by Karina Halle
“Yeah!” I shout back. Even though the feelings that are bubbling up in me are both welcome and not. I try and shake it out of me, concentrate on the fact that we’re heading right for a herd of brown and white cows by a patch of budding aspens. I try to ignore how strangely right this feels, pressed up against this man, my arms around him and holding on tight.
As we get closer, the cows perk up. They obviously know the drill. Anders starts hooting at them and yelling in Norwegian, zipping the bike around them until they start moving toward the barn, the bells around their necks ringing, their udders swinging back and forth.
“So have you named them?” I ask loudly in his ear.
He grins. “Of course. That one with the brown face is Gertrude. The mostly white one is Maria…”
“Really?”
He sucks on his lower lip for a moment, eyes dancing.
“You’re full of shit, aren’t you,” I tell him.
We ride alongside the cows at a slower pace. He shrugs. “Well….” he tapers off then nods. “Yeah, I’m full of shit. But hey, you think we put lawnmowers on our roofs.”
“You don’t?”
He starts laughing. What an ass!
I pinch at his stomach, hard, and he yelps. “Hey! I’m driving.”
“I can’t believe I fell for that,” I mutter.
“Honestly, I can’t believe it either.”
Then we take off fast toward the barn, so I have no choice but to hold onto him again.
We get off the bike and I help him get the cows into the milking shed while he looks over each one, appraising them. His uncle, funny old man, is already inside, guiding the cows into the milking stations. It’s kind of amazing how each cow more or less knows where to go.
“Do you want to try milking one?” Anders asks, wagging his brows as he starts bringing suction cup things to a cow’s udder after cleaning it with newspapers soaked in iodine. The cow is chewing, doesn’t seem to notice at all.
“Maybe later,” I tell him, eyeing his uncle as he applies the newspapers to the other cows. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t want a noob like me screwing up his entire operation.
I go and retrieve my mug of now cold coffee and watch the two of them work, trying to stay out of the way. It’s amazing how much work it is, even though they have maybe twenty cows, and I have no idea how his uncle handles it when Anders isn’t there.
“What can I do?” I ask Anders while the milk is being taken up the tubes to a vat of milk.
“Something I think you might enjoy,” he says.
He grabs my hand, briefly, just enough to lead me away from the milking parlor and into the rest of the barn. He disappears into the feed room and comes out with two giant bottles of milk that look like they’re meant for monster babies and jerks his head for me to follow him.
He opens the door to a stall and we step inside. There’s a baby cow, maybe the size of a great Dane, swishing his tail and looking at us with liquid brown eyes.
“Oh my god,” I exclaim quietly. “He’s so cute.”
“She,” Anders says, handing me a bottle. “Born only last week.”
“But she’s already so huge!”
“I know, and a handful.” He licks his lips and nods at the cow who is eyeing us both, wondering who she should go for. “Go on. Just stick out the bottle, she’ll take it.”
“Me?”
“I’ve got to feed the other calf we have at the moment,” he says, heading for the door. “You’ll do fine.”
“Anders!” I call after him fearfully, but he walks down the aisle to a stall further down.
Now the cow is really giving me the eye. It’s big enough to knock me to the ground.
And now she’s walking toward me.
I back up, my feet caught in the hay, trying to get out of the heifer’s way until I’m backed up against the wall.
This cow ain’t stopping.
I cry out and quickly thrust the bottle out in front of me in desperation.
The calf latches onto the nipple ravenously, it’s long tongue snaking over my hands as I try to keep hold of the bottle. I can’t help but giggle. It’s actually the cutest thing ever, the way it keeps sucking and gulping down the milk, those big brown eyes seeming fixed on mine. I’ve never been so close to a baby cow before, and this one is absolutely adorable.
“Having fun over there?” I hear Anders call out from down the barn.
“I think so!” I yell back, trying to get a better grip on the bottle.
Eventually though, the bottle is empty and the cow, the hair around its snout all white and my own hands a complete mess of cow slobber and milk, wants more.
“Now what?” I yell, the cow nudging me with its nose.
Anders appears at the stall door, grinning at the sight of me.
“You get out of there,” he says. “Before…”
The cow stomps forward, headbutting me in the hip. I yelp and try to get out of the way but my feet tangle in the straw and I’m falling. I hit the ground and roll over just as the cow starts nibbling at my hair.
“Ahhh!” I yell as she tugs at a strand.
I swat at the calf, trying to get away, just as I feel Anders beside me, his hands going underneath my arms and hauling me up to my feet.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, stepping between me and the ornery cow.
My hair is a mess, all in my face, and he gently brushes it off my eyes, tucking it behind my ears. I’m both swooning a little at his touch and acutely embarrassed over what just happened. It doesn’t help that Anders looks like he’s about to burst out laughing.
“I’m fine,” I tell him quickly, glaring at the cow who is poking her head around Anders, apparently not done with me. “But I think it’s fair to say farm life isn’t for me.”
He picks a piece of straw out of my hair. “Are you sure?” He starts to smile. “You seem like a natural at it.” Then he bursts out laughing.
I hit him on the arm. “You never warned me I’d be attacked by a baby cow.”
“Hey, Gertrude Jr. can’t help it, you’re irresistible.”
“Oh shut up,” I tell him. “Are we done now?”
He’s still grinning at me. “Yeah, we’re done. If Astrid and Lise aren’t too hungover, there should be a big breakfast on the table.”
We leave the barn and I’m still picking hay off myself by the time we reach the house. Before we go inside though, Anders grabs my hand and squeezes it. The action takes me by surprise and freezes me in my tracks. The feel of his skin is nothing short of a hot, fiery spark.
“I just wanted to say thank you. Tusen takk,” he says.
“For what?” I ask, conscious that he’s still holding my hand. He’s peering at me so sincerely I’m not really sure what’s happening. My heart starts to pick up the beat, my mouth dry.
“For helping me,” he says. “It just…you know, I’ve never had anyone take an interest in what I do. I guess because what I do isn’t very exciting or interesting. Farming, fishing. It’s what everyone here does.” He looks away to the barn. “I have to say, when I came to America, this was the life I was escaping. Now I’m back here and…well, I guess what I’m trying to say is, this morning you made me feel like it’s not all a waste.” He swallows and squints at me.
I’m not sure what to say. I wasn’t expecting this. “Oh. Well, it was no problem. Aside from the cow attacking me.” He smiles at that. I want to tell him that I volunteered to help, not just because I felt a debt by being here, but because I wanted to see his daily life. I wanted to spend time with him, getting to know this Anders, the farmer, the family man.
I also want to tell him that he’s impressed me.
And I want to know more.
A lot more.
But the past has this way of creeping up on me, and even now, as we stand on the stoop of his farmhouse, the smell of bacon wafting from inside, I’m scared to get closer.
He doesn’t even know the half of it.
I pull m
y hand out of his and give him a quick smile. “Shall we get something to eat?”
He studies me for a moment, his eyes searching my face. I’m not sure what he’s looking to find.
Then he nods. “Absolutely. You’ll need your strength for when we do the afternoon milking.”
“Shut up,” I tell him, punching him lightly in the gut.
We step inside the house, laughing.
11
Shay
Then
“Don’t be chicken,” Anders says to me.
Phhhf. We’re about to break into the community pool. I tell him to go ahead, to scale the fence before me, but he wants us to do it at the same time.
“I’m not chicken.” I glare at him playfully. Because I’m not. I’m the opposite. I’ll do whatever he says. He makes me feel invincible, unstoppable. Even in the cold of a late April night, standing in just my swimsuit, bare feet on concrete, I only feel the warmth of him at my side.
He’s watching me, grinning lazily, and takes a swig from the bottle of rum. Hands it to me. “Finish it off.”
I down it, trying not to cough it up, and lick my lips.
He mutters something in Norwegian, a glazed look coming over his eyes. He puts his hands into my hair, to the back of my head, and pulls me to him.
“Ever had sex in a pool?” he asks huskily.
My skin tingles from the question. I shake my head. “You know I’ve only slept with you.”
He grins and kisses me softly on the lips. “Just checking.” He nods at the fence. “Come on.”
He starts to climb and I follow suit. I’ve never scaled a giant chain-link fence before and it’s kind of scary. The wires are freezing and burn into the balls of my feet, the bottoms of my fingers. But I go up and up and up, fueled by my love for him and desperate for his affection.
The fact is, we haven’t had sex once in the last month. We’ve barely seen each other. He’s become so withdrawn and moody, drunk more often than not, even in class. He got suspended last week for smoking and then mouthing off to the teacher who caught him. I have no idea what he was doing while gone from school, and he only came back today, slipping into my chemistry class like a ghost.
I feel like I don’t really know him anymore and I’m growing more and more paranoid that I’m not good enough for him, that he doesn’t love me anymore, that there’s something—someone—else.
I don’t want to think about my doubts. I want to believe in his love for me, even if he hasn’t said it lately. Anders is the best thing that ever happened to me, the only thing in my life that keeps me going through the days. He’s the only one that makes me feel wanted, that makes me feel needed. With my mom coming back only for Christmas and then jetting back to India, choosing dad over me and Hannah again, Anders is the only constant in my life. He’s my north star, my Nordic star.
So that passion fuels my climb and, before I know it, I’m climbing over the top and down the other side.
“That’s my sparrow,” he says to me, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me in the air.
I giggle, thrilled at his touch, his embrace. I feel in this moment, under the stars, among the electricity of his heart and mine, that all is well. I’m whole and happy again. It’s the old Anders, before we started fighting, before I started crying at night, afraid for our future together.
I love you, I want to say to him. I want to yell it. But he always insisted that it was his words to give me and not the other way around, and he gets so weird when I say it.
So I keep it inside and do what I can to make sure he feels it, knows it. He’s the only boy for me. Now and forever.
“Ladies first,” he says, after he puts me back down, gesturing to the water that glows faintly under the lone light of the closed community center.
“Yeah right,” I tell him, smacking him on the arm. “You know they turn the heat down at night.”
“Well, why don’t you go check,” he says.
I give him a suspicious look and he raises his palm.
“I promise I won’t push you,” he says.
So I take his word for it. I walk over to the edge, the concrete rough on my feet and peer over at the water, light wafts of steam rising from it. It can’t be that cold then, can it?
Before I can even register it, Anders is moving, running toward me. He grabs my hand and leaps into the air, pulling me with him.
For a moment I’m weightless. It’s horrible and freeing at the same time. If I was a sparrow I would keep flying, but I fall, holding onto Anders until the water cuts into us.
I sink, open my mouth to scream and nearly swallow a bucket of cold chlorine. When my head breaks the surface, I’m gasping. The water is a lot warmer than the air, but it’s still a shock to my system.
I paddle frantically, trying to get oriented, and glare at Anders.
“You asshole, you promised!” I yell, spitting out water.
“I promised I wouldn’t push you,” he says, swimming toward me, his long hair back from his forehead. He looks sexy as fuck, even though I hate him at the moment. “I pulled you in, that’s different.”
“You’re an ass,” I tell him again.
“And you’re gorgeous when you’re wet.” He wags his eyebrows and wraps his arms around my waist, his skin sliding like silk against mine.
He swims forward until my back is against the edge of the pool, then one hand is disappearing down my bikini bottoms and his mouth is on mine, tasting like chemicals and rum. His tongue is hot but I’m still so mad at him, and at the same time my body is responding like I’m being brought back to life. I’m hungry, insatiable, for every part of him. For him to just be mine again, every inch, body and soul.
My neck cranes back as his wet lips suck down my neck, and I pray he leaves hickeys on me like he used to, when we used to mark each other and everyone at school would know just how madly in love we were. It would stop Everly asking me why she hasn’t seen Anders around me anymore, why I’ve stopped talking about him, gushing like I used to. It would stop all those girls from looking at him, if they see he’s still mine and I’m still his.
I open my eyes to the stars and his mouth is at my breast, freed from the bikini top and I’m wrapping my legs around his waist while he pushes my bottoms aside.
I’ve never wanted him, needed him, more.
He whispers something in Norwegian, voice raspy, and I gasp loudly as he pushes himself inside. The water makes the friction feel ten-fold, and not in a good way. It hurts.
But he pulls out slowly and then back in again and I grip him tighter and as he works himself in and out, the easier it gets. I open myself to him, nails clawing down his back, one hand at the back of my neck. The more he thrusts into me, the more my back rubs raw against the edge of the pool. It hurts, the concrete scraping skin, but in the best way possible.
I can’t wait to show Everly the marks tomorrow. I’ll wear the scars proudly.
“Oh, Shay,” Anders groans into my neck before meeting my lips. Our mouths are hot, wet, tongues are dancing, fueling the fire.
I’m so wicked, I think to myself. We’re so bad. Having sex in a public pool. I don’t know anyone at my school that’s done that. Maybe we’ll be the first.
Anders comes first, hard and loud. I can’t really complain since I don’t always come during sex anyway. I love to hear his sounds, to know that I, and only I, am the one to make him feel this way. Feel so good. It’s power, and the only power I have.
He looks up at me, breathing hard, and starts treading water. The strangest, most haunted look comes over his eyes. He doesn’t look sated at all.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I shake my head for a moment, not understanding. Then I do.
“Oh. Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s been a long time, I get it,” I tell him, pulling my bikini bits back on the right spots. “Just make me come next time and I’ll be good.” I shoot him a grin to let him know it’s cool.
He squints his eyes and
spits out water. “Right.”
The sound of a car door slamming makes both of us snap our heads up.
“We should get out of here,” Anders says, quickly pulling himself out of the pool. He extends his hands and hauls me out, just in time for a pair of headlights to flash across the pool area, narrowly missing us. A car has come into the parking lot.
We stick to the shadows and run to the fence, trying to get up and over as quick as we can. I even jump the last bit, into his arms, just as we hear voices and see the beam of a flashlight.
He takes hold of my hand and we quickly run down the road, but he lets go a few moments later as we hurry down another suburban block to where he parked the Mustang.
He doesn’t pick up my hand again for the rest of the night.
And his eyes never stop looking haunted.
12
Anders
Now
I never thought I’d say this, but Shay Lavji has turned out to be one hell of a farm girl.
She’s been up every single morning with me at 5 a.m. for the past three days, and even though she’s still a bit squeamish when it comes to feeding the baby cows, she’s right beside me doing everything that I do. We’ve been alternating helping with the cows and the sheep, which means Uncle Per is getting a welcome respite to just stay inside and work on the farm finances and keeping records.
Astrid and Lise have even been pitching in here and there, though they’ve really embraced their roles as the homemakers. Or should I say, drunken homemakers, since they crack open the beers and cider every afternoon. But it’s their vacation and the two rarely get to see each other, so who am I to judge. I would do the exact same, only I can’t remember the last time I actually got to go away. The fishing and farm life keep me tethered, 365 days a year.
But all vacations come to an end, and Lise and Astrid have already left Todalen, Lise going up to Tromso to see Tove for a few days before she goes down to Oslo, and Astrid back to Paris. Every time they leave, a heavy cloud seems to descend over the farm. They bring so much light and life to the place, as annoying as they can be.
