A photo appears on my phone, and I open a selfie of him lying in bed, duvet pulled down to his stomach, revealing his bare chest and smiling face.
My mother’s voice rings in my head, and I send him what she would tell me if I ever sent a photo like this.
Stop exposing yourself this way. You’re worth just as much with your clothes on.
No wonder women send you naked photos. You initiate the exchanges by sending half-naked ones of yourself.
Haha you are more entertaining than you think.
My previous smile is creeping up on me again. I seriously have to stop this texting now. You’re getting on my nerves.
Clearly, Henrik’s not ready to put his phone down and writes.
You’re beautiful.
Well, that’s a line you haven’t used before…
Another text from him pops up.
Especially when you smile.
Shit, I am smiling, and you’re commenting on it as though you can see me, which makes it worse. What am I getting myself into here?
He continues.
“Stop exposing yourself that way” - reminds me of my grandmother.
At this point, I don’t filter my thoughts but type exactly what comes to mind.
She sounds like a smart lady. You should take the advice.
Thinking about our next date.
No matter what or when you’re contemplating it:
I have ballet that day.
Haha. I’m looking forward to seeing you spin.
I stop by the office to glance at who else he’s texting, but I’m the only one. Thunder rolls in the distance and lightning strikes across clouded skies outside.
A new text from Henrik arrives.
Are you scared I’ll fall in love with you?
My pillow wraps itself around my shoulders like protective arms as I slide back down in bed.
I’m counting on it. Your comments on it mean you’ve thought about it too.
Still, falling in love is scary to most people. With his track record, it must be the most terrifying emotion imaginable. Let’s take the scary out of this and get back to the chase.
Don’t think that’s possible.
But he’s not letting it go.
Like I said. We’re all looking for love, aren’t we?
If the closest you get to loving someone is me, you’re an even bigger mess than I am. And with you thinking about love, it’s time for me to disconnect and leave you with your thoughts.
Good night
Good night sweetness
I am not your fucking sweetness.
11
The following week passes into September, and I busy myself by studying the books that Henrik has bought, along with my own on how to please a man. Isac showed me some tricks which I recognize, while others are new and fascinating if I imagine them with Isac. With Henrik, doing anything physical is revolting, but reading about this feels like mental preparation.
Like leaves descending, Henrik’s texts increase daily. He’s got a routine in place now. He texts me every morning. Throughout the day he texts with Thea, Helle, and Katelyn, and then ends the night talking to me. Our first date was last Tuesday, a week ago, and as I count down to Thursday and his departure to Bodø and Unstad with Katelyn, I worry if I made the wrong choice. I postponed our second date until he gets back from his trip with her. Was it to pull myself together, to study and better know how to read him, or because I don’t want to go through it again?
I haven’t seen any text between him and Cecilia, so I guess she was right, and he did ghost her. Although he’s still matching with new women on Tinder, he hasn’t asked them out on dates. I consider that a step in the right direction.
When Thursday arrives, I’m settled into my office and following texts from Katelyn where she’s still hinting that she wants to take the extra ferry ride to meet Henrik’s family. From images I pull off the Internet, Unstad is Norway at its most beautiful where mountains slope into fjords. If I didn’t know Unstad was in Norway, I would suspect this was a tropical location with its clear blue waters and white sandy beach curving inside a hidden bay. Henrik dodges her hints, though, with smart distractions about surfing and plans for what they’ll do once they get to Unstad. Suggestions of a sexual nature, of course.
I don’t hear from him until late at night when I suspect Katelyn is in the bathroom preparing for bed.
Arrived safe and sound at the hotel in Bodø, and ready to drive out to Unstad tomorrow. Next time, you’re coming.
No, I’m not.
What’s best about surfing? Reflecting on life lying on the board waiting for waves.
That can’t be the best part for you because if you were to reflect on your life, it should knock you off your board, considering all the dreadful things you’ve done.
The chances are slim, but I picture a shark eating him while he lies waiting for his stupid wave and reply with my thought of it:
Nice
There’s a break in his texts. When he texts me again, he’s more direct.
Do you have plans this weekend?
Yes, but I’m not telling you what they are.
A friend coming over tomorrow and a nice dinner on Saturday.
Three dots appear, then vanish before reappearing and disappearing again. This repeats itself several more times before he replies.
When are you and I going to have a nice dinner?
When you invite me to one. Then I’ll think about it ;)
Oh…the blow
You’ll survive
Good night sweetness :)
Oh, shut up!
Good night sweetness
Friday around lunchtime, I bring the box of cups downstairs to unpack and make myself a cup of tea. While the water heats, I pull a chair over to the glass door looking out from the kitchen to the veranda that Isac and I built above the garage. Lounge chairs are stacked in one corner, and the sofa we spent our summer evenings on is packed away under a large tarpaulin dripping with rainwater.
The drumming of raindrops drowns out the kettle coming to a boil. I open the cupboard to get tea.
Of course it’s not there. I gave all my food to Mr. and Mrs. Nerli.
I sit back on my chair and sip warm water when a photo from Henrik pings on my phone.
Hidden in a valley sloping down from the mountains, the sunlit white beach bends like a half moon around the glimmering sea. It’s stunning, so I reply:
Looks like you’re enjoying yourself.
I pour the remaining hot water down the drain and head back to my office. Nothing new has happened. Unanswered messages from Thea, me, and Katelyn’s family members on their way to surprise her fill his inbox.
I call Cecilia, but she doesn’t respond. Dressed in Isac’s wool sweater and sweatpants, I get groceries. When I return, Henrik hasn’t answered me or anyone else and is probably still in the water.
I unpack three more boxes of kitchen utensils, check my phone, prepare dinner, recheck my phone while I eat, clean up, and head back to my office.
My phone almost jumps out of my hand when his response comes.
In my opinion, one of the most beautiful places in the world. Laying out on my board in crystal clear water surrounded by mountains and the sun on my face, a white sandy shore and fish jumping around. Magic.
That poor woman deserves a better man than this.
I choose not to respond, staying true to the plan I made with Cecilia to make him assume I’m prioritizing other people before him.
I check the Facebook group Henrik has made for Katelyn’s surprise birthday party to find out if any of his friends have social media accounts that I can view, but none of them are coming. As an island, he’s alone amongst her family and friends. I create a false profile and line their live feeds and videos onto my screen. Lucky for me, none of them have private accounts. Katelyn’s friends are filming balloons and seating arrangements, and raving about what a great guy Henrik is, and what a beautiful couple they make
. They must know she’s without her phone.
When the cameras all turn and point towards the entrance, my pulse quickens, and I lean forward.
Henrik enters first. He backs into the room while facing Katelyn, who must be following behind. He’s gesturing at her in a strange way as if calming an animal with his hands, directing her. She flicks her long brown hair and beams at him with love. It’s painful to witness. I hold my breath as she turns to her friends and family.
I hope you like surprises.
My body tenses as her smile morphs into a look of shock and confusion. It takes her a second to register her friends and family, but when she does, she jumps into her mother’s arms, then moves on to hugging the other guests. “What are you guys doing here?” Her voice screeches with excitement.
The sounds drown into each other after that with all the guests talking at the same time, and I’m no longer able to differentiate the words.
Glad you’re enjoying it…that kind of attention is my living nightmare.
All the cameras follow her, but in the blurry background, Henrik is accepting grateful hugs and handshakes. He looks happy, smiling at Katelyn.
Poor girl.
I get a bottle of Cava Cecilia left behind, fill a mug, and bring both back to the office.
Katelyn’s face fills one of the camera screens. Her eyes brim with tears, but she’s beaming.
“When’s the wedding?” Her friend behind the phone camera pans over to Henrik, who’s looking at his phone by the bar. “He’s a catch,” she says, then turns the lens back on Katelyn.
She giggles. “When Henrik proposes. He’s already hinted about children, and he’ll be such a great dad. He’s amazing with the kids.”
I roll my eyes.
Of course he’s involved her kids.
My phone lights up. It’s from Henrik.
By the way, you’re cute.
This guy has no limits.
He’s sending me messages from the bar while Katelyn’s talking about marriage and kids with her friends.
Asshole. Tell that to the woman you’re there with instead!
You can stop that, you know…
I should flirt and say he’s cute too, but watching how happy she is and knowing what he’s doing makes me grind my teeth in frustration when his reply appears:
Stop you being cute? Nope, have to tell the truth.
Liar. You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit your nose off.
He follows his text with another.
You’ll just have to deal with the fact that you’re quite great ;) How about we watch a TV show together, Californication, on Tuesday, your place. That’s a great idea.
You in our apartment? No!
My heart pounds in my chest like a sledgehammer. I chug the Cava, grimacing as bubbles sting the inside of my nose, and I reply.
Sure.
Shit.
The camera pans back to Henrik as he tucks his phone into his pocket, takes two glasses of champagne from the bartender, and walks over to Katelyn. The voice from behind the camera whispers, “hashtag future husband.”
When he taps his glass, preparing to give a speech, I switch off the screen.
You’ve got this coming, asshole.
12
Tuesday evening, I cover my living room with lit candles to help me convince Henrik that I always keep my home this cozy, while mentally preparing for his arrival.
I should have suggested meeting outside my home, but I didn’t want to bump into anyone I know. That would be a nightmare having to explain who he is.
Oh, just a guy who killed my husband, whom I happen to now be dating…
Nope, we’re staying in.
His favorite show Californication depicts an asshole like Henrik who uses women. This is no doubt another test to see if I’m as cool as he apparently hopes I am. And I aim to please. I even bought the Salt whiskey he likes for the occasion, pouring a little out to pretend I haven’t just opened it.
The apartment is spotless, and so am I in a skimpy hoodie dress showing off my legs. It’s a replica of a dress in a photo he’s commented on Instagram as being the sexiest outfit.
I’m ready to blow his mind, playing the part of homemaker and whore.
I’m shaking like a freezing dog when Henrik rings my downstairs doorbell. I buzz him in.
“Hi.” I force the tone of my voice to sound joyous, then add a laugh to get myself into the part of a carefree woman, which under these circumstances is hard.
Smile and focus.
Henrik’s holding a bike he’s carried inside, and his cheeks are red. A slight grin appears on his face as he registers what I’m wearing.
“You can place it there.” I point to the Nerlis’ matching brown bikes by the front door, pretending not to notice. “It’s only them and me in this building.”
He leans his bike against the wall. When he sees Melvin’s basket on Mrs. Nerli’s bicycle, Henrik tilts his head in puzzlement. It is the biggest basket I’ve ever seen on a bike too, so I can’t blame him.
“It’s for their cat,” I say.
Henrik nods and laughs at this like I’m kidding. Melvin is by far the largest cat I’ve ever seen. He’s the child the Nerlis never had and means everything to them.
His skin is cold on mine when I hug him. “Chilly outside?” I walk into the apartment, making sure not to wait for him to hang his coat.
“Refreshing.” He steals glances at my legs while removing his shoes. Following me into the living room, he looks at the lit candles, the pictures I hung back on the wall this morning, my couch, then my kitchen. I left my hacking diplomas in boxes upstairs.
I’m waiting for a compliment. The apartment is lovely with its high ceilings, old stove, and wood floors. But he doesn’t say anything about that or the candles, or me, just sits down on the couch.
Where are your manners? I don’t think I’ll ever get what Cecilia saw in you. Never mind, straighten up, smile.
I lift a glass from the counter and hold the whiskey bottle in my other hand. “I forgot to ask, do you drink whiskey?” My voice is smooth and silky.
If he were a cartoon, his jaw would be on the floor. He nods, squints at the bottle, and chuckles. “I do.” He glances around my living room as if forcing himself to shift his attention away from me. “You keep your apartment very tidy.”
“Easier that way.” I hand him a glass and gesture for him to take a seat on the couch in front of the TV.
Henrik sits on the armrest closest to me.
Should I sit next to you? On the opposite side of the coffee table in the chair? No, too far away. You’ve noticed that I’ve made an effort to impress, but I need to keep a balance and not seem needy.
“Did you enjoy Unstad?” I make sure to graze his knees as I walk past him. He straightens, expecting me to sit next to him. Instead, I walk to the other end of the couch and position myself by the second armrest. I inspect his reaction while hiding my grin behind a sip of whiskey.
He turns to face me, places his arm on the backrest, pulls one knee up on the seat so it points at me. “You should have been there.” He swirls the amber liquid. “Are you going to sit way over there through the entire episode?”
You have whiskey, your favorite show, and me in your favorite outfit. A little distance will do you good.
I press play. “Yes.”
About ten minutes in, he stretches out and puts his feet on my thighs, wiggling his toes inside his purple socks.
I stare at him, down at his feet, then back at him.
Not only do your feet point in my direction, but they’re now on me. That has to be a good sign. Or a test to see if I’m accommodating and will rub them?
I stiffen at the thought and concentrate on the show as though I haven’t noticed his feet on my thighs. My mind spins with how to deal with this. I can’t push them off—he won’t like that. But I don’t want them on me, no matter how good a sign it is.
I’m not rubbing them.
“Could you rub them a little?” He smiles from the far end.
Shit. He is testing me.
As though my hand has taken on its own life, I fight to make it stroke his foot but end up only squeezing his big toe. “There.” I focus back on the TV.
I’m pathetic. If this is a test, I’m failing. I have to get it together, but with Henrik here, in my home, it’s a struggle.
“Best foot rub ever.” He laughs, pulls his feet back, scooches over to my side, and winds his arm around my shoulders.
He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge Page 9
