Get over it.
When I turn the corner into the hallway, he isn’t there. The front door is open, and his car roars out of the driveway and skids down the road.
I slam the door shut, storm up to my room to get dressed and follow him. He can count on me! I’ll show him!
I pull on black pants and a white shirt and storm over to my desk to shove my sketchbook down into the drawer and lock it. The Post-it in front of me demands my attention and I read the two words out loud to myself. “Learn Portuguese.”
I swallow with the realization hitting me that Dad gave me an opportunity to spend more time on my application and design, and I am about to choose Skar’s Auto over that, Dad’s shop over my dream. William pops into my head again, so I pick up my phone. I need to get away from here to find inspiration, and a visit to Oslo might do the trick.
I text him with ease knowing I have another motivation than just wanting to see him. At least that’s what I tell myself. “Want to meet for lunch?”
A response from William pops up on my phone one second later. “Yes. Meet me at my office at twelve.”
I pull off my clothes, wash my hair in the shower, and brush my teeth. The last thing I want is lousy breath, so I brush my tongue twice. Getting some distance from my family might help me see us in a different light, and the city is such a big scene that it will force me to clear my mind of Dad’s expectations, along with the noise stopping my creativity from flowing. Festering in my room isn’t helping and meeting William is a sure way to increase my adrenaline and make me smile. Taking out my blow-dryer, I recall how hairdressers use a brush to hold the hair out to create volume. I’ve never tried it before, but I comb a part out. It blows the hair straight off the brush and into my face. So I put the brush down and bend over to dry it upside down, like I always have. I add mascara, dress in jeans and my favorite red sweater for good luck, then run out the door.
HUMILITY
Getting behind the wheel of Mom’s car, the scent of lavender calms me, and the sun peaks out from a cloud above.
I’m actually looking forward to driving to Oslo.
Who am I kidding? I’m looking forward to seeing William, and although I try desperately to convince myself I’m going to Oslo to clear my head, it’s not why. William is there. Also, being with him will hopefully drown out Dad’s voice in my head, because right now, it’s all I hear. “William will embarrass you, you don’t take the dealership seriously, art people look scruffy, therefore you will be judged if you become an artist, you don’t care how you represent this family.” I shake my head to flush out that voice. It doesn’t work, so I start the car and drive away from our house.
Crossing the drawbridge into Tønsberg, Dad’s voice is still ringing in my ears, telling me I’m not good enough at cleaning the cars, that I don’t care enough. I turn right, up onto the highway and blast the radio to full volume. It doesn’t help, so I sing along, but he’s still there. I want to turn back. He’s probably waiting for me, and he needs my help, I’m sure of it, even though he disagrees. He’s struggling; even his father said so, and still, he refuses to let me do anything but clean cars. I turn off at the next exit and park at a gas station. When I switch the radio off, silence surrounds me while my mind is screaming at me from within. What do I want? To help Dad or meet William in Oslo? I cry at the top of my lungs, a desperate sound that belts out of me and I wince. I turn around in my seat to see if anyone saw or heard me. Luckily, no one’s here. I’m the only car at the lot. What would Nana tell me to do?
Once I ask that question, it’s a given. Nana would want me to do what I want to do, and right now that’s meeting William, and gaining inspiration for my application. Put myself first. I put the car into drive and accelerate back onto the highway towards Oslo.
The closer I get, the more reasons I see to turn back home. In Årøysund, the road’s so narrow that if two cars meet, one has to pull over to let the other pass. Here, four lanes with stressed-out drivers in every car surrounding me force me to put both hands on the wheel. According to my GPS, I’m only five minutes away from William’s office. It hits me right then and there as if I haven’t noticed it until now. I’m in Oslo, meeting William. I can’t believe I’m on my way to a date with William. All the way over to his building, Dad’s voice screams in my head, like a broken record, chanting over and over, “William will make a fool out of you. He can get any woman he wants, he’s not interested in someone like you. He’s way out of your league.”
I whisper back. “I still want to meet him.”
Pulling up in front of the massive granite building erases all doubt and fear I have. William waits for me outside the main entrance and grins when he sees me. I light up, but then I notice what he’s wearing. A dashing charcoal suit with a matching tie. “You don’t care how you represent yourself,” is my last thought before Dad’s voice vanishes.
William jumps into the passenger seat next to me, kisses me on the cheek before I comprehend what’s happening and points toward a parking lot around the corner. My cheek heats up, and I resist the pull to put my hand to it. His lips are soft and his clean-shaven face even more so.
“I figured, since you’re early, I can show you around my workplace. I have one more phone call to make, but I have great coffee upstairs.”
This must be what Cinderella felt, after her stepsisters ripped her dress to shreds, crying in the backyard. I don’t have a godmother, but if everyone here dresses like William, I could just as easily be covered in ashes.
I’m insanely underdressed.
I back the car into the vacant lot.
“Nice parking,” he says.
“Thank you. My father’s never liked people parking crooked, so I guess it’s ingrained in my genes.”
I would probably break out in hives if I tried.
“I like that,” William says.
Glad someone appreciates my upbringing. Exiting the car, I pull my sweater down, wishing it was the size of a trash bag so I could hide all of myself. I follow him into a marble-covered reception area. Two men in black suits sit behind a desk to the left, both with headsets, talking in an overly polite manner to the customers on the other end of the line. “Yes, she’s highly sought after. Please hold.”
William walks right past them and swipes his access card to let me pass through the glass security doors. In the elevator on the other side, he pushes the top floor button, floor twenty-two.
Standing next to him in the elevator, his cologne fills the tiny space and brings me back to our time in the oak tree. His blazer fits him perfectly, slightly hugging the muscles in his back.
“I’ve booked a table at Theatercafeen for lunch,” he says.
Wow.
Mom’s talked about that restaurant as the place where everyone who wants to be seen goes. My mouth goes dry. I don’t want to be seen. I tug on my sweater again. I should have worn something else; this doesn’t suit me and my idea of it bringing good luck, well that’s buried underneath Mom’s car.
The elevator doors slide open, and a blonde woman appears in front of us. She’s taller than me, slimmer, more beautiful and dressed in a tight off-white dress with matching high heels.
Great, so that’s what everyone here looks like.
As one of her eyebrows raises slightly seeing me, it’s like she’s throwing ash in my face, and I catch myself hiding behind William as we pass her.
The right side of her full lips turn up into a smirk. “You didn’t tell me it was this type of meeting you scheduled?”
William scoffs. “You’re supposed to be out in meetings all day. Besides, it’s none of your business.”
She lets the elevator doors close without her inside. “A friend of William is a friend of mine. I’m Erica.” She holds her hand out, and I pull up my sweater to free my hand to take it, stammering my name. “Amalie.”
“We’re busy,” William says, then takes my hand from Erica’s. His skin on mine is like lightning and immediately warms my bod
y revealing a light flush.
The elevator button shuts off, but Erica doesn’t press it again for the lift to return. Instead, she follows us down the hallway. “Perhaps you’d like a coffee while you wait? Knowing William, he’ll be stuck on his phone regarding this Portugal case a while anyway,” Erica says.
I almost bump into what easily could be her twin while contemplating what Portugal case she’s referring to. I mumble, “I’m sorry.” Every woman here belongs in a magazine it seems, except me. “What do you do in Portugal?”
William stops outside a black double door with his name written in silver letters. “Coffee before lunch, Erica? Really. Stop snooping around in my affairs. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
Is he talking about affairs as in business or me?
“You know where to find me, Amalie.” Erica points to the coffee machine and winks at me as William opens the door to let me in while grunting words I can’t make out.
I glance back out in the hallway as he closes the door behind us. I could leave, go home. In an hour, I could be back in my room, safe. He’s so handsome and sure of himself, and I can’t find any reason why he’ll be interested in me with so many gorgeous women surrounding him every day.
I pull my sweater down over my hands, clinging on to the fabric as I turn to follow behind him. The view stops me. Through floor to ceiling windows, the Oslo fjord covers his panoramic view on one side, with the city on the other. “Wow,” I say. My hand goes to my mouth, regretting my reaction. It’s probably the same reaction every girl he brings here gives him. “Sorry.”
William grins. “Don’t be. It’s why I chose this office. Coffee?”
I can’t help but look at him in suspicion. He obviously didn’t want me to meet Erica, and a few seconds ago coffee was an insane suggestion, although he’s now making it himself. William strolls over to a coffee machine in the wall behind me, then pauses for my response. “Oh, and Portugal is a real estate deal.”
So he didn’t ignore my question.
“Espresso, please.” Isn’t that what city people have? I can’t imagine any of the women I witnessed drinking anything milky or sweet. “Oh, and no sugar.”
He hands me a tiny glass cup.
I sip the black liquid. Hairs in my neck rise from the bitter aftertaste.
“There’s a lot of pretty women working here,” I say. Immediately regretting the words when my father’s voice appears again, “Only a sheep would highlight competitors.”
He laughs out loud before lowering his voice as if scared someone might be listening through the walls. “Maybe to people who don’t know them. They do a great job, don’t get me wrong, but personality-wise, you won’t find more self-centered women anywhere. Trust me.” He gestures for me to sit in one of the black leather chairs facing the view. “One phone call and I’m all yours.”
I stroke the squared seams on the chair and let the words repeat themselves in my head.
All mine.
I walk over to the window enjoying my alone time with him.
A smile spreads across my face. “Nice view.”
After about fifteen minutes of listening to William explain how a plot of land will make the person on the other end of the line rich, my coffee is long gone, and the view doesn’t excite me anymore. I excuse myself to use the toilet. He points to the right, but when the door closes behind me, I turn left towards the coffee machine; maybe Erica’s still there. She’s not. So, I go to the toilet. It’s spotless, smelling of some flowery sensual scent I can’t place.
“It’s called champagne,” Erica says. She’s entered behind me and caught me sniffing the air in a restroom. “I’m sorry, I…”
“Stop apologizing and listen up. William’s my ex, and he seems like a great guy now, but he’s got some strange demands, and nobody seems good enough eventually. So, enjoy him while it lasts, okay?”
Wow, you’re intense.
Resentment fills the air like heavy pressure before a storm, forcing its weight on me. I wonder when the relationship ended, and why. It must be the reason William wasn’t thrilled about our run-in earlier. I want to calm her, tell her nothing has happened between us. “I’m sorry, but I don’t…”
“What did I say?” Erica inspects her face in the mirror, which both she and I conclude is perfect. I almost apologize again.
What is with me today?
I fill my hands with soap, then regret it immediately and turn on the water to get out of here as fast as possible. “He must have been insane to let you go,” I say.
“Oh, he didn’t. I left him.” She pulls out a business card from her pocket and hands it to me. It’s off-white, like her dress, with silver letters. Erica Andersen, Director of Corporate Real Estate. I don’t know why, but I’m surprised by the title and ashamed for underestimating her. “If you ever want to discuss William.”
I tuck it into my pocket.
She winks at me again while heading into a stall. “And it’s never too early to start investing.” As if I have any money to invest in anything. Most of my savings went into a dress I’ll never wear again. Fabric’s pulled up. “Call me,” she says.
I hurry back to William who’s waiting for me outside his office. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Outside Theatercafeen Restaurant, a huge black pot with three olive trees lines up with a red carpet guiding us like royalty to the old wooden front door. William opens it for me with a cheeky grin on his face. Inside a bellman takes my coat.
A waiter, my height with a face covered in freckles, waits at the door to our left. “Please follow me to your table.”
Yes, please.
As we enter the restaurant, framed drawings of famous writers and iconic cultural figures cover the wall to my right, and with high arched ceilings and columns throughout the grand room, the history in these walls practically slaps me in the face.
“William Sand!” A white-haired man calls out from a table by the window before standing to shake his hand.
William greets the man politely then turns to me. “Amalie, meet Gunnar Moen. Your father might know him. He owns most of the high-end car dealerships in Norway.”
The mention of Dad makes my jaw tense. I didn’t escape him only to have him brought up here of all places, and thinking of him makes me feel bad for coming at all.
William takes a step to the side. “Gunnar, meet Amalie. My date.”
Date.
Blood rushes to my face, heating it up.
Don’t blush just because he called you his date, don’t blush.
I draw my lips inward, desperately trying to withhold the giggle forcing its way up my throat.
Get a grip, you’re not a child.
I take Gunnar’s hand and am immediately overcome with familiarity. I’ve met him before.
He shakes my hand gently, then puts his other hand on top of mine. “Then I won’t disturb you two for much longer. I wanted to thank you for your help last week, William. That tip of yours spared me millions. Lovely to meet you, Amalie.”
Millions. This indeed is another world. I have to know. “Have we met before?”
Gunnar frowns. “I don’t think so. You two enjoy your lunch.”
The way he looks away makes me sure. “Årøysund? Have you ever been there?” I can’t think of any other place, I’ve never been anywhere else.
“Many years ago.” Gunnar leans back a bit, then covers his mouth with his index finger. “Your father works in the auto industry?”
The family photo in my hallway at home flashes in front of my eyes and I recall it all. Dad was so excited to meet this man. “Yes. I was only six years old. I met you at a party once, years ago. At The Bluebird. My mother’s the chef there, and I think you spoke with my father.”
His demeanor changes. As if I’ve reminded him of a trauma he once experienced, and he pulls out his chair to continue his meal. “Well, it was a lovely party. Do give my best to your mother and enjoy your lunch.” He turns away from us bef
ore I’m able to reply.
Nobody has ever told me to piss off so politely before. Something had to have happened that night.
Our waiter, who’s been patiently waiting near us, leads us farther into the room while I contemplate that evening, desperately trying to recall memories from long ago, frustrated by the intangibility of it all. From a wooden balcony by the windows, a woman plays the piano. At a round table beneath her, William pulls out my chair, and I whisper to him as I sit. “How well do you know Gunnar?”
“Don’t mind him,” he says.
William is about to take a seat when his name is called again.
A short man with a flat cap and brown mustache walks over to our table. “I am so pleased to see you…”
William shakes the man’s hand, while efficiently guiding him away from me and over to the bar. I gaze around the room but no matter what direction I look in, I end up with William in my view. Like a magnet I’m pulled back to him, his charcoal suit hugging his muscular back, narrow waist, lightly touching his behind. He looks my way, and I drop my gaze to the floor. As if that’s not obvious, so I look back up and smile. The crease of his lips lifts, revealing a slight dimple and like slamming a door shut, the voice in my head screams at me.
Stop Staring! He’s out of your league.
But he’s smiling at me, so I ignore my thoughts desperate to weigh me down and watch William shake hands with the man before returning to our table.
“I’m sorry, I should have chosen a different restaurant. Do you want to leave? We’ll be interrupted throughout our meal continuously here, I’m afraid. Most of my clients eat here.”
He might be too good for me, but he wouldn’t have brought me here if he didn’t want to impress me. “I don’t mind. It gives me more time to remember the details of this place to explain them to Mom when I get home.” And to watch him from a distance while scanning through the evening from when I was six, and building up the courage to stay here with him. Everywhere I look, I meet judgmental eyes staring at me, then skipping away when mine find theirs, most women, but some men too, clearly ready to tell me I don’t belong here. As if I don’t already know that.
Let Go Page 9
