by Emily Childs
“You’re home,” she squeals. “Happy Birthday!”
I kiss the top of her head then pick her up. Her pale eyes look tired and a little red, her cheeks flushed, but still she beams. “I missed you. How early did you wake up to help make cinnamon rolls?”
“Before the sun woke up,” Agnes says.
“I bet they will be delicious.”
Setting Agnes down, Inez wraps me in a tight hug. “Brita, happy birthday, beautiful girl.”
“Thank you,” I say, and dip my finger in the icing bowl. “Hey, is Agnes okay?”
Inez frowns. Agnes struggles to tie her apron, and doesn’t hear us. “She’s had a bit of a cough, and you know for her it’s harder to fight off. She’ll be okay, the doctor gave her an antibiotic. We just have to keep watch on her oxygen sometimes at night and make sure it doesn’t turn into something else.”
I squeeze Inez’s shoulders. “You’ll keep me updated, right? I miss that girl when I’m away and I’ll just worry if you don’t tell me things.”
“Of course,” she says. “Now go sit down. It’s time to eat.”
“Lilla älskling! Happy Birthday.”
“Farfar,” I almost squeal like Agnes when I hug his thin body. “I missed you.”
Farfar kisses my forehead and pulls out one of the chairs at the table for me. I know Dad has headed into work early so he can be home at lunch and stay home the rest of the day. I want to see him, but I’m not looking forward to talking about Mom’s engagement. Oscar scrambles through the front door of the bakery, still in his pajama bottoms and his hair standing on end, Karl right behind.
“Glad you could make it,” Inez says with a scowl at her son.
“Mom, I was out late after the game,” Oscar whines and pours a glass of orange juice.
“Yes, I know,” Inez says. “I waited up if you remember.”
“Yes, I do.” Oscar kisses his mother’s cheek. “Because you love me so much. Ugh, what are you doing here?” Oscar looks at me, a dramatic look of disgust pulling at his face.
“You stink, maybe you should shower before you step out into public,” I retort.
He laughs through a bite into his cinnamon roll. “Happy birthday, dork.”
“Thanks, dweeb.”
It feels good to be home.
Every birthday in the Jacobson household one can expect to hear at least three renditions of the Happy Birthday tune. Never sung in English, that would be silly. My family sings to me over breakfast, then when Dad comes home for a big lunch of my favorite open-faced sandwiches on Farmor’s famous rolls, and now I blush for a third time as they sing over a stunning chocolate cheesecake Inez made. Oscar even admits that he helped with the crust. Chocolate and cheesecake mixed, there really isn’t anything better.
Yes, Jacobson birthdays supply plenty of singing, plenty of food, and plenty of laughter.
“This is delicious,” I say, gnawing on a clump of cake.
Inez smiles, rather pleased, and reaches for a small gift bag. “Here, open our gift before Agnes bursts out of her skin.”
I tap Agnes on the nose, who was in fact bouncing in her seat. She drops her fork and spills some of her whipped cream down her front. No one minds, and Karl quickly helps wipe her dress as though nothing happened.
“You guys,” I say, breath lost. A small pair of diamond stud earrings sparkle in my palm.
“They’re real,” Oscar says. “Real diamonds. You’re welcome.”
I feel tears swell. Oscar snickers when Karl shoves him in the shoulder.
I look at Inez, then to Karl. “You can’t be serious.”
“We want you to have something special. You’re graduating, Brita. You’ve accomplished so much, we just wanted to show you how proud we are of you.”
Quickly I stand from the table and wrap my arms around both my aunt and my uncle, then to Agnes, a full bear-hug, as she calls it. Oscar even lets me give him a side-hug. I wipe away a single tear when I return to my seat and put the earrings in my empty lobes.
“Well, now that my sister has shown me up, here’s this,” Dad says.
I take the envelope and grin. “It’s going to be great.”
“It’s from both Farfar and me,” Dad adds. Farfar points at the envelope as though to urge me to go faster.
My stomach flips when I study the check in my hands. “What is happening?”
Farfar claps, apparently overly pleased with my reaction. Dad squeezes my hand. I’m still reading the amount. “Now you can have a little something to get started with real life after graduation. Maybe even get a car.”
“Farfar, Dad…this is too much, really,” I say.
“Brita, no it’s not,” Dad interjects. “You deserve it. Just don’t spend it on something like chocolate.”
“That’s exactly what I’m buying. You’ve made mine and Jane’s life,” I say, hugging my dad long and with meaning. I kiss Farfar’s cheek and let him pat my face.
“So how has the semester been?” Inez asks once we all settle back into our cheesecake. “Anything fun happening?”
“It’s been good, challenging, but good,” I say.
“Hey, how are you dealing with Aunt Judy getting engaged?” Oscar asks. I am glad Oscar and Agnes still call my mom aunt. It makes her still feel part of the family. I steal a look at Dad. He doesn’t look too terribly upset, but he doesn’t smile either.
“Um, it was a little bit of a shock at first, but I guess if she’s happy—”
“That’s right,” Inez says. “We’ll always be family. I offered to do the cake, that’s how important it is to keep our relationships.”
“Dad, how are you?” I dare ask.
Dad smiles and pushes around the final piece of cheesecake on his plate. “I’m happy for your mom, really. We had a good talk right after Todd asked. She said if I didn’t agree with it, she wouldn’t do it. I, of course, appreciated that, but I would never stand in the way of her moving on with her life.” Oscar snorts a little bit and I slap his back, thinking he choked on his water. Dad laughs. “Can’t say I wasn’t tempted to say no in the most animated way.”
I’m relieved that Dad smiles. He is a good man. I will always be sad my parents divorced, but I can now say that I do only want them both to be happy. I’m confident they both will be.
“So how long do we get you tomorrow?” Farfar asks. “When does the last bus leave?”
My fearless Viking moment arrives. The way my stomach drops like a lead weight into my feet tells me so. I haven’t mentioned anything about the Olsens like I promised. I watched them leave earlier that day, probably for pictures. Axel texted me happy birthday, so had Jonas, but the only evidence that I consort with the enemy remains in Jonas’s gift upstairs on my bed. Dad’s knee bounces under the table, but then he already knows and sits back, letting me face my own fate.
Taking a deep breath, I glance at my grandfather. “I’m not taking the bus, Farfar.”
“Oh, Nils are you taking her back?”
Dad looks at me out of the corner of his eye and shakes his head. “Nope, I’m not.”
“Well, then how are you getting to school?” Inez asks. “Unless you really are going to buy a car.”
I splay my fingers out on the lace tablecloth, close my eyes for a long breath, then somehow find the strength to speak. “Okay, you guys. I need to be honest with you. I’ve been getting rides to and from school.”
“Good,” Farfar says. “Why the secrecy?”
“Because Farfar,” I begin. My throat feels like a desert. Be a Viking, I tell myself. But that is just the problem, my confession will fall to a table filled with Vikings. “I’ve been driving with…Jonas.”
Nothing. Only blank stares, except for Oscar—he looks at me like I’ve lit the table on fire. Dad drinks his water like a man with an unquenchable thirst.
“Do you really not know their names?” My stomach backflips. All I need to do is say the last name. Say it, that’s all. Say it, say it. Clearing my throat, my
voice breaks as I whisper, “Jonas Olsen.”
Then it begins.
Farfar shouts in Swedish, and my limited vocabulary is enough to know the words aren’t polite. Inez stares at me, her grip wraps tightly around her fork, and Karl takes the initiative to shuffle Agnes from the table, using a bath as the excuse.
“How could you do this, Brita?” Farfar bemoans during a moment of clarity.
“Pops, think about why you’re angry. Is it really such a big deal that she is riding to school with Jonas?” Dad referees.
“You knew about this, Nils?” Inez asks.
“Mom…”
“I don’t need your input,” Inez snaps at Oscar, who abruptly closes his mouth.
“She’s my kid, Inez,” Dad says, brisk and rough.
“Listen!” I hold up my hands. “Jonas is nice. He’s a friend.”
“How long, how long have you been…betraying us for them?” Farfar asks.
“Betraying you? Farfar, can’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds? He goes to school with me, he’s nice. You’d like him—”
“No, stop. Enough. I refuse to hear any more of this. You, Brita, do not understand how…despicable that family is. You don’t know what they’ve done to us. You won’t ride with that boy anymore.”
For a moment I’m worried Farfar is having a health spell by the way he gasps, but I realize his temper is behind the jagged breaths. And I’m burning. I’m furiously angry. My fists curl and I stand, in defense of Jonas.
“No, he is not,” I say firmly.
“What?” Farfar says.
“He is not despicable. I don’t know why you hate Viggo, you’re right. But that is who you hate, not his grandchildren. You didn’t even know Jonas’s first name. You don’t know him at all.” My fingertips are numb, but I won’t stop. “He is wonderful. He’s kind and smart. When I was sick, he took care of me. He is a true friend, and no one at this table has the right to tell me who I will be friends with. Not anymore.”
I can hear the winds of change and I feel empowered.
“Brita,” Inez says. “The Olsens are not kind. I don’t know what sort of game this boy is playing but—”
“Is it so hard to think he might just like me too?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What have they done to you? Tell me, what has Elias, or Sigrid, or Viggo done to you personally Inez? Has Bastien been unkind to you, Oscar?” My cousin glances up, warily checks his mother’s set scowl, but he finds the good-old Viking courage and shakes his head no. “Why does having the name Olsen suddenly mean Jonas must be using me, or plotting something sinister?”
Inez angrily gathers the plates. “I would never expect this blatant disrespect from you, Brita. Not you.”
“Inez, stop,” Dad warns. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”
“I do, Nils,” Inez spits back. “Brita is like a daughter to me, always has been.” Great, I’ve caused a fight between my entire family too.
“It doesn’t matter,” Farfar says. “Brita, you don’t need to know the history of our families. All you need to have is respect for this family and the pain caused at the hands of those…people.”
My pulse is violent in my ears as I stare at my family. My dad’s jaw tightens, Farfar has red cheeks, and Inez avoids me. For the first time in my life, I’ve brought utter disappointment and yet, they disappoint me in this moment too. I can’t stay here any longer. Snagging my coat and purse from the rack by the door, I burst outside, rush down the sidewalk; wretched, ugly tears fall. And my heart shatters.
Chapter 19
The icy air doesn’t bother me. I find refuge on a bench bolted to the cement at the end of the walk. A measly hundred feet from the bakery, and feels much too close. Thankfully no one follows me. In fact, I won’t be surprised if the doors are locked tight when I return. Chiding myself for thinking so little of my family, I watch the streetlamp flicker to life. I’m cast in blue, frosty light, cheerful and out of place.
My fingers hover over my phone—I’m half tempted to text Jonas, I suppose I should want to text Axel, but the argument didn’t bring up his name now did it. I tuck my cell back in my pocket. No. I can do this on my own. I’ve already confessed a bit of my feelings toward the Olsens, I can face troubles. Time to stop running to others when I’m in distress. My feet need to find their own ground. A watery smile spreads over my face, maybe this is the start of that strength Farmor mentioned in the letter.
This still aches and absolutely, unequivocally sucks. My heart feels shredded, like a cheese grater had its way with my chest. Wiping my eyes, I think of my grandmother. Soft-spoken, sarcastic Farmor. I’ve no doubt she’d have my back tonight. Then we would have gone to get manicures and sodas.
Headlights approach and I curl away, embarrassed if anyone sees my red face. Oh, you are kidding me. I bite my tongue, taste blood, and cover my face with my hands. Jonas’s car is inching down the road.
If I get up now, he’ll notice me for sure. Cursing the streetlamp above, I duck away. He won’t stop, maybe it’s not even Jonas. Oh, please don’t be Axel. I have a feeling Axel is not the kind who will want to deal with tears on a Saturday night.
The car slows while passing my bench but doesn’t stop, and after it’s gone, I dare peel my eyes after the red glow of the brake lights. Two people step out, Jonas instantly recognizable. The other is Bastien. His face is glued to the screen of a cell phone, and he has hair that falls long over his ears. I turn my back on the brothers, confident Jonas hasn’t seen me. Knowing him as I do, he’ll feel guilty if he finds out that a bomb has exploded in the Jacobson house.
I hear the jingling bells of Clara’s door open and close. Releasing my breath, I straighten once again on my solitary bench and glance across the street.
Groaning, my head hangs; I stare at my boots, acutely aware of the sticky mess of tears on my cheeks. I probably look like a pufferfish with my swollen eyes. Jonas jogs across the street; his hands tucked deep in his coat pockets. A part of me yearns for those dark blue eyes, and calm, confidence unique to him. I don’t even care that the thought passes my mind, it’s the truth and I am owning the truth tonight.
“Brita, what are you doing out here?” Jonas asks, sitting next to me without waiting for an invitation. I scoot closer to him. “Are you crying?” Jonas’s arm is already around my shoulders before I can stop it and my senseless chin quivers again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to see me, I don’t want to bring you into things you don’t need to worry about,” I say, but then scoff bitterly. “Well, I guess in a way this is your fault.”
“My fault? What happened?”
“I told them.” My voice is nothing more than a wet sob. I suck in sharp air, look away, and bite my lip to keep my emotions in check. A rattle is in my breath when I look at Jonas. He is doing his thing—how he stares, eyes intense and focused, listening. “I told my family that we’re friends.”
Jonas leans back against the bench, his arm falls from around my shoulders, and I feel rather empty. Leaning forward on his knees Jonas keeps his voice low, and I take note how he softly cracks his knuckles. “I don’t know if I’m the one you need right now, but you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”
“You’re wrong,” I whisper, wiping my cheeks. “You’re just the person I need tonight.” It wasn’t a lie. Jonas doesn’t wallow, but he listens. He validates hurt. I want him tonight.
He smiles, shoulders relax, and he stops cracking his knuckles. “Here,” he says and reaches into his pocket. Revealing an unopened pack of gummy worms, I grin.
“See,” I say. “Just who I need.”
“Thank Bass for being a procrastinator. He needed a few things for a project at school on Monday, so I took the opportunity to stock up for the drive back tomorrow. I’m good digging into them early though.”
“I’ll be sure to thank him.”
Jonas eats a red worm and looks up at the sky, though with the brightness of the
bulb shining over us, stars are rather difficult to see. “Want to tell me what happened?”
After gnawing off the head of a blue worm I carefully recount the explosion over the cheesecake. I don’t embellish, there isn’t any need. The story is almost as uncomfortable recounting it as it has been living through all the angry words and hurt feelings. My shoulders cave forward, the spaces between my ribs pit a bit as I fight new bitterness. Fists curl, and my nails dig into the meat of my palms.
Jonas runs a hand through his hair. There is a twitch to his jaw, as if he fights against what he really wants to say.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I wish I had some great words of wisdom I could give you, but honestly—I’m just mad.”
“No, I’m sorry. I dragged you into my family’s bitterness, and you don’t deserve that,” I say, dabbing my coat sleeve against my eye.
“I did the same thing to you,” he says. “I told my parents. My dad didn’t seem that upset—”
“Really?” I ask, brows lifting. “I thought your dad hated us as much as your grandpa.”
“Yeah, shocking huh?”
I’m afraid to ask, but want to know. “Um, did Axel, did he say anything?”
“No,” he says, firmly. “Axel isn’t around tonight.”
I nod, and don’t ask where he is. I’m not sure it matters. “So, your dad was okay?”
“I mean, he didn’t seem thrilled, but he basically said I’m twenty-three, so what can they say?”
I laugh, not because it was funny, but ridiculous. “Yeah, turns out I’ll always be twelve to my family. At least Dad tried to stop it. I kind of left him to the wolves back there.”
“He’s an attorney, he can get out of a heated discussion,” Jonas says.
“So, what else did your dad say?”
“He asked to be the one to explain it to Grandpa. I didn’t argue about that. Hopefully they’ll talk when I’m tucked safe and sound back at school. See, you’re braver than me.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “Really though, I feel bad. Part of me wonders if it would be easier if I just…you know, kept my distance.”
