Oliver and Erica

by Desiree Span

Then I asked the question I had not dare ask before.

  “Have you heard from her?” I asked carefully.

  Mike shook his head. “No, not much. The same as everyone else... just that she’s still living in The Netherlands and her parents go to visit her once in a while.”

  There was a moment of silence as I gloomily stared at my beer.

  “You’re still not over her, are you, Ol?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t know, man,” I muttered with a sigh.

  “Well, that’s no good. It’s been a very long time. Too long, my friend. And holding on like that is simply pointless. It only makes you fester on the inside,” he said. “She got married, you know,” he continued, as if pointing out that contrary to me, Erica had indeed continued with her life.

  I lit up a cigarette, trying to masquerade how much his comment affected me. “No, I didn’t. Good for her,” I then said.

  There fell a moment of silence, but then Mike shook his head, as if finding the situation unacceptable. “Well, then our mission is clear. We’ve got to find you a foxy woman!” Mike joked, trying to sound cheerful.

  I chuckled. “Yep, I guess that’s what we’re going to have to do.”

  After several months looking for a job and having no success, I eventually accepted my father’s offer and went to work for him. I think I then fulfilled one of his lifelong dreams; keeping the company somehow in the family. After my brother had shown absolutely no interest whatsoever in being part of this, he had been really afraid that at a certain point the business would have to be passed on to strangers.

  So I bought some pants and a couple of shirts, and after my mom told me I still looked like a hippie, I gave myself a long-overdue haircut. I then presented myself in my father’s office, but only on the condition that I be treated as any other employee.

  As it turned out I didn’t have to worry, for my dad made it clear on day one that he wasn’t going to pamper me or give me preference in any way. He actually made it into a habit to challenge me, pressure me and push me professionally.

  But I never complained, worked long hours and was involved in as many projects and clients as I could handle. Being a dedicated and fast learner helped make me progress fast, and I soon became my father’s trusted right hand. I eventually took over his larger clients and though my interest still lay in mainly managing the design department, I had my fingers in most of the pies.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ERICA

  2015

  * * *

  “You know-,” Fred took off his reading glasses after having looked at the photographs of Jan and the kids on my phone.

  “-when my wife and I got married, I had just found my first job and we barely had enough money saved up for the down payment on our apartment, let alone a wedding. But times were different then. We didn’t feel the need for a lavish wedding,” Fred said.

  I smiled at him. “Our wedding was simple as well, but still elegant. Jan and I agreed it’s a waste to spend that much money on one day, so we preferred to invest in the memory of our honeymoon.”

  “Now, that sounds sensible to me,” Fred laughed.

  “Stop fidgeting,” my mother said exasperatedly. She was trying to fasten the veil to my head.

  “I’m trying, but there is something pricking me right here!” I pointed to an unreachable spot under my armpit and pulled at my wedding dress again.

  She inspected the dress and found nothing. “I think it’s the seam or something, honey. I can’t find anything pointy,” she said.

  I sighed, accepting the fact that the pointy thing was probably just a figment of my imagination and tapped my fingers nervously on the rim of the dressing table, while my mother finished adjusting my veil.

  “You look absolutely stunning,” she said, smiling radiantly. I stood up to admire the end result in the mirror.

  I had chosen a gorgeous classic wedding dress made of ivory, dupioni silk that had a matt, soft sheen to it. Its plunging neckline and lace overlay bodice embroidered with small pearls, fit perfectly to my body. My hair was braided in a simple, but sophisticated bun that came together in the nape of my neck, and my mother had finished it off by adding some pearl pins.

  * * *

  As I walked down the aisle, holding onto my father’s arm, I quickly glanced at the guests. Sitting in the back were our friends, colleagues and some faces I actually couldn’t quite place. Then in the middle I saw more relatives, and I spotted my aunt Karen and her family. At the end of a row I saw Ron and Chris, who gave me a little wave. The two front rows were reserved for my parents, my pregnant sister Anabel and her husband Bradley, who had flown in a week before, and of course, Jan’s family.

  And at the end of the aisle was Jan, standing tall and handsome; and beaming. As I approached him, my father literally handed me over to him and when he took my hand he lovingly kissed it and held onto it for most of the ceremony.

  * * *

  We had chosen to keep the wedding small and then booked a super-deluxe two-week vacation to the beautiful tropical island of Curacao.

  That evening we slept in a hotel near the airport, with our luggage packed and ready to take the first flight out.

  Curacao was everything I dreamed of and had hoped for. Located in the southern Caribbean Sea, it is a 171-square-mile gem, surrounded by the whitest beaches and clearest turquoise water I had ever seen.

  Our hotel room had a breathtaking view of the ocean and the first three days we did nothing but lay under the sun, cool off in the sparkling blue water and drink cocktails while I ran my toes through the powdery white sand.

  On the fourth day we needed a little more action so we headed into Punda (Point Side), which is the oldest neighborhood of Curacao and is well known for its characteristic colorful colonial buildings. From there we walked over the Queen Emma bridge, known as the “swinging old lady,” a floating pontoon bridge that connects Punda with Otrabanda (Other Side).

  We rented a car and went snorkeling in several of the natural beaches in Westpunt, the western side of the island. We hiked in the National Christoffel Park, where we took one of the more “advanced trails” and climbed the Christoffel Mountain. And we ended it all by swimming with dolphins at the Curacao Sea Aquarium; without a doubt, an unforgettable and amazing experience.

  * * *

  Soon after we came back from our honeymoon, our tans faded and so did our carefree vacation modes. We picked up life just as it had been before we had gotten back from our trip. We went to bed tired, got up for work, paid bills, made the obligatory trips to the supermarket, cooked, cleaned and then dropped back into bed, with the only difference being that we were now married. I was now Mrs. Johansson-Van Olst, but everything felt exactly the same. I don’t know why I had this silly expectation that for some reason after marriage I would be altered, or that my new last name would transform me into another version of... well, me.

  Some things did change, though. We bought a house, for instance; just prior to me losing my job at the art gallery due to the owner downsizing. Thus, Jan was forced to teach more classes, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was working on his novel or writing his column. I decided it might be the right moment to focus more on my own talent and claimed one of the bedrooms as my private studio.

  It was there that I created paintings resembling mostly memories from my youth. With alternating thick and thin strokes I made oil paintings of the treehouse, the lake I had swum in every summer, and various portraits picturing two children. Always a boy with dark hair and a blond girl; depicted only from the back; no face; in numerous ways; sitting on a bench, playing in the sand, walking through the woods. When asked who these children were I simply smiled, feeling no desire to further explain and keeping my memories with Oliver to myself.

  I organized my own exhibitions and tried to keep it low-budget by using contacts I had made over the years at the art gallery. I got creative in finding cheap locations and I invited fellow artists to place their pieces in it, thu
s sharing the expenses. I even managed to sell a piece or two and was slowly but surely making a name for myself.

  I couldn’t complain. Things were going well. I had a beautiful home and a beautiful man, and I dedicated my days pouring love and energy into making beautiful things. But I was thirty and sure enough my biological clock had begun ringing, and as much as I pressed the snooze button, the alarm just wouldn’t be silenced. Everywhere I turned women were either pregnant or holding a child in their arms, and for the first time in my life I would walk past the aisles of diapers, pacifiers and bottles and my uterus would make a little somersault of joy, just for my head to put it in its place by reminding it that it was no more than wishful thinking.

  For months I hoped the feeling would pass, but it just got worse. I started to get slightly depressed by the thought that I would never know what it feels like to carry a child in my womb, to hold a little human being that I created in my arms, and then watch that human grow up. I grew silent and even somewhat moody.

  Of course, Jan noticed and he would ask me what was wrong, but I didn’t have the guts to tell him; it would devastate him to know I was hurting because he wasn’t capable of giving me a baby. For him it would be like history repeating itself all over again. I tried to keep up appearances, tried to be cheerful, but still, Jan noticed.

  One day he came home from work. I was working in my studio when he silently walked in, kissed me sweetly on the mouth and then lay what seemed like a flyer on the table. He then walked out without saying a word. I looked at what turned out to be more of a brochure and was really surprised. I grabbed it, ran downstairs and followed him to the kitchen.

  “What... what are you trying to say?” I asked with eyes wide and out of breath, mostly from excitement.

  He opened the fridge, took out two bottles of beer, popped their caps off with the small tip of a spoon and handed me one.

  I put my bottle down, unable to even swallow at that moment.

  “I want you to be happy and I believe this will make you happy,” he said pointing at the brochure with the bottle and then lifting it to his lips.

  “But, what about you? What do you want?” I asked.

  “As I said, I want you to be happy. That is all I want,” he answered. “Look, Erica, we don’t have to give this much thought. I’ve been through this before, remember? And I long knew the day would come where you would either tell me you want to be a mother or you would leave me for it. And seeing how you’ve been moping around silently I know you’re not going to tell me anything. So I’m preventing you from leaving me.” He paused briefly. “I was prepared to do this for Naomi and from the moment I realized how in love I was with you, I was prepared to do it for you. So I don’t see the point in wasting time. Let’s just do this.”

  “But we can always consider the option of adopting,” I said.

  “No,” he stated, shaking his head, determined. “I believe this way is better, because at least one of us will share blood with our child. You know, for medical emergencies and things like that.”

  I pressed my lips together and looked away. “But, what if we go through with this and then you have regrets? What if when you see the baby and you don’t recognize any of its features as your own, you feel disconnected and resent having to father a child that is not biologically yours?”

  Jan took me in his arms and chuckled. “That won’t happen. Our baby will have your features, or somebody else’s, but I really don’t care about that. Either way he or she will be just perfect.” He then took a step back to look me in the eye. “So, how can I not love our child? I don’t think about whether he or she carries my blood; all I think about is the baby being healthy and happy. This baby will be just as much mine as it will be yours. That’s how I feel it in my heart,” he said and he brought my hand up to his chest.

  “I love you so much,” I said, and when I wrapped my arms around his neck, the leaflet entitled “Sperm Donor” dropped to the floor.

  Part III

  Chapter Nineteen

  OLIVER

  2005

  * * *

  In 2005 my father bought a lumber company in Texas owned by Brandon Frey, a multimillionaire looking to finally retire. This move made us independent from any other supplier, plus it opened a whole new market for us to explore. My father and I came to the agreement that I would help him consolidate this new segment into our company and then I would expand the design department, by opening offices in Texas. At first I was reluctant, for I wasn’t very interested in being part of the merging team, but he was quite persuasive and promised me that if I helped set up our new business branch, he would give me carte blanche to run the design department there as I saw fit. However, this all implied that I would have to move to Texas.

  Brandon Frey was large and loud and had an in-your-face attitude, which at times I found somewhat obnoxious. When he talked he filled the room with his voice and his laugh was this roaring sound like a bulldozer on a construction site. But his heart was in a good place and he was very clever and honest, which is the combination you’re looking for when doing business with someone.

  * * *

  One would imagine that with that much money Brandon would have spoiled his kids, but he had worked hard for his money and thought it to be important for them to understand how fortunate they were. He had always struggled in finding the balance between having it all and making his children aware of this privilege. So at the time he thought it was best to teach them the hard way, that life wasn’t easy and that nobody was going to throw anything in their lap. If they wanted something they would have to work for it. He had been very strict, distant and demanding, and expected only outstanding results in school. He didn’t tolerate slacking or underachieving and was very clear about the consequences if these were necessary to be applied. But in the process he unwillingly became emotionally unavailable to them. His authoritarian demeanor made him unapproachable, which gradually created a wall between him and his four children.

  And then, when he was forty-seven, his wife Sarah announced she was pregnant again; with their fifth child. It was a difficult pregnancy and Sarah was forty-three, physically weak and feeling unwell most of the time. After Claire Frey was born, Sarah never fully recuperated and remained very frail, but Brandon refused to let someone else look after her. Though he had a nurse come in every day, he was determined to be there himself as much as he could. He had a rough time trying to juggle running his company while taking care of his sick wife. So, by the time Claire could talk, he had lost his sharp edges, and though he tried he wasn’t able to be the firm, no-nonsense father he had been to her older siblings.

  Sarah’s illness and then passing away had changed him and made him realize his children were all he had left. He felt he had already failed in the relationships he had with his older kids, and though he did his best to get closer to them, he was never able to mend the coldness he had unwillingly created between them. So through Claire he tried to make amends.

  She would only have to point at the object she desired and her wish was fulfilled. He gave in to all her whims, from expensive toys to ponies, to Louis Vuitton shoes and Prada bags, from summers surfing in Maui to winters skiing in Switzerland. And he did it because he needed to see her happy, for her laughter, hugs and kisses comforted him. Brandon loved his children equally, but he was unable to hide his favoritism toward Claire. His other children saw this of course, but chose to quietly endure it.

  Their relationship with Claire was different, though; they considered her a bystander in their silent resentment toward him. They didn’t blame her.

  Even as a very young girl, Claire was quite bright and sensed the strain between her older siblings and her father. She was astute enough to charm them and her father, while keeping herself cleverly out of the cold war.

  As a teenager, Claire came to realize that brats and drama queens were not taken seriously; on the contrary, people mocked, rejected or simply avoided them. So she cleaned up her ac
t and instead of throwing tantrums or making scenes to get what she wanted, she learned how to strategically put herself in a position that resulted in her always having her way. She made arguments and negotiated and manipulated situations to her favor. And as she matured, this skill, as her eldest sister called it, evolved and became more refined and subtle.

  Claire studied corporate law, something that fitted her personality exceptionally well. She graduated cum laude and many thought it was debatable if it was this or the fact that her last name was Frey that made one of the biggest law firms in Texas offer her a job before she had even signed her diploma.

  She proved the slanderers wrong though, by quickly building a reputation for herself and represented many of the larger firms in Texas. She deliberately chose not to take on her father’s firm in her client portfolio, nevertheless, he would regularly ask her for advice and it was well known that if you wanted to get Brandon to do something, you had to somehow play it through Claire. He valued her opinion enormously and was very preoccupied with what she would think.

  The first time I saw Claire she was doing just that, advising her father not to sell his company to us.

  Brandon and I walked into his office after he had his chauffeur pick me up at the airport and we had gone for a late lunch. She was standing beside his large oak desk, browsing through some papers that seemed to be the counter-offer I had sent Brandon by mail a few days before.

  She must have taken after her mother, for to the contrary of her father, Claire had a petite frame, which even her ridiculously high Louboutin shoes couldn’t make up for. She was wearing a sleeveless white pencil dress that had to have been tailor-made, for it was practically sown onto her Pilates-trained body. She wore her auburn hair elegantly in a tight bun, which accentuated her beautiful cheekbones. Her makeup was flawless and she had chosen a deep red lipstick that contrasted perfectly with her fair skin.