He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge

by Alexandra Winter

  “We’re in no rush.”

  He stops at the last spot on the road with phone reception. There’s a wooden information board with instructions from the local man, Knut, explaining that residents must pay a local road maintenance fee during winter. I know the words by heart but let Henrik wipe the frost from the sign to read it himself. He turns to me. “I only have my cards, do you have cash?”

  “You can transfer the money.” I gesture to the message at the bottom where they’ve listed an account number.

  Henrik takes out his phone and pays. I admire the tiny frozen grass sticking out from under the snow on the information board’s roof. Everything has a roof here, no matter how small it is. Without it, rain and snow would devour any message hung.

  This snow-covered dirt road leads further along the mountain to about twenty private cabins that are all spaced out around a mile apart so that none overlooks another. First, we have to unlock the chain fence dangling across the road and blocking the way. It’s another twenty-minute drive into the mountains from here.

  I fish the key out of my jacket pocket. We’ve been driving for three hours, and being so close, at last, makes me happy. I think back to all the winters I spent here as a child. I only ever came up once with Isac. Since his death, I haven’t returned.

  Filled with childish joy, it’s my turn to open the gate today. After arguing with my brothers for years about it, Henrik doesn’t get a say.

  I pull on my snow boots and exit the car. The freezing air reminds me of how I always had to fiddle with the frozen lock before I could hold the chain aside and let Dad drive through with our station wagon.

  I unlock the chain and signal for Henrik to drive through. When I look up, I don’t see Henrik, though, but imagine Isac behind the wheel. Heat spreads through me in a familiar sensation of safety. For a moment, all my stress falls away. The snow cramps underneath the tires as the car passes me, ready to remove me from stress.

  Henrik beams back at me while he drives ahead. Remembering who I’m really with, the warm feeling fades. I lock up.

  There are no longer any streetlights. The sun has set, and we roll into darkness. Henrik speeds up as the road flattens out, his headlights beaming.

  “Drive slow.” If we come across a moose, it won’t move out of our way. Dad almost hit one on this road when I was seven. “There’s no room for cars to pass. Look for headlights coming in our direction.”

  He slows, and I’m glad to see Knut’s done his job. Although the snow is falling, layering the surface where he’s plowed, we should make it to the cabin before it’s too thick. The ground glimmers in the headlight’s movements. There are no other tire tracks, but only the snow walls to pen us in.

  “Stop!” A shadow shifts behind a tree, and Henrik hits the brakes.

  Two moose calves dart out, shaking their bodies. A cloud of snow spreads as their mother follows gracefully behind.

  “Wow, a female moose.” Henrik shifts to park, takes my hand, and leans back in his seat.

  I shake my hand free from his. “A cow.” I’m unable to take my eyes off them. In my peripheral view, Henrik’s looking at me as though I’m trying to be difficult, which I’m not. I whisper, “A female moose is called a cow.”

  He kisses my cheek before leaning back and enjoying the two calves jumping, sliding, and falling over on the road. The cow turns towards the car. Frosted air escapes her nostrils with each heavy breath. Without noticing, I slide my hand into Henrik’s again. This time I keep it there, so he doesn’t grow suspicious.

  Thirty minutes later, they stride back into the forest. Henrik drives on while I focus on the road ahead for signs of more animals who might be coming out on the road to seek refuge from the exhausting snow, but none appear.

  When we reach the tiny log cabin, it’s buried in a thick blanket of snow. We have at least an hour of shoveling ahead of us to clear a path from the car and up the hill to the front door.

  “I hope you brought warm boots and gloves.” I gesture for him to park by the road in the pocket Knut has dug out for us.

  If not, I’ll enjoy seeing your hands freeze in the cold.

  The engine stops.

  Silence.

  My shoulders relax.

  I’ve missed this place.

  I sink up to my thighs in snow when I stagger to retrieve the shovels leaning against the log cabin wall. I give the biggest one to Henrik and keep the smaller one to myself.

  Let’s see you do some physical labor.

  To my surprise, he’s already got his gloves on. He pushes a giant scoop across the road and tilts it down the ditch. I clear the entrance area enough to get inside. I don’t know why I expected him to complain about having to work when we first arrived, but I’m relieved to see he’s managing on his own. I kick my feet on the doorstep to remove the snow stuck to my boots and head in.

  The wet timber reminds me of my childhood when I would light candles by the door with Mom to read the thermometer. As is typical for January, it’s five degrees.

  I make the usual rounds to light a fire in the black stove and fill the steel pot on top with snow to melt for brushing our teeth later. I light the fireplace and candles in the bedroom.

  Outside, Henrik is about halfway done clearing the path from the car up to the cabin. I go out and shovel my way down to meet him.

  Sweat drips from both our faces. But it’s more than worth it when that inevitable exhaustion that all cabin owners in Norway long for every winter kicks in. Relaxing inside feels much better when you’ve worked for it, but it makes me miss Isac more than ever. I think back to when I snuggled up to him here on the couch watching the fire.

  “That’s enough for tonight.” I can’t think about Isac without tearing up.

  We clear the shovels of snow so they won’t freeze during the night and stack them under the roof. The metal plate on the doorsill echoes around us in the stillness when we kick the snow off our boots before heading inside the lukewarm cabin. I hand Henrik my father’s sheepskin slipper boots, and my toes tickle as I slide mine on and pull a couple of armchairs up to the fireplace.

  Henrik takes my hand, but I pull away before getting back into character.

  “I don’t want to be a charity case,” Henrik says, taking me by surprise.

  “Pfff.” I throw more logs on the fire and pretend that was why I let go. “You’re not.”

  Where is this coming from?

  “Then don’t push me away.” He retakes my hand once I’m back in my chair. “I only want what’s best for you. For us.”

  Good. That’s what I want you to feel.

  He could have left last night and never returned. From his point of view, he must have thought I was ready to end this relationship. “If you lost me, would you care? Honestly?”

  His brow furrows. “Of course I would.” His voice is like a whisper, almost drowned out by the crackling fire. “I want my future to be with you. Can’t you see that?”

  When you propose, I can.

  The fire dances, and the moist logs scream and spatter. I have to pull myself together to complete my goal here.

  Be loving and kind. Make sure he doesn’t suspect that my emotions are false.

  “I’m sorry.” I braid my fingers into his. “I love you.”

  Henrik looks shocked, and I can’t blame him. “I thought I lost you last night.” His expression changes from sadness into something closer to enlightenment. I wait for him to share his thoughts, but he stays silent, gazing into the fire.

  “You didn’t lose me.” I stroke my palm against his cheek. The stubble scratches my skin. “But it’s up to me to initiate meeting my family and friends. Please respect that.”

  “I’m sorry.” He leans into my hand. “You love me.” He lingers on the words as if tasting them. “I don’t think you understand how happy that makes me. I thought I lost you when you wouldn’t come out of the bathroom.”

  “I needed time.” I have no idea how to play this right. I want to
kick myself for being unable to control my near panic attack.

  Henrik gets up, takes a log from the pile, and walks over to the oven. Drops trickle down the sides of the steel pot and splash onto the boiling stovetop.

  When I came here with Isac, he was the one to fill the oven with wood so I could cook. There’s no way in hell I’ll let Henrik take his place. “Let me.”

  Henrik exhales in exasperation.

  “I’m sorry.” A lump forms in my throat. “My ex used to do that, but I…I need to let him go.” I gesture for him to continue. “Please.”

  As if falling into an alternative universe where no thoughts exist, my mind goes blank. Saying the words out loud petrifies me.

  What if Isac hears me? I can’t let him go, but I have to show you I’m evolving with you in this relationship.

  “Why don’t you do it, and I’ll get wine?” Henrik holds the log out towards me. This is my moment to prove to him that I’m moving on.

  I take a deep breath and smile at him in the most loving way I know. “It’s your place now.” I push it back towards him. “I’m yours.”

  Henrik grins, and before I have time to change my mind, the log is in with the door shut.

  I point to the cupboard. “I think we both need a glass.”

  He shuffles the glasses around and holds up two. One is short and thick, and the other is tall, round, and elegant. “This really is a traditional cabin, like your mother said.” He pours the wine and brings the tallest glass to me.

  I cup it with both hands. “Yes. Everything we don’t want at home ends up here. Call it environmentally friendly.”

  “Why don’t you add solar panels, at least? It’d be easier to cook and light the rooms.” Before I have time to respond, Henrik throws his boots on and stalks outside to inspect the roof. With no coat on, he looks like he’s been shocked by a tazer upon returning inside with his teeth clattering. “I could help install them if you’d like?”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “And ruin the whole experience?”

  I wish I’d be able to lift you. Then I could have locked the door while you were out there and carried you into the forest.

  He laughs. “It wouldn’t be much different. Just easier.”

  I roll my eyes and pat the chair for him to return next to me.

  “That’s the whole point, though. We exhaust ourselves from shoveling the snow and wait for the warmth to spread. Believe me, once the heat settles in, you’ll be more relaxed than you’ve been for years. And…” He pulls his slippers back on, and I clink my glass to his. “This red wine will taste better than any you’ve had before. Not because of the quality but because of the experience and memories associated with it. Nothing worth having is easy.”

  He falls back in the chair and braids his fingers into mine, then repeats one of his first lines to me. “Exhaust myself to reap the benefits.”

  I smile, thinking back to his Tinder profile and how he later told me he was looking for love. “Anything worth experiencing works that way.”

  We sit back and enjoy the dancing flames. Like every time I come here, my body relaxes, my mind calms, and a tear escapes my eye.

  Isac is actually gone.

  Henrik wipes my tear with his sleeve. “Are you all right?”

  I take his hand and kiss his knuckles one by one before holding it to my cheek. “Happy. Just happy to be back.”

  29

  On Saturday morning, two days since my birthday, the cabin is dry and warm. I add more logs to the stove while Henrik prepares breakfast. On Thursday, I cried in the bathroom for two hours. To convince Henrik that I’m not unstable but the soul mate he’s been searching for his entire life, I’ve got some repairing to do.

  Henrik appears lost in thought, looking out the window above the counter. “Those moose kids were adorable.” He cuts four bread slices and places them on two wooden plates. “We should have one.”

  I laugh. “Yes. Moose are great pets in city apartments.”

  “No. Kids.”

  There it is. His good old “let’s have kids together” pitch. Although he’s never seen it through before, Henrik has texted with Simen about becoming a father one day. He’s also cut all contact with his previous dates. Isac didn’t want children and viewed them as a distraction from the life he envisioned for us. Maybe Henrik’s contemplating the thought for real this time?

  According to every other woman’s response over the years, they melted and created Pinterest nursery mood boards. I try a different tactic.

  “I don’t think that would be a great idea.” I shut the oven door.

  Henrik is still looking at me. “What do you mean?”

  You can’t be trusted. No woman in her right mind would ever bring your spawn into the world knowing that.

  I laugh, relieved I can be honest about how ridiculous that idea is to me. “You and me? That would never work.”

  “Why not?” He sets the plates on the sofa table. Opening the hatch in the floor, he gets butter, brown cheese, and strawberry jam, careful not to pinch his fingers when closing it.

  How can I force him to focus on the positive with me? Reverse psychology.

  “I’m not cut out to be a mother. You must have seen that by now?”

  “Do you think I’d suggest having a child with you if I didn’t think you’d be a wonderful mother? I don’t joke about kids,” he says.

  I almost crack.

  “Me either.” I’ll gladly lie about it if that’s what it takes to argue that I’ll be a good mother.

  I’ve crossed lines I never thought I would. What’s one more lie.

  He brings the cheese slicer and flashes his most charming smile. “You’d make a great mother.”

  Good boy.

  “How would you know?” I close my eyes. Come on, Henrik, think of reasons why I would.

  “Easy. When you relax and don’t worry about what other people think of you, you’re playful, carefree, and loving. I’m looking for a partner in the most important project I’ll ever work on. Those qualities are what I want in the mother of my child.”

  Uncomfortable with the warm sensation his statement is giving me, I blurt out my response before I’m able to stop myself. “I don’t think you’d make a good father.”

  He shrugs. “You’re the first woman to think so.”

  “I don’t care about the other women.”

  They were all idiots. Oh, for heaven’s sake. That’s not fair to them. I can’t let this get to me.

  “I’m sorry.” I try to spread a thin slice of the cold hard butter on my bread while I explain myself. But the butter is more like a brick, so I give up and slice cheese instead. “You’re not organized. You’d probably forget to add diapers to the diaper bag or forget something that would piss me off when it was my turn to take the baby.”

  Great job not letting you get to me.

  When I look up, he’s smiling at me. “You’re scared.”

  Of course I’m scared. For a second, I imagined having a child with you. I’m clearly losing my mind. “I push the cheese to the center of the table. “Whoever decides to have a child with you will go insane because you’re a child yourself.”

  Outside, the sky is blue, and the sun is shining bright.

  “I’m sorry. My ex refused to talk about kids. It’s a sore subject,” I add.

  “Do you remember when we promised to be vulnerable with each other?” He places a slice of cheese on his plate in slow motion as if not to poke the bear. “This is the first time you’ve kept that promise.”

  I bite my lip. “You pay more attention than I give you credit for.” I take a bite of my bread, holding it between my fingers.

  If I’m going to get him to go all in, I have to do so as well. “He didn’t want children.”

  Hearing the words out loud, I can’t go on.

  That’s enough vulnerability for one day.

  “Didn’t you tell me you’d beat me in a ski race?” I say.

  “Now?” Henrik loo
ks at the food.

  “Oh, come on. Where’s your spontaneity? We’ll lose the sun if we stay in too long.”

  I jump to my feet, refusing no for an answer.

  I need air.

  The swishing of skis and trees flying by takes me back to my childhood. I used to race my mother down this hill and build jumps with my brothers. I didn’t think about anything other than who could beat the previous year’s record. Now, I’m pushing as hard as I can to beat Henrik back to the cabin after a two-hour ski trip around the lake.

  A lonely cloud shields the sun in a clear blue sky.

  Henrik grunts with every thrust, but I’m faster than him. “Are you coming?” I call back, laughing.

  “Nobody likes a sore winner,” he yells.

  I push my arms down even harder to pick up speed. “I think you’re referring to yourself as a sore loser.”

  “Nope.” His skis close in on mine. “I’m a graceful winner.” He slides up next to me on the track.

  The cabin isn’t far now, but my stamina is gone after months of sitting at home, surviving on a diet of wine, and whatever food I could find in the cupboard.

  You’re not supposed to beat me.

  Henrik’s eyes narrow towards our destination. He clenches his jaw while looking over at me. His expression softens, and he grins. “Come on, D. You can do it.”

  “Oh, shut up.” I ignore the sweat running down my back. “Do it yourself.”

  He laughs. “Okay. See you at the finish line for a kiss.” Henrik curls his back, bends and shoots off ahead of me.

  Asshole.

  I’m applying textbook technique to every stride, but it’s no use. He’s in better shape and stronger than me. The asshole gets there first.

  “Wow, that was fun.” He throws his arms out to welcome me into them.

  It takes every last bit of strength I have not to stab him in the head with my pole. Instead, I glide into his embrace and let him hold me. “You did say you’d beat me,” I exhale.

  His chest moves up and down as he chuckles. “You’ll get me next time now that you know I’ve skied before.”

  “That’s why you were so clumsy to start with.” I push back, and he lets me go. I can’t believe it. “You wanted me to underestimate you. You tricked me.”