Let Go

by Alexandra Winter

  He kisses me again. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “Umm…Not helpful.” Figure what out?

  Shit, I’m late.

  “I have to get back to work.”

  “By the way, there might be something we can do about that plot of land behind the dealership.”

  “The forest? Dad tried that. He wasn’t allowed to build the dealership there.”

  “Not for business. I have to research some more, but I’ll bring it on Sunday.”

  I have to go, but if he knows something that can help, I want to know. “Well, what is it?”

  William shakes his head with a playful look on his face. “Nope. I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

  What?

  “Now they are up.”

  William laughs and points towards The Bluebird. “You’re late. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  “This isn’t fair.” I don’t want Mom to catch me, so I run back.

  The following day at lunchtime, I can’t wait to hear what William’s found out about Skar’s land. He brings a printout of the value the bank has estimated it at and the debt we owe.

  “You’ve got twenty-seven cars left to sell. Although I’m confident you can sell them, you won’t get enough money to cover the debt. You’ll be stuck with about one million kroner to pay off.”

  My life is over.

  Congratulations, Dad, you did it. You ruined my life like you wanted to. “I thought you said not to get my hopes up. This is not hopeful news.”

  “Well, you still have some land you own.”

  “The value is close to nothing in Dad’s books,” I say.

  William raises one eyebrow. “Two years ago, permits were given for contractors to build on several parts of land across this part of the fjord. The forest behind the dealership and your dreadful toilet is a part of that permit.”

  I glare at William. “What do you mean?”

  He grins. “Your father didn’t pay attention. Sure, he couldn’t build his dealership there seventeen years ago, but two years ago he could have started building apartments there. Double checked it yesterday.”

  “That would give the people who live there a panoramic view of the fjord.” I wheeze. “Are you serious?” Homes like that go for millions.

  “A property developer will pay good money for waterfront land,” William says.

  He explains the numbers. “If this goes well, you’re rich.”

  My heart’s beating out of my chest. There’s no way Dad could have known about this.

  I hope he never finds out.

  This is no punishment for me; it’s a huge reward.

  Thanks, Dad.

  “So, what do I do?”

  “Sell the cars as you’ve been doing while you put the land up for sale. I might have a few contacts.” He winks at me. “It’s what I do best after all.”

  My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest as the notion that I might get out of this with my head above water sinks in. I might make it in time for the first day of school. “Let’s do it.”

  SUGAR

  City tourists have filled the restaurant every day, and I haven’t spilled a single drink. Yet, Josefine gets to bring Mom her espresso whenever she asks for one.

  To relieve herself from kitchen duty, Mom’s hired one more chef, Mr. Christensen. He’s three heads taller than Ms. Berg, slender with long wormlike fingers. It’s his first day when I walk into the kitchen, and he’s studying the menu with both arms crossed. “No sugar?”

  Ms. Berg bustles around him. “We use healthy, natural ingredients like fruit, coconut, and so forth to sweeten our dishes. No artificial nonsense. It’s why we’re so popular with the city tourists.” Ms. Berg created the new recipes with Mom before Dad’s attack, and this year they’re a bigger hit than ever.

  Mr. Christensen flips through the book of recipes quickly, too quickly to read any of it. “Peculiar,” he murmurs to himself. Loud enough for us to hear.

  “What’s peculiar?” Mom enters the kitchen, her lips pursed.

  Great.

  If there’s one thing we’ve all learned this summer, it’s that Mom does not accept criticism, and from Mr. Christensen’s look, he’s about to do just that. I try to think of a distraction, but my mind’s blank.

  Ms. Berg notices, and while she’s rushing to get out an order, she chuckles. “We might have to defend our sugar-free recipes again, Celina.”

  Oh no.

  I step back, and Ms. Berg’s brows shoot up, realizing she’s referred to information Mom no longer has. It’s happened a few times during the summer, and every time, Mom’s anger gets worse. After Josefine’s slip up on the day Mom fired me, all the staff now know to avoid stressing Mom at all cost. We stare at Mom, and I’m holding my breath awaiting her reaction, hoping for her to let it pass.

  Mom’s eyes flicker back and forth, her brows furrow, trying to grasp what’s happening. There has been no discussion regarding the use of sugar since Mom’s memory loss. It’s like observing two people at war, except they’re the same person. Perhaps this will have the opposite effect and force her to remember.

  Is this the moment she turns back to herself again?

  Mom’s jaw tightens, trying to connect why Ms. Berg would refer to an event that in her mind never occurred as something they have to defend together. I plead inside my head.

  Please remember, Mom. You know why we cook without sugar, and deep down you know who I am.

  She takes a step forward, loosens her hair, ruffles it, and my breath catches in my chest while I wait impatiently for what she’ll say.

  “Do the best restaurants in the world cook without sugar? No. Add it to the ingredients.” Mom pulls her hair back into a tight bun and walks outside. Mr. Christensen follows her, leaving me speechless. The air I’ve been holding in blows out of my mouth in a loud groan.

  Ms. Berg gazes at me, stunned by Mom’s reaction. “I forgot. I’m sorry, Amalie.”

  “Don’t be. We’ve tiptoed around this for over a month now, and she hasn’t changed at all. If anything, it’s only getting worse.” I shake my head. How can I make her remember when she’s fighting against it? I march out of the kitchen, and catch up with Mom in the garden, and pull her aside. “You cannot continue like this!”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “Deep down, you know your memory is gone. You lack twenty years, and that probably freaks you out. But…”

  A grin spreads across her face as if what I’m telling her is amusing, a joke. “If I were you, I’d watch my words carefully, young lady. In regards to my memory, there is nothing wrong with me. My memory is perfectly fine.”

  My mouth drops. “You can’t be serious!”

  Her grin changes to pursed lips. “I’m warning you. Stop trying to change me. Do you have any idea how hard it is not to have any idea who you are and have everyone expect me to love you, to be a completely different person than I want to be? No, you don’t. This is who I am. I’m not going back. Another word about this and you won’t be allowed to set another foot in this restaurant. I don’t care what Mr. Jensen says. I’ll call the police.”

  Her hands are shaking, and she staggers through the garden and takes a seat at a table. A thousand thoughts run through my mind. Still, it feels blank.

  What are you doing, Mom?

  Josefine comes up to me with an espresso in hand. “You shouldn’t agitate her like that.”

  No doubt the coffee is for Mom who’s already shaking like a leaf. Sure, caffeine will help, and thanks for the advice.

  Like I don’t know that already.

  “I’ll take my lunch by the oak,” I say. A minute later, I climb up to what now feels like my branch, resting my back against the sturdy tree trunk. How can I ever get through to Mom if she’s in denial?

  I take out my phone and call Dr. Rose. “I’m worried about her. You should have seen her reaction. What can I do?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps you co
uld advise her to come see me?”

  I scoff. “She won’t listen to me. But I can ask Mr. Jensen. He’s made it his mission to be here for her since the accident.”

  But when I talk to him about it after my break, he’s already asked her to seek out the doctor. “She won’t go back there, I’m afraid. I have tried, truly.”

  “So, we’re stuck watching her dissolve?”

  “I’ll try again,” he says.

  Halfway into August, I’m counting the days until September twentieth when DAP starts. City tourists spend their last weekend packing up to leave their summer houses and return for a new school semester, which means fewer customers at The Bluebird and my first day off in months.

  I put on my sexiest underwear, my purple dress, a little mascara and let my hair hang loose.

  William’s parent’s house is white with a matching picket fence, and like most houses here, they have an old anchor in their garden with flowers around it for decoration. Seagulls soar overhead, shrieking as if to warn me when I ring the doorbell.

  I know what I’m doing.

  Tonight is make it or break it off. William’s invited me to sleep over. Sex with William has been like a dark rain cloud over our relationship, so like ripping off a Band-Aid, I’m ready to find out if tonight brings the sunshine or makes it pour.

  He opens the door with a massive grin on his face. “You look amazing,” he says.

  Yeah, right.

  William has the top three buttons of his red and white-striped shirt open, his chest glistening and his strong arms bare in rolled-up sleeves.

  You do.

  “Are you certain your parents won’t arrive?”

  “They’re in Oslo for the weekend, so don’t worry. We’re all alone.” He gestures for me to come in and pecks me on the lips. “I’m barbequing out back.” He runs off, leaving me alone in the hallway.

  Not precisely the steamy welcome I hoped for.

  I slip my shoes off, place them gently by the wall, perfectly aligned and not in the way of anyone wanting to exit or enter. The floor creaks as I step into the living room barefoot. Boating knots cover the wallpaper as well as actual rope that’s spread around for decorations on the walls, some framed, others nailed directly to the wall.

  “William?”

  I look around into the kitchen, but he’s not there.

  “Garden,” he calls from a terrace door on the other side of the room hidden behind a curtain. “I’m grilling steaks for us.” He holds out a glass of red wine which I accept, trying to graze my fingers on his as I take it from his hand. His attention is back on the barbeque. Its sweet scent hits me and my mouth waters. I can’t recall when I last ate today.

  “Thanks.” The image of Mom gulping her glass of red wine down pops into my head. I’m going to have sex with William again. He’s humming a Norwegian summer song, so I lift the glass to my lips, desperate to copy Mom and gulp it all down. Instead, I take a small sip. It wouldn’t be very ladylike. “William? I don’t think I’ll be able to relax until we’ve tried having sex again.”

  There’s no lust in me. It’s like a grocery list item to tick off, which doesn’t help at all, while William’s facial expression when I say this is like last time, a hunter peering at its prey with a wicked smile. Then he restrains himself. Turns off the barbeque, puts the meat to the side and takes my hand. “If I do anything you don’t like, promise me you’ll tell me.”

  I nod. I follow William to a guest room designed in the same white and brown colors as the rest of the house.

  “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I have enough experience in pleasuring women, so let us focus on you tonight,” he says.

  Yes, please.

  He pulls the blanket off the bed, leaves the lights off, then disappears out the door. I touch the sheets with my fingertips; they’re silky soft compared to the blanket on the floor in his apartment. I smirk.

  This will be better. I know it.

  The room smells of freshly washed cotton, and light beams in through the small round window on the wall above the bed. William returns with two lit lanterns and a tiny speaker he places on the dresser next to the bed. I can’t tell who’s singing, but it’s a slow jazz beat. A beat perfect for lovemaking.

  I walk over to him, caress my fingers through his hair, alert to his response. He doesn’t flinch or remove my hands like last time. Instead, he leans forward with his soft lips on mine. His hands wrap around my waist and pull my body to his. Underneath the fabric of his pants, he’s growing, and what felt like a grocery list just moments ago disappears when a flush of heat spreads through my body. I want him.

  I wiggle out of his grip and push him onto the bed. He grins while pulling my body on top of his. Like magnets, our lips glue together, our tongues intertwine in a dance, and each movement amplifies my lust for him.

  My skeptical thoughts push through, desperate to ruin my mood, this incredible moment. Watch yourself, it’ll be worse than last time. I refuse to listen knowing I’ll tell William how I feel this time.

  No thoughts can make this experience better or worse. Just feel.

  I sit up, straddling him while I open the rest of the buttons on his shirt revealing his full muscular chest. Unbuttoning one more over his six-pack teases me, and as I see more of his incredible body, I’m reminded how little attention I paid to it in his apartment. I want to play him and have him play me. Like lifting my fingers from a piano after its final note, I move my fingers in a wave, grazing the skin on his stomach as I open the last buttons and flick his shirt aside. My eyes rest on his flawless skin admiring every detail as they climb up to his face where our eyes lock.

  “My turn,” William says, and in one swift move, he’s on top of me. I laugh and pull my dress above my head.

  His eyes dance across my body. He kisses my neck sending shockwaves of electricity through my body every time his lips touch my skin, and when he moves to my stomach, I’m tingling with lust. He pulls my thong down and spreads my legs. His gaze lingers on me for a while before a grin spreads on his lips. “You are perfect. Remember to tell me if I’m hurting you,” he says.

  I brace myself, ready for the sound of ripping plastic, followed by stinging and pain. But instead, his hot breath lowers between my legs, his grin sinks between them, and my anticipation rises.

  Wow.

  The first contact with William’s tongue is intense. “Too much,” I say.

  He slows down, and I moan from the sensation spreading from his mouth across my body. My reflex is to close my legs, but he holds them in place allowing him to continue. “Just relax,” he says.

  A few minutes, twenty, thirty or forty minutes pass and my jaw is aching from strain and lust for emotions that won’t build.

  This can’t be right.

  “If you move around a bit?”

  He shifts his tongue over to the left and repeats the movement.

  Ooh, there. I think. Maybe? No. Nothing.

  It’s becoming annoying, like when someone strokes your arm too long. At first, it’s nice. Then it tickles, and now, I’d rather he stopped.

  Something wet is dripping down on the sheet underneath me soaking it, and the coldness of it occupies my attention.

  Relax. This is probably normal. Focus on what William’s doing, think about sex. It feels good, I think.

  The wet sheet is getting cold underneath me as I shift position.

  I close my eyes, focus as hard as I can on searching for that building emotion they show in movies, wishing my body was building towards a climax, but there’s nothing. “I’m sorry,” I say. This can’t be all there is to it. “I don’t think it’s any use.”

  I sit back closing my legs.

  William crawls up next to me, pulling a duvet over us both. “I don’t get it.” He wipes his lips and frowns. “I’ve never experienced this before. That last movement always works.”

  “Maybe it’ll work better after we eat,” I say, eager to do something else than feel like a fail
ure.

  “Sure.”

  Pulling my clothes back on, neither of us speaks, and the silence is killing me. “Did I do anything wrong?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t get it. You’re probably stressing out about this whole thing.”

  “I tried not to.” I blow the flame out in the lanterns and make the bed as it was, covering the wet spot on the sheet.

  We don’t say much during dinner. We both eat our steak and drink two glasses of red wine.

  “Has anyone shown any interest about Skar’s property?”

  He grins. “Yes. I wanted to show you the finished ad you approved. We posted it yesterday, and already two investors have contacted us.”

  Finally, he’s relaxing again.

  “That’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  “I’m confident I’ll make you a good deal.” He pours us both another glass of wine.

  I don’t know why, but I find myself wondering what Erica would think about the property. She seemed so confident when I met her.

  “Do you want to try again?” I try to sound sexy, but my strained jaw makes me slur the words.

  “My tongue’s a bit tired. I would love to fall asleep with you in my arms, though. But I’m not giving up. We’ll crack this code of yours. It’s just a tougher combination than I’ve come across earlier.”

  I wink. “Looking forward to it.”

  We don’t try again that night. Instead, William falls asleep next to me with his arm twined around me and when we wake up, we haven’t moved. Waves off in the distance lull me. The scent of cotton is gone, and William’s sweet cologne hovers in the room. No matter what direction my mind strays, I end up at one conclusion. William is kind, and he tried the best he could yesterday. There was some sensation, although it didn’t lead anywhere. We’ll figure this out.

  At The Bluebird the following Monday, I’m late from selling a car at Skar’s last minute. I run into the restaurant and meet Josefine’s smirk.

  Great.

  Is she going to tell on me now? “How was your morning?”

  “Stressful.” What an idiotic question. She’s practically rubbing it in.