Summer Loving

by Lise Gold et al.

  Tilde, too gobsmacked to speak or even think, merely stared up at her.

  “Remember the pigs agreeing to be bacon, my friend. Life’s too short to keep beating around the bush,” Martina whispered from the side of her mouth, far too loudly.

  Johanna stared from one of them to the other, clearly lost for words, much less what to do, despite normally being the social glue of any group. No surprise there—even those most skilled at social interchange tended to be baffled by Martina and her bulldozer effect on a conversation.

  Johanna looked back over her shoulder towards the sound of women mentioning her name inside the flat. Then she turned back to the two in her doorway, looking puzzled but friendly as always. “Okay. Does that mean there’s something you need to tell me before we begin tonight’s club, Tilde?”

  “M-maybe,” Tilde stuttered, fixing her gaze down on her boots.

  “Totally,” Martina amended. “I’m sure you’ve picked up on certain signs for a while now?”

  Johanna hummed. “I think I might’ve, yes.”

  Tilde’s gaze shot up. “You have?”

  “Well, there have been quite a few signs,” Johanna said apologetically.

  Martina slapped Tilde on the back and whooped. “There you go, mate! I knew straight-up honesty would work here. Now all you need to do is say the words and everything can move along.”

  Tilde squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. She took a deep breath. Then another one. She had now gathered as much courage as she thought she could, and yet she wasn’t ready to say it. “I’m n-not sure I can say it. I’m sorry. I feel like such a loser.”

  Johanna stepped forward, pity creeping into her kind face. “Hey, it’s okay! No one thinks you’re a loser. You’re just one of those people who struggle to communicate. Which can be a good thing.” She smiled again. “We can’t have too many people like me and Martina here, who constantly talk.” She turned to Martina. “No offence.”

  “None taken!” Martina boomed. “You’re absolutely right, and I’m glad to see that you’re so supportive and positive here. How about we help Tilde along by saying what it is she can’t?”

  “Sure,” Johanna said.

  Tilde’s heart thudded so hard it risked shattering her ribcage. She could’ve sworn even her ears were starting to dampen with a cold sweat.

  Then the other two spoke at the same time.

  Martina said, “Tilde is mad about you and wants to ask you out.”

  Exactly as Johanna said, “Tilde isn’t an insomniac anymore.”

  Both of them stopped, gaped, and stared at each other.

  Tilde, meanwhile, felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, watching something happen to her that was even more mortifying than when she’d fallen with that coat rack.

  A heavy and confused silence loomed above the three of them.

  “Oh. Uh. Um,” Martina said. “So, have you seen this snail?” She pulled out the toy from her pocket, and they all stared at it. It looked as despairing as Tilde felt.

  “Fascinating,” Johanna croaked in a distracted way.

  Then the silence intensified, no longer looming but oozing everywhere like cheese sauce long past its sell-by date.

  Johanna opened her mouth to speak again, then closed it. Her face looked stricken.

  Unable to face Johanna anymore, Tilde grabbed onto Martina’s sleeve. “You know what? I think I left the oven on. Let’s go check, Martina. I’ll see you another night, Johanna.”

  “Okay. Good night,” Johanna called after them as they rushed down the stairs and away from the nightmare situation.

  Now She Knows

  When they got back to the flat, Martina was all apologies. Tilde believed her sincerity, considering Martina had been quiet the entire walk over here, something which hadn’t happened since they were ten and Martina lost her voice for two weeks.

  Tilde gave her a hug. “It’s okay. This wasn’t how I wanted to tell Johanna, but I suppose now the truth is out at least.” She sighed. “From the look on her face, she doesn’t feel the same way as I do. But hey, now I know.”

  Martina still squirmed with shame, so Tilde forced a smile. “Why don’t we eat some ice cream and then go to sleep, huh?”

  Martina nodded. “I’ll scramble up a whole sundae for you, little sweetheart. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Okay, you go do that and I’ll make up the sofa for you again.”

  Martina shuffled into the kitchen while Tilde made a decision. She would wait a while before she went back to Insomnia Club. If she ever went back, considering her non-sleeplessness was now out in the open. It made sense; an insomniac may seem tired, have a nap, or constantly yawn, but the long bouts of sound sleep she’d been having at the club? A step too far.

  A week later, Jenny had all but begged her to come with her to the club. She said that they were going to watch videos of YouTube influencers giving advice on how to fall asleep, and she couldn’t face that without Tilde.

  After much convincing, and after accepting the fact that she and Johanna would merely be friends, Tilde agreed.

  When they got there the club was unusually full, so Tilde didn’t have to be alone with Johanna.

  Thank goodness for small favours.

  After an hour of perky YouTubers saying that insomniacs should simply exercise hard until they were tired, as if they hadn’t all tried that, Tilde saw Johanna sneak away. She went to the kitchen, pointing to Tilde and then waving at her to follow. With a lump in her throat, Tilde joined her.

  “Before you say anything,” Tilde began, “I want you to know that while Martina was right and I have had a crush on you, I’ve thought about it and want to stay friends only.” She gulped in a breath. “So… uh, please, let’s not mention this ever again. You know how awkward I am with talking about things. I’ll never be able to face you again if we talk about this. Please?’

  Johanna looked gobsmacked for a moment; then she laughed. “That’s the longest I have ever heard you speak!”

  “Does that mean you agree?”

  Johanna heaved herself up on the kitchen counter and sat down. “That means I think we should relax and take things easy. I think you tend to overthink things and worry. I want you to be able to be comfortable around me. For now, maybe that can be our only goal?”

  Tilde jumped up on the counter, too, a little farther away so they wouldn’t be touching. “Yes. That sounds perfect.”

  “I have to say, your Martina is…”

  Tilde laughed. “Yep. She’s a lot. But she’s awesome.” Tilde watched her own dangling feet a while before adding, “We’re a group of four friends, and the other two, Jenny and Elina, are sort of the regular people, the shades of grey, while Martina is the chalk white and I’m the midnight black.”

  Johanna sought her gaze. “Midnight black has the prettiest stars. Like the pictures you take. How do you get such clear shots of the night sky?”

  And then they were off chatting. Johanna pulled conversation out of Tilde like water out of a well, and yes, it made her comfortable. More than that, Johanna was more comfortable than Tilde had ever seen her. She even spoke about herself and her life, something Tilde couldn’t remember ever happening.

  Tilde vaguely overheard the other members doing breathing exercises and having loud arguments about perfect bedroom temperatures and whether or not to eat after eight p.m. After a few hours of that they quieted down. Some left and some no doubt fell sleep; all the while the chat in the kitchen was still going strong.

  Tilde had never met a person who made her feel so at ease in conversation, especially now that the pressure of romance and flirting was gone. It was just them, in the dimly lit, cosy little kitchen. Their haven of friendly closeness.

  Johanna, looking down at her hands, was telling Tilde all about her own childhood friends and her upbringing when Tilde noticed her eyelids getting heavy.

  No! Don’t fall asleep!

  Johanna shifted to talking about her first l
ove. Some boy name Kristoffer. Tilde was fighting against sleep, trying to take in what Johanna was saying about what a disaster that relationship had been and how the following ones weren’t much better.

  Then her eyes got heavier and painful to keep open. Johanna began talking about how her latest ex had hated books and not wanted a bookshelf around, something Johanna had remedied now by having a big, chaotically full one in her flat. She sighed. “The bookshelf really does need sorting. I’m thinking alphabetically. Or size order. I don’t think I can do it without help, though.”

  Tilde’s mind was struggling to keep up and her eyes hurt so much. They fluttered closed, just for a second!

  Soft, warm darkness. Such a relief.

  She woke with a start.

  “Whoa. Are you okay?” Johanna asked.

  “Huh? Yes, sorry, my eyes just hurt. I’m fine now.”

  “Oh, okay. So, would you come over some night, then?”

  Tilde searched her tired mind. What had she missed while she slept? What had they talked about? Oh yeah, Johanna had said she wanted to rearrange her bookshelf.

  “Sure. Tomorrow?”

  “Oh? Um. Sure, why not. I actually make a mean smörgåstårta from scratch. If that’s your thing?”

  “Isn’t that every Swede’s thing?” Tilde said, swallowing a yawn. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had a homemade one, though. That would be a real treat.”

  “Tomorrow it is, then.”

  Otherworldly

  For once walking through the summer evening at five p.m. —Not midnight on her way to Insomnia Club—Tilde enjoyed the buzz of insects and the trilling of birds. The time of night might be different than her visits to Insomnia Club, but one thing was exactly the same: Johanna opened the door and looked lovely as ever. Her hair was down, and her green dress brought out the red in it.

  Tilde was invited in, and while chatting about the weather, Johanna led them to a beautifully decorated table with a far too big smörgåstårta in the middle, giving off mouth-watering scents.

  As she sat down, Tilde looked around for the bookshelf she was there to help with and, through the door to the lounge, spotted it. Yep, it was a mess. Books lay strewn horizontally as well as shoved in vertically to the point of falling out.

  Johanna cut her a large portion of smörgåstårta, and they ate and made comfortable small talk, the ease of yesterday still in place. Sure, Tilde’s broken heart ached every time she made Johanna smile, but it was worth the pain. Johanna should always be happy enough to smile.

  When she was as full as the bookshelf in the other room, Tilde sat back and wiped crumbs off the Virginia Woolf quote on her black T-shirt. “Wow. That was delicious!”

  “Really?” Johanna beamed. “I’m so glad. It’s my mum’s recipe and she makes it for everyone’s birthday, confirmation, and, well, just about any time she can find an excuse. I’ve never made it on my own before, though.”

  “Well, I don’t know about the original, but your version was amazing.”

  “Thank you!” Johanna stood, gathering up glasses and plates. “So, I remember that you don’t drink coffee, but perhaps you’d like some tea? I only have green tea, I’m afraid.”

  Tilde forced her stuffed body up and picked up the leftover smörgåstårta. “That’s perfect, thanks.”

  She followed Johanna into a kitchen that was the mirror image of the one above them, but the Insomnia Club one was utilitarian while this one was as welcoming and lovely as its owner.

  Johanna put the food in the fridge and began filling the kettle. “Why don’t you go into the lounge? Get comfy on the sofa and I’ll bring the tea in.”

  “Shouldn’t I do the dishes?”

  “No, I’ll do them in the morning. You go sit down.”

  Tilde obeyed. At least this would give her a chance to check out the bookshelf. And digest a little before they tackled the damn thing!

  The lounge was as cosy as the rest of the place, and it was easy to get comfortable on the plush sofa. As she sat there admiring Johanna’s décor, she spotted a harp looming large in the corner. She got flushed with goose bumps thinking about her beautiful hostess playing that equally beautiful instrument. Would it be cheeky to ask Johanna to play? Just a few bars of something?

  When Johanna came in with a tray of cups, teabags, and a teapot, she caught Tilde staring at the harp and said, “Have you given it a strum?”

  “Huh?”

  She nodded towards the harp. “Almost everyone who comes in here feels a compelling need to play it.”

  Tilde found herself sitting on her hands. “Oh. Um, I couldn’t.”

  “Sure you could.” Johanna put the tray down on the table and beckoned Tilde over to the harp.

  When Tilde was right by the instrument, she became strangely intimidated. It looked ancient, complicated, and there were so many strings that it made Tilde dizzy trying to count them.

  “Go on,” Johanna said, her voice so soft that it brought back Tilde’s goose bumps.

  Tilde reached out a finger and plucked a string. She expected it to sound harsh and piercing in the quiet room, but it reverberated with a deep, soft tone.

  “C-could you play a little for me?” she asked.

  Johanna chuckled a little, not unkindly. “Sure. Have a seat and make yourself some tea.”

  Tilde rushed back to the sofa, unable to take her eyes off Johanna, who was tilting the large instrument forward so she could sit down on the stool behind it. She placed the harp between her knees and rested it against her shoulder like she was cradling a loved one.

  Her fingers rested against the strings, and then the first silvery note rang out. Another joined it, then another, filling the room with sounds a little too angelic to be real. Soon Tilde recognised the music as “Moon River” from the film Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Tilde didn’t know what music she’d expected, something classical perhaps? Either way it hadn’t been this.

  Johanna’s long fingers moved across the strings as if they were dancing, the plucking looking as easy as the smile on her reddened lips.

  The song, always poignant, took on new life when played on this single instrument, which sounded like a whole string quartet in its own right to Tilde’s infatuated ears. It made the song more serious, almost otherworldly.

  Johanna played on, looking for all the world as if it was only her and the harp existing in their own enchanted world. Her eyes were closed and her beatific little smile waxed and waned as the song was coaxed out of the multitudes of strings.

  Tilde wondered how the hell she knew where the strings were and how to pluck the right one with her eyes closed like that?

  Johanna’s eyes blinked open as her fingers moved faster, and as Tilde expected the song to end, instead Johanna built it into a crescendo which fit the song perfectly. Had she written this part herself?

  Tilde found herself unsure of what to do with the rising feeling inside her as she listened and watched. This wasn’t just attraction or some crush. This was pure adoration. In that moment, even if they were only friends, Tilde would have done anything for Johanna, even if it was illegal or dangerous. She would have risked it all and done anything, everything, this woman asked.

  The music filled the room, every corner and angle, like it was warming and illuminating the space.

  Still seated, Johanna moved with the rise and fall of the music to reach the strings farther away, like a wave crashing forward and then retracting. Her smile slowly returned as the music grew calmer again, back to its normal notes.

  There was a clutching in Tilde’s chest. A vice grip making her breathless. It was all too beautiful. The music was too beautiful. Johanna was too beautiful. The way Tilde loved this woman, whether she wanted to or not, even that was too beautiful—heartbreakingly so, as nothing could come of it, but beautiful nonetheless.

  The last note rang out, resounding in the room.

  Johanna moved the harp out from between her knees to rest it safely on the ground.

  �
�That was amazing,” Tilde whispered, awed beyond belief.

  Johanna put her hands in her lap, looking uncharacteristically bashful. “Thank you.”

  Tilde ran a hand through her hair, probably messing the short strands up terribly while trying to come back to the real world. “Wow. I know we have a job to do, but I’m tempted to ask you to play some more.”

  “Job?” Johanna said as she stood.

  “Yeah, job might be too strong a word. I meant arranging your bookshelf,” Tilde clarified with a smile. She gathered up the courage to add, “Look, before we get started on that, I just wanted to thank you for giving me another chance at being friends.” She picked up one of the teacups and chuckled. “To think I nearly ruined it all.”

  Johanna walked over to the sofa. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, what Martina told you. About me wanting to ask you out on a date.”

  Johanna stopped in front of her and stared at her as if she’d just said the sky needed new teeth or something equally bonkers. “Tilde…”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re on a date.”

  “We’re what?!” Tilde screeched.

  Johanna’s brows knitted. “Last night, in the kitchen, I told you that I’d like to be more than friends. And then asked you out on a date tonight. Dinner at my place, remember?”

  Tilde dropped the teacup.

  Underdressed

  They both crouched to pick up the cup, which had survived thanks to having landed on a thick rug.

  “Whoops. I really do make you accident-prone, don’t I?” Johanna said.

  “If you mean that your goddess-like presence makes me clumsy as hell, then yes.”

  “Well, thank you for the overexaggerated compliment.” Johanna held up the teacup for inspection before replacing it on the table. “It’s unchipped and you hadn’t filled it, so no mess. More importantly, no one got hurt this time.”

  “Don’t try to make me feel better,” Tilde whinged. “I’m a featherbrained, clueless baboon!”