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

by Alexandra Winter

  Downstairs, Dad’s snoring echoes from their bedroom so I tiptoe past the door not to wake him. In the kitchen, Mom has left breakfast for me. Avocados on toast, with her signature coriander cream and three poached eggs. My favorite. Next to it is a prepared salad for lunch, which I throw in my bag before heading for the bus.

  Outside, the air is crisp, the sun is shining, and the sound of birds chirping this early warns me that soon it won’t be quiet here anymore. Summer is approaching, and so is the tourist season. I slow my pace and pick a bouquet of white windflowers to set on my desk at work. Dad never mentioned anything when I cleaned all the cars yesterday, and I try to convince myself he might not have stopped by Skar’s Auto in the state he was in. But he must have. Dad’s never gone a day without being there before, so his silence can only be because I didn’t do a good enough job. I decide to clean them even more thoroughly today since any smudge will light up in this spring sun.

  Commuters pack the bus, which takes a little over an hour. No seat is available, so I cling onto a railing with one hand and clutch the flowers with my other hand. The flowers droop in the musty heat generated by the crowd. I place them in water when I arrive at Skar’s.

  I get the sponge and bucket and head out to the power washer. From the look of it, two cars have been driven since yesterday, so my suspicions are correct; Dad’s been here. I wonder if Grandfather was with him, what they were doing as I start up the power washer.

  When Dad drives into the lot at ten o’clock, I have finished perfecting over thirty cars already and am working on a black Porsche.

  “Isn’t it the most beautiful day?” I wave at him to come over to see what I have done, hoping to cheer him up.

  He pauses by me and stares at the car I’m working on. “A perfect day to see dirt.” Dad wipes his fingers under the side mirror.

  “I just started working on this one,” I say.

  He ignores my comment. “It’s no point watering the cars, they won’t grow. If you want them clean, you have to do it properly.” He grabs the sponge from my hands and smears soap onto the mirror. “There. Rinse this off and come see me inside.”

  Really? I’m not finished.

  I put the bucket down and watch him stroll into his glass office. As he sits down behind his desk, I recall a hyper-time-lapsed video I’d seen long ago of a river in Africa drying up. This reminds me of that, how the sun’s harsh glare burns all life, leaving only cracked sand behind. I point the pressure washer at the car and watch the water drench the mirror. I wipe it dry.

  After packing away the cleaning supplies, I follow Dad inside where he sits, arms folded, staring at the cars outside.

  “I want to discuss your future.” He gestures for me to sit in the chair in front of him. Between us are customer lists with names crossed out in red. “You are my daughter, and I care about you.” My head tilts to the side. Where is he going with this?

  Something’s up.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee?” He pulls out two cups from his desk drawer and marches over to the espresso machine and fills one cup.

  “Dad? Are you all right?” This is what he does with customers, friends he wants to impress. He’s never offered me coffee before, only asked me to bring him one.

  He fills the other and hands it to me before returning to his seat. “Better than all right. I’m healthy, and I have my daughter working for me at our family business.”

  The coffee sticks in my throat and I cough while desperately swallowing the hot liquid, trying not to spray it over his desk.

  Dad continues. “It is important you understand that Skar’s Auto needs you.”

  That’s it; he must still be drunk.

  “Mhmm?”

  “That you realize that this is a real business where we sell cars, and people pay us for that.”

  Instead of hunching over, I sit up straight. “Yes, you sell cars here at your dealership, and I clean them.”

  “No, you mustn’t think of it like that. We’re a team. And one day, if you become responsible enough, I’ll promote you to sales. How about that?” He leans over, resting his elbows on the desk. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up, you know? With this William guy, who probably wants some entertainment while he’s here. There are so many beautiful women in Oslo where he lives. I don’t want him to make a fool out of you, or us.”

  There it is again, the feeling of drying up inside. I can’t explain it. Dad seems to be worried about me, and he's being kind. I can’t show my internal collapse from the realization that he has no faith in me attracting a man like William, allow it to sound in my voice. I whisper. “I don’t want that either.”

  “Or…Or with this school you applied to. Even if they do let you through the first round, that doesn’t mean there’s any hope, Amalie.”

  What does he mean by a first round? I’m not aware of any rounds. Either I get a scholarship, or I don’t.

  Dad sips his coffee and stares into the black liquid for what seems like minutes before looking up at me. “Dreams don’t come true for people like us. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. Just look at me. Skar’s Auto was supposed to be a success, making me rich. Now everyone knows it’s a failure.”

  Don’t say that.

  I jump up from my seat and wrap my arms around him. “No, Dad. We’ll make it a success, I’m sure of it.” I force a smile. “I’ll clean up the rest of the cars. Then we can take some new pictures, update the ads and…”

  “No. It’s no use. Go home. Take some time off today.”

  “But...”

  “It’s not a question. Go home.” He turns around in his chair, his back to me and all I want to is hold him and tell him everything will be alright. Make it perfect again. “I’m sure if we …”

  “Go home, Amalie.”

  I withhold the sigh about to escape me. “Call me then, when you want me to come back.” I move the windflowers from my desk to his, grab my bag and leave.

  On the bus home, I’m the only passenger, and as I stare out the window at grass fields passing by, Dad’s words get me thinking.

  William has asked me to meet him in Oslo, and if I think of it as him asking me on a date, my nerves kick-start. Is Dad right? Will he make a fool out of me? I’ve seen girls from the city vacation here, and he’s right about them. They are beautiful, confident and dress elegantly. Why would William be interested in me? And if he sees me in between all of them, that will surely remind him I’m not what he wants. Perhaps that would be for the best. After all, Dad mentioned my scholarship, which I haven’t even thought about in regards to William. The more I get involved with him, the harder it will be to leave, and Nana would never allow me to choose a man over DAP.

  Would I?

  I remember William’s comments about the city girls when he met me at the oak, how they ruin their bunads, and my frustration kicks in because that gives me hope that he likes me. I can’t put too much into this. I’m being silly. Luckily, we arrive at my stop, so I get out and walk home to check the mail.

  “Amalie?” Mom comes rushing out of the kitchen. “What perfect timing. I’m going to get Nana. Will you have lunch with us? I need your opinion on the new salad.”

  “Sure.” I kick off my shoes and put them away.

  “The neighbors brought us lots of newspapers. Do you mind stacking them by the fireplace while I get her?” She kisses my cheek. “What are you doing home so early, by the way? I’m late, I’ll hear about it when we return.” She runs out the door.

  Usually, every house recycles their newspapers, but Mom has all the people in Årøysund stop by with theirs to use for the fire during winter. “Why buy paper when we can help both the environment and cut cost,” she says.

  When I lift a stack and move it over to the fireplace, an envelope falls out. I wouldn’t usually care, but this one catches my attention. On the top left-hand corner are three letters in a logo. DAP. My heart races. Underneath them are the words I’ve waited to see for as long as I can re
member. Design e Arte Porto. I drop the stack of newspapers and grab the envelope from the floor. It’s empty.