by Hope Franke
The energy was inspiring. Katja always brought her notebook to scribble down song ideas and lyrics, and her sketchbook to draw in. She did a lot of faces. Her unsuspecting subjects stood in line at the coffee shop waiting to order, or quietly drank their beverages and ate their desserts at nearby tables, believing they were alone and unnoticed.
Renata wiped the empty table next to the one Katja sat at. “Schatz,” she said with a look of concern. “Are you all right? You look unsettled.” She was more motherly toward Katja than her own mother ever was, and it both eased her pain and added to it.
The events of the night before weighed heavily on Katja, and she had difficulty hiding her emotions from this woman. Still, she couldn’t confide in her. What would she say? She lived with a guy she barely knew who had a mystery room he kept locked? If she were Renata, she’d be telling herself to get packed and moved, pronto.
Not only that. Today was her birthday and she had no one to share it with. She supposed it would be okay to let her know that.
“It’s my birthday, Renata.”
“Oh, Engel.” Angel. Renata dropped her cloth and swooped down to hug her young friend. “All the best!”
She pulled back and stared Katja in the eyes. “Birthdays can be harder than they are happy sometimes, isn’t it true? But let me get you a piece of apple cake, my gift. That will cheer you up, yes?”
Katja forced a wide smile. “That’s sweet of you.”
“Something sweet for someone sweet, Süße.”
Unlike most Germans, Renata loved to use nicknames. Treasure, angel, and now sweetness. Katja couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.
Renata squeezed her shoulders. “Your face just lights up when you smile,” she said. “You must to it more often.”
Katja knew her broad smile was one of her distinguishing features. You had to know these things about yourself as an artist. It was a tool she’d used to disarm many a guy, teacher, employer… even her step-father. A move that had backfired.
She pushed thoughts of him away, but she couldn’t help thinking about her mother and sister. Had they even remembered that today was her birthday?
Didn’t matter. Today she would be happy. She would fulfill her role as the sun.
Katja picked up her sketching pencil and began stroking the blank page in front of her. She started with long curving lines that turned into an orb. She divided it in half with a concave line. On the wide side, she added the flares of the sun. On the concave side, the shadows of the moon. The images became faces, facsimiles of her adventure-seeking eyes and Micah’s compassionate gaze. Her smile and his frown.
She pulled back and studied it. Her lips tugged up, and she let her smile take over her face. She liked it.
Katja took time to savor the apple cake, enjoying each bite until she finished. Then she cleared her mess away, gathered her things and waved good-bye to Renata. She wanted to busk at the bridge during the afternoon, so she had to go back to Micah’s apartment to fetch her guitar. The morning had started out grey and gloomy, but now the sun was peeking out. She could trade her jacket for a sweater and leave her scarf at home.
She brushed her teeth and her hair and applied a little makeup. Before she left, she took another look at her sketch. She added a title, Sun & Moon, dated it and signed it. Then, after deliberating for a few minutes, she taped it to the surface of the locked door.
The combination of a beautiful afternoon and her determination to smile brightly paid off. Her busking donations were better than they’d ever been since she arrived in Dresden, and she sold two CDs.
That meant she could afford a cake. She stopped at the bakery on the way home and chose a small one—there was only the two of them to eat it—that was dark and chocolatey and creamy. She wrestled with balancing the precious package while carrying her guitar, opening doors and maneuvering up the steps to the flat, until she had it safely landed on Micah’s kitchen table.
She decided to make dinner, but this time she lit a candle and turned on the satellite music station to a soft jazz channel.
Micah couldn’t contain his surprise when he got home. His eyes flickered and his lips twitched. “What’s this?”
Katja immediately suspected that Micah felt he was getting railroaded into a type of date, and she hurried to calm his fears. “It’s nothing. Just, it’s my birthday. I thought we could celebrate, but if it’s too much…” She blew out the candle feeling stupid. Why did she even tell him it was her birthday? Weren’t things already awkward enough after last night?
“Katja, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Micah picked up the lighter and relit the candle. “Happy Birthday!” he said in English. Then he smiled. Actually, full-out smiled! Katja thought it was the best birthday gift he could’ve given her. But then he surprised her again. “Wait here,” he said, before disappearing into his bedroom.
Like she had anywhere to go.
He emerged with his tie off, shirt untucked and a small package in his hand.
Katja was confused. How could he already have a gift when he didn’t even know it was her birthday?
“I bought this for you a while ago,” Micah explained. He jutted his hand out to give it to her. “After that night when you left without telling me and came home late.”
Katja blushed. “I remember. I’d had too much to drink.”
“Yeah, well, I hated that I couldn’t call or text you.”
“So you bought me a phone?” Katja was touched. It wasn’t fancy or expensive, just a pre-paid kind, but still, it meant Micah cared about her. Her throat grew scratchy and she found it hard to swallow.
“I didn’t know if you’d appreciate it,” Micah added, “and there never seemed to be a good time to ask you. Before now.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I do appreciate it.” She looked at him, not knowing what the protocol between them was. Should she hug him? Kiss his cheeks? Do nothing?
Micah answered her by sitting down. “It’s my pleasure. Now you have no excuse to let me worry about you.”
A bubbly joy spouted up in Katja’s belly. Someone worried about her. Micah worried about her. It felt good.
They dug into the simple meal of pork cutlets with potatoes. Katja wrinkled her top lip. The meat was on the dry side. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep trying.”
Micah grunted happily. “You can’t be good at everything.”
Katja supposed he was right. Micah poured two glasses of sparkling water and she took a sip of hers. “We’ll need the whole bottle to get this dinner down,” she joked.
He motioned to her new phone. “You could call your mother. I’m sure she’d like to hear from you on your birthday.”
Katja rested her fork on her plate in slow motion. “I doubt she even remembers.”
Micah considered her. “You’re her daughter,” he said softly. “I’m sure she remembers. Call her.”
Katja stared at her hands, her happiness draining from her.
Micah startled her by shifting over to the empty chair closest to her. He stared into her eyes. “What happened?”
Katja supposed he found it odd that she never communicated with her mother, especially in light of the fact that he talked to his all the time.
“My father left my mother and me when I was five,” she began. “For a couple of years it was just the two of us, and it was okay. At least I thought it was okay. I didn’t know my mother had started taking pills to cope with her growing depression. Then one day, seemingly out of the blue, she married Horst.”
Katja didn’t know why she was telling Micah this. He was pretty tight-lipped about his own secrets, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t seem to stop.
“Horst was nice enough at first,” she added. “Always bringing me candies and small toys. Then I noticed my mother was getting large in the stomach, and soon afterward my sister Sibylle was born.
“Mama never lost her baby weight, and I grew into my curves. Horst’s affections moved from m
y mother to me. He was always touching me and flirting with me. Mama was too drugged up by this time to notice, and when I tried to talk to her about it, she called me an ungrateful liar.
“She was just scared. I know that now. She had no way of supporting us without Horst. She lost her job, and eventually she stopped coming out of her room. She barely got out of bed. I was used to the house being empty after school. Sibylle learned to go to our neighbor’s flat until Horst came home.
“One day Horst came home from work early. He’d gotten laid off from his job and had been drinking. When he laid his glassy-eyed glare on me, his lips pulling up into a smarmy smile, I knew I was in trouble. I ran to my room, but I wasn’t fast enough. I tried to block the door with the dresser but he pushed it open and then shoved me onto my bed.”
Katja dared to look at Micah and then closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see his pity. He gripped her hand and squeezed.
The emotions of that moment flooded back like the attack had happened yesterday: Horst’s heavy body pinning her down, his putrid breath choking her, the stench of his hand clasped over her mouth, and the fear that exploded in her mind, incapacitating her. The way he thrust his meaty hand under her shirt, scratching her flesh with jagged nails. How she trembled with disgust when it found its way under her bra and squeezed her breast. The shameful and filthy way she felt being touched by him. His dry, ropy lips on her neck.
She swallowed hard at the memories. A quiet sob escaped her lips. “I squirmed and tried to fight back, but he weighed twice as much as me. My mother was passed out from pills in the next room. She was there, but couldn’t help me.
“And then a miracle happened. My friend Henni stopped by. I’d taken her math textbook by accident. She knew I was usually home alone after school, so she just walked in, looking for me. She appeared at my doorway before Horst could move. He was so drunk, he just started laughing at the shock on her face. Like being caught trying to rape your step-daughter was hilarious.”
Katja’s hazel eyes were wet with tears. “That’s why I can’t go back. That’s why I can’t call.”
Micah nodded with understanding. “What about your sister? Is she safe?”
“I hope so. She’s actually his blood daughter. I’m not related to him, except through marriage. I don’t think he’d touch her. Besides, she’s only eleven.” Horst was a pervert, but he wasn’t a pedophile. She’d found his stack of dirty magazines. He liked his women post pubescent.
She fiddled with the phone. “I’ll call her one day. Soon. Just not today.”
Micah reached an arm around her and pulled her into a warm embrace. Katja’s chin pressed into his shoulder and she breathed deeply of his scent—the musky soap she secretly sniffed in the shower. In his arms she felt safe and protected. She felt valued.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Micah whispered in her ear. He stroked her hair, then pulled back and reached into his pocket.
Katja sighed. Of course, his mother would ruin a moment like this. But instead of answering, he tapped at the number pad. Suddenly another shrill sound came from her lap, scaring her. Then she laughed. Her new phone was ringing. No one even knew about this phone except Micah. She winked at him and answered, “Katja Stoltz.”
“Hi, Katja,” Micah said. “Did I hear something about cake?”
Katja cut the cake, and Micah poured her a glass of wine from what was left-over from her night of shame. She raised an eyebrow when he handed it to her.
“No reason why you shouldn’t have a glass of wine on your own birthday,” he said.
She eyed the green bottle, noting that there was enough left for a second glass. “And you won’t join me?”
He shrugged. “Nah. It’s not my thing.”
She took the glass from him, not taking her gaze off his while she sipped the wine. “Thank you.”
The chemistry between them sizzled. She wanted to grab him and plant a wet one right on his lips, but she held back. The way he stared at her, she could see he shared her desire, but there was still something secretive and sorrowful lingering behind his dark eyes. Whatever it was kept her from giving in to her impulses. And it kept him from giving in to his.
He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. She glanced away nervously then lifted a small plate with a piece of chocolate cake and handed it to him.
“Let’s eat this in the living room,” he said.
“Sounds good. I’ll get the forks.”
Katja settled in on the chair opposite Micah, with her dessert plate in her lap and her glass of wine on the end table beside her. “So tell me about New York City,” she said. “I’d love to go there someday.”
“Well, New York City is pretty spectacular, but my mother’s family is actually from upstate New York. Lots of pastures and farms. Small towns, mining communities.”
“When was the last time you were there?”
“Ten years ago when I was a gawky teen. My cousins teased me relentlessly about my accent and about my ‘Euro’ wardrobe.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It wasn’t so bad. I spent the summer there, and by the end of it my accent was all but gone, and my mother had bought me a truck load of American-style clothes.”
“How did your mother and father meet?”
“After my mother graduated from business college, she took a summer off to travel Europe with her then boyfriend. They spent time in Hamburg hanging out in student pubs, and that’s where she met my father. They hit it off, and my mother dumped her boyfriend to be with my dad. They got married that next summer, and she’s lived in Germany ever since.”
“That’s quite the love story.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I wonder why your dad didn’t move to America. I know a lot of guys who’d jump at the chance. And New York is so exciting. Full of romance and possibilities.”
Katja blushed when she realized she used the word “romance.” Micah’s eyes widened slightly, but then he graciously ignored it.
“Dad’s career had already started here. My grandfather was also in banking, and even back then, it didn’t hurt to have a leg up. I remember a time when Mama used to try to convince Papa to move to New York, but she’s since given up, I think.”
“There’s still time,” Katja said.
Micah shook his head. “She won’t go if I don’t go.”
“Don’t you want to go?”
The shadow that followed Micah around, settled over his features. He answered quietly. “I can’t.”
She wanted to know why. She desperately wanted to know what had Micah so bound and shackled. He’d almost opened up to her tonight and now, suddenly, he’d collapsed into himself again. She wanted to ask him, but his closed look frightened her. The wrong word would chase him away, and she wasn’t willing to risk it.
“Feel like watching a movie?” she asked, hoping to lighten things up again.
Micah blinked, and she was sure he was going to decline and tell her he needed to go to bed, but instead he nodded. “Okay. It’s your birthday. You choose.”
Katja scrolled through the options, wondering if a romance would be okay, but then deciding against it. Better an action-adventure flick. She was about to suggest one when Micah’s phone buzzed.
His expression widened with disbelief. He stared at Katja with something close to fear. “My mother just texted. She and my dad are in Dresden. They just parked the car and are on their way up.”
“Quick!” Micah blurted. “We have to move your stuff!”
Micah traveled through the living room gathering every object that would point to the fact that Katja was staying there. Her bag of clothes, the extra pillow and blanket: he traipsed to his room and tossed them behind the door. Katja stood there feeling flabbergasted at Micah’s strange behavior. Had he not mentioned her even once in all the phone conversations he had with his mother? Was she a secret?
She snapped to attention and placed her guitar into its case and clicked it shut, then carried it
along with her notebook and sketchpad and placed them on Micah’s bed. She took a moment to look around. She’d peeked inside before but had never fully entered. He had a large, neatly made bed with a dark cover, a wood dresser and wardrobe and a brown throw rug that lay on the wood floor on the side of the bed Micah favored. There was nothing frivolous about the décor. It was thoroughly masculine.
Micah entered with an armful of her things she’d left in the bathroom. Her makeup bag and hair products. Her brush.
She waved her hands about. “What’s the deal, Micah?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just, my mother…”
They heard tapping on the door and Micah grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the room, closing his bedroom door tightly behind him. Katja was extremely perplexed by Micah’s behavior. She’d never seen him lose his cool and unravel like this before.
“What should I do?” she said, feeling terrified now at the prospect of her imminent introduction to Micah’s parents.
“Just stand there. It’ll be fine.”
His voice betrayed his own conviction, and she absolutely doubted that it would be fine.
“Mama! Papa!” Micah invited his parents in, and Katja was surprised by the physical affection that followed. Big hugs complete with kisses to both cheeks, along with verbal praises ( his father’s in German and his mother’s in English) about how great Micah looked. They obviously loved him. Maybe too much.
