Let Go

by Alexandra Winter

  I raise an eyebrow. “What about old friends or your parents?”

  “Someone other than family. My friends no longer live here.” He glances up to the cars parked in the square in front of The Bluebird. “How’s the dealership going? It can’t be easy to sell luxury cars in a place like this?”

  I don’t want to embarrass Dad, reveal he’s struggling. “It’s not. Unless you know what you’re doing…” I turn away from the water, and we walk one street up. “Here’s Nana’s house. If you listen, you can hear the sounds from boats on the water. It travels all the way up here.”

  I stop to listen. William stops too, but he doesn’t face the water, he looks at me.

  My palms moisten again. I swallow. “Do you hear it?” I pretend to listen closer to shift his attention. Far off in the distance, a boat cruises by, a woman on board talking about her dogs. When he slips his hand into mine, I’m the only one listening in on the dog conversation.

  “Why don’t you have lunch with me in Oslo this week?”

  I pull my hand out of his, wipe it on my sweater while imagining myself strolling hand in hand in Oslo.

  Shit. Am I falling for him?

  I don’t even like Oslo, too many people. My mind is spinning. Dad warned me he might make a fool out of me, and if I fall in love with him, that wouldn’t be difficult to do. “I work all week. I can’t.”

  But what if he’s only trying to be nice? Maybe he’s a good guy, not out to fool me? I try to sound casual while bubbling with excitement inside. “Um, I’ll let you know if an opening comes up.” What am I talking about? I sound insane. Dad’s warning is coming true right now. I’m embarrassing myself. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, I…Um…Would that be a date to you? Or are you…I don’t know…What do you want with me?”

  William laughs. “Calm down. I want to get to know you, that’s all.”

  I’m shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I don’t want to be played, or embarrassed. “So, if I come to Oslo, what would we do?”

  “Come, and I’ll show you.” He strolls on, leaving me behind in front of Nana’s house.

  I grin, and an urge to jump up and down comes over me. I let William walk off so I can calm myself. This is insane. One comment like that, and I lose all control? No, I have to stay rational about this. I walk up to him. “Why?”

  “Well, if you must know. You’re different. I like that.”

  “How?”

  “Up until now, you don’t seem needy, or clingy,” he says.

  I laugh. Knowing myself, I’m more capable of pushing William away than clinging on. “Are you?”

  A smirk slides up his lips making him appear above the concept of needing anyone as if it doesn’t apply to him. “No need to be.”

  Of course, there wouldn’t be. According to both Dad and Grandfather, I would be lucky if a man like William even looks at me. But he is looking, and he’s asking me, not Josefine, to Oslo. Or maybe he’s asked us both? No, he’s not that type of man, is he? “You said you wanted to know someone here. You know Josefine, right?”

  William laughs. “She strikes me as too emotional to want to be around, don’t you think?”

  Remembering her outburst at the bakery, I nod. “Her father has always been too kind to her. It’s not her fault.”

  “Of course not. But a parent’s job isn’t to be the child’s friend. It’s to prepare them for the world. I guess you and I have had more of the same upbringing. She’s clearly not prepared for anything. Let me walk you home, Amalie. It’s late, and I have a long drive ahead of me.”

  “You’re leaving for Oslo tonight already?” We both catch the desperation in my voice. I’ve spoken of restraint and shown none. “I’ll walk myself. Have a safe drive home.” I turn and walk down the street away from him. I must have said something stupid since he wanted to leave, but I don’t want to ask him about it. That would be clingy and not like me anyway. If I said something wrong, it’s better to get away from him as soon as possible, so I march down the street.

  William calls after me. “See you in Oslo.”

  I call back without turning. “I can’t. I’m working.” Asking Dad for a day off now that he needs me more than ever is out of the question. But when I leave the last bit of asphalt behind, and the silence of our soft dirt road caresses the soles of my ballerina shoes, I’ve planned the whole day out in my head.

  By the time I reach the mailbox outside my house, I’ve searched for every excuse I can use to get a day off. I check the mail, knowing the postman hasn’t been here, still relieved to find it empty. No matter what I think doesn’t change the fact that Dad is struggling and I have to help him.

  Inside, Mom has set a plate aside for me with chicken breast and root puree. Dad’s plate sits on the table, and I’m about to ask Mom about it when Grandfather’s car headlights pierce through the trees leading up to our driveway in front of the house.

  Mom hands me my plate to bring to my room. “I need to talk to your father alone.”

  I don’t question her. Dad hasn’t spent the night at his parents before, so I don’t want to be in the way when he gets back. Heading upstairs, our family portrait stares back at me. I was only six years at the time, and Dad and I had joined Mom at a party at The Bluebird. In it, Mom has her arms around me while Dad looks off to the side. It’s the last photo taken of Mom, Dad and me together.

  Stalling outside my door, there’s the muffled sound of a car door closing, followed by Dad’s shoes up the stairs to our house, his step sounding different than usual. His movement carries a heavier rhythm.

  I open my door simultaneously as Dad enters the front door downstairs. I wait to listen in.

  “Did your father pay for these suits?” Mom asks carefully.

  Dad’s frustrated voice echoes up to my room. “Of course not. Why do you have to make everything so hard for me, huh? I need these. My old suits don’t fit anymore. I’ll pay it off in a few weeks, don’t worry.”

  I close my bedroom door. I don’t want Dad to catch me eavesdropping.

  Sitting down at my desk to eat, I open the drawer and pull out my sketchbook. If I had only asked Mr. Dahl about what he’d like the first time. Now that Dad promised him I wouldn’t bother him about it, I can’t. I’m such an idiot. A sheep, not a leader. Dad’s right. I need to think things through more, not just act. I put my earplugs in and stare at the white page. My first attempt was too modern, so this has to be more traditional. Browsing through a graphic design book Nana gave me, I decide to change the fonts. So, I start over.

  On the last page of the book, Nana has written: One day, our dreams become our reality. But before that day, we must dare acknowledge what they are.

  I read the words over. She’s relentless. I have no issue acknowledging my dreams. I want to get into DAP to make her proud of me; I don’t need a reminder. Maybe Dad’s right that Nana doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and having her nag me about it doesn’t help my fall if I don’t get in.

  I tuck the note into my drawer and stare down at my sketchbook. For years I have drawn and painted my thoughts, and now it’s up to the school board to decide if I’m good enough. Feeling powerless, my thoughts move from fear to preparing myself for failure. According to Dad and Mr. Dahl, I don’t stand a chance of getting in. Perhaps they’re right. Anyways, it’s a new country, Portugal, I’ll have to start a new life there, and I don’t even speak the language. On top of that, I don't know anyone. No, it might be better to get declined, stay here.

  After tweaking my ninth attempt at a new poster for Mr. Dahl, I place it in my desk drawer with the rest of my designs and lock it. The leftover food I didn’t finish has dried up on my plate, and although I know not to leave my room until Mom or Dad tells me, I bring it downstairs.

  The house is quiet. I tread lightly with every step holding onto the railing.

  While I enter the dining room, Dad exits the bathroom, newly showered, his hair wet.

  The room smells of whiskey. �
�Is Grandfather here?”

  Mom stands up from the table instantly. “No, he dropped your father off in the driveway.” She puts my plate into the kitchen and ushers me back toward the stairs. “You can talk to Dad tomorrow, Amalie. He’s tired.”

  Behind us, Dad lumbers over to the dining table and slumps down in his chair. Something is wrong. I look at Mom as she climbs the first step of the stairs behind me.

  If Grandfather hasn’t been inside the house, the whiskey smell must come from Dad. Before I’m able to stop myself, I blurt out the words. “Are you drunk, Dad?”

  He straightens his back, no longer hanging his head. “How did your date with Mr. Successful go today?”

  My mind races for answers. I’ve never seen Dad drunk before. Like me, he hates losing control. On the floor in the hallway are large paper bags, fancy ones with silk string handles, so the suits he bought can’t have been cheap.

  Mom ruffles her hair while forcing a smile.

  Dad’s playing with the food on his plate while mumbling. “You should have sold him a car.”

  I whisper as I walk with Mom up the staircase. “Is this because of Skar’s Auto?” I can’t find the words to question Dad directly because I don’t want to start a discussion or upset him. He seems troubled enough already. So much so that he’s tried to drink his way out of it. Something he’s told me only stupid people do because they can’t see a way out of their problems when they just haven’t looked deep enough.

  DAD

  The following morning, I open my yoga app, staring at the woman on the image behind the menu. She is doing the scorpion handstand, and at that moment, I set myself a new goal. One day, I’ll be strong enough to do that pose, and enjoy it. I slip into my workout wear, roll the yoga mat out on the floor next to my bed and set my app to a forty-five-minute session, the longest one yet.

  The soothing woman’s voice instructs me, “Let’s begin in child’s pose.”

  I follow her movements. Seated, with my butt on the heels of my feet I lean forward, stretching my arms as far as I can with my nose glued to the mat.

  No problem, I can do this.

  “Take a deep breath in.”

  I do, and my lungs expand. Yoga isn’t so hard. I exhale, and I am about to take another deep breath when the woman’s voice tells me.

  “Then exhale,” she says. I don’t have any air left to let out. I quickly inhale to exhale with her. From there, I can’t follow a single command. After tipping over in a tree pose, I turn the app off to shower.

  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…”

&nbs
p; “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.