the ripped picture of his face into as many pieces as I can and throw it in the trash can.

  William knocks before entering the bedroom. He regards me and the
suitcase before taking a seat next to me on the bed. “What are you doing?”

  “How can you love me when you don’t understand who I am?”

  “I know who you are,” he says.

  I shake my head. “It’s not possible because I don’t even know that. Don’t you get it? I can’t be anything to you before I know what I am for myself.”

  He takes the picture from my hands to study it and sighs. “I hoped I’d be enough for you, that we wanted the same things. I want to make you happy.” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

  “Only if I fit your mold of happiness, William. You know what your happiness looks like, I don’t. I need time to figure that out. I can’t go from living my life to please Mom and Dad to pleasing you. I have to stop this hamster wheel of living my life for others to know what I need first.” Tears block my view as I look at Mom’s smiling face next to me in the picture. “She doesn’t want to remember me, and I can’t force her.”

  William lays the frame on the bed next to him, then puts his arms around me. “Neither can I.”

  William’s voice is soft, shaking, and his eyes fill with tears. “I will miss you.” He wipes at a tear running down his cheek. “I’m done chasing life. I want a wife, children. I want to live a calm, happy life.”

  I pull my legs up beneath me, wrap my arms around him, and we cry together. We cry because we’ll never be the same. We cry for a future we’ll never share. But we also cry for a future that is right for both of us. Adrenaline rushes through me, followed by relief, and a serene feeling of peace.

  My mouth blossoms into a smile. For the first time in a long time, I feel blissful, free.

  PLANNING

  The next day, after explaining the situation to Nana, William helps me move back in with her. At first she roams around us like a headless chicken trying to help, but only getting in the way.