Let Go

by Alexandra Winter

  The way she says it as if nothing’s happened moves me. As if Dad never appeared, she never had to cover for me at work, and Nana isn’t sick. As if it’s a typical day. Before I’m able to think, I have my arms wrapped around her in a hug. “Thank you.”

  When my shift ends at eleven that night, William is waiting for me with daisies in his hand. “They are not to apologize,” he says.

  I take the flowers from him and smell their sweet scent. “Good, because I’m the one who should be sorry. You did nothing wrong. I was tired and stressed.”

  “Now you have something to smile about. You got an offer on the land.”

  My jaw drops. “Really? How much?”

  “Enough for you to pay off the debt and have around two million kroner to spare.” He grins and continues to talk, but I no longer hear him.

  I’m free.

  Sunlight sparkles like confetti between leaves in a tree next to us, glittering. I think back on the letter from Dad, how angry he is at me.

  His curse is actually a blessing.

  “When can we sign the contract?”

  “I’ve set up a meeting on September twenty-first,” he says.

  A cloud floats in front of the sun, and its confetti stops.

  The day after DAP begins.

  I’m so shortsighted. He did curse me. He stole my dream. “I’ll be there.”

  The following Thursday, I drive Nana to her appointment with the surgeon. I keep repeating in my head it’ll be good news. “I’m sure they would have called you in sooner if they had found something bad.”

  The receptionist asks us to take a seat in the waiting area, and I get us both a cup of tea.

  Nana holds on to her cup, but doesn’t drink from it. “You still have time.”

  No, I don’t.

  “We’ll go to Porto when you’re feeling better,” I say.

  The receptionist walks in. “She’s ready for you now.”

  Behind a white desk, the surgeon rises to greet us. “This won’t take long. I have good news.”

  Nana’s hand goes to her heart while I exhale in relief.

  “As we predicted, you have the mildest form of cancer so we can go ahead as planned with local radiation. The five-year prescription treatment we talked about is required to make sure it doesn’t return. If it does, it will be tougher to keep it under control. So don’t skip any pills, but follow the plan and hopefully you won’t see any side effects to the medicine.”

  I read through the list of most common side effects. “Hair loss? From a pill? Isn’t that only from radiation?”

  “Don’t worry. Few women experience that.”

  Think positive, I remind myself.

  September twentieth arrives, and from the moment I open my eyes, all I see are students in Porto gathering at DAP for their first day of school. While selling a car at Skar’s, I burst into tears blaming the first thing I can think of. “Pollen.”

  But I can tell the elderly man hiding behind his huge white beard doesn’t believe me. I hand him the contract which he signs, and wipe my tears. “Enjoy your car, sir.”

  Walking into The Bluebird, Josefine welcomes me with a hug, pulling me into the restroom. “I’m so sorry, Amalie.” Her eyes are filled to the rim with tears. “You deserved to go.”

  “I can’t talk about it,” I say. Tears are streaming from my face, and I grab some toilet paper to keep it under control. “It’s the right thing to do. I have to be here for Nana and for Mom.” I head for the door to begin my shift and pause. “Can you please cover for me if I need a few minutes to pull myself together this week? I think I’ll struggle a bit.”

  “You know I will.” Josefine forces a pity smile.

  The next day while waiting at the conference table in William’s office, sipping coffee and reading through the contract for the fifteenth time, I struggle to fight back the tears.

  I recall my visit to William’s old offices in Oslo. This is nothing like that. Past the glass wall out into the main customer area are casually dressed men and women, around their forties in age. No supermodels, and no fashion statements, comfort above all else.

  The property investor is about sixty years old with red hair. She enters the meeting room and doesn’t even bother to sit to sign the contract before sliding it over for me to sign next.

  Terrified I’ll make a mistake, I’ve already read it repeatedly and discussed the details with Nana, Mr. Jensen, and William. It amazes me, staring down at the dotted line. With one swift movement of the pen, I’ll be two million kroner richer than before. Like an old steam train leaving its station, the weight of debt rolls off my shoulder. Five more cars to sell and Dad’s dealership is out of my life for good.

  The investor shakes my hand and leaves the room. It’s so surreal, as though it hasn’t happened.

  “Life is looking up.” William gathers the used mugs of coffee from the table. “Let’s celebrate by looking at new homes for us.”

  My phone signals a new message in the inbox and I look down to read it:

  “Hello Amalie, I am so pleased to hear from you. So sorry for my late reply, it’s been an insane month. I am wonderful, thank you for asking. From what I hear you and William are as well? You don’t want to rent in Porto—buy. I’ve spoken with Sonia, my Porto contact, and she’ll call you with the details. If you’re ever in the city, let me know. We’ll shop, have a glass of wine or three, or do both. *Erica*.”

  Erica’s timing can’t be coincidental.

  “I know. But not today. I’m finally free from Skar’s, and for the first time in months, I can breathe again.”

  When William leaves the meeting room with our cups, I pull out my phone and respond: “Hi Erica. Yes, William and I are good. He’s found a house he wants to buy and asked me to live with him. What do you think? *Amalie*.”

  I don’t know why I’m asking her advice, but I figure she’ll have a professional opinion.

  An ex’s professional opinion? I genuinely am a sheep.

  The following week, Josefine watches me like a hawk, and every time I run into the bathroom, bawling, panicking and gasping for air in the stall, she covers my tables. This time, a thank you doesn’t cover half of the gratitude I feel towards her. How I ever disliked her is beyond me.

  The incident with Dad has strained Mom’s relationship with me, so I do my best to avoid her.

  On Friday, William surprises me at the oak behind The Bluebird for lunch with a mischievous grin on his face. “I’ve been thinking about the money from Skar’s Auto.” He climbs up to my branch. “Why don’t we buy the house together?”

  I almost fall off the branch. “What?” I’m only nineteen years old. Do people at my age buy houses? I mean, talking about him buying a place is one thing, but me buying with him? I study his expression, and his eyebrows go up in anticipation.

  He is actually serious.

  If he owns the house, I can always move out, but if I own it, as well, I can’t leave. Why am I thinking about leaving? What if he leaves? This is a bad idea. But, I’m out of excuses. I’m not going to Porto, I can’t live with Nana forever, and he’s my boyfriend.

  “You should invest your money, Amalie. It’s soon, I know. But it’s a natural step, isn’t it? I need a place, and you need a place.”

  It makes sense, but... “What if we break up?” My hands cover my mouth as soon as the question pops out.

  He laughs. “You are such a romantic.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Yes, I did.

  If I want to leave you, if you turn out to be like Dad, then I’m stuck. If you refuse to sell the house, then what do I do?

  All my money will be locked up. I can’t accuse him of doing something like that. But after watching Dad change, I can’t know for sure.

  “But what if I die, what happens then if Mom inherits my things?”

  William shrugs. “Then I’ll have to buy your, now her, part of the house from her if I want to keep it.”

  Which means I�
��ll have to buy his part from his parents if he dies, but they could refuse. “What if she doesn’t want to sell it to you?”

  No way am I doing this.

  “Okay.” William winks at me. “Miss Romantic. What do you need to invest in a house with me? To invest in us? A prenup?”

  I nod.

  “So, you want to get married?”

  “No, no, no.” I’m shaking my head so hard I almost lose my balance again. We should discuss this on solid ground. “That didn’t come out right. I don’t ever want to get married because of Dad, I think.” Thinking about it, I’ve never wanted to get married before that either.

  William cocks his head to the side. “You think I’m like your father?”

  “No!”

  But I’m not willing to take that chance.

  “I don’t see the point in marriage. I don’t like the idea of saying I belong to someone.”

  This is not going well.

  William frowns. “So, not a pre-nuptial agreement, but a pre-investing-in-a-house-together agreement.”

  “Yes!”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t trust anyone at this point, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “You think I’ll scam you. I think it has to do with everything really,” William says.

  “No, I don’t.”

  Shit.

  What do I want? “I want to know what to expect. If anything happens.”

  “Like what? I leave?”

  “No. You die.” It blurts out of me before I can reflect on my own words.

  Shit. I sound like I’m threatening him.

  “I mean, what happens to the house?”

  “My parents inherit my part of it. You’ll own the house with them, and because you don’t have the money to buy them out, you’ll have to sell your home which would be dreadful to deal with on top of my death.” He rolls his eyes for me to see, but he smiles. “I’ll send you a suggestion to proofread tomorrow.”

  By the strained look on his face, I can tell it’s cost him a lot not to get hung up on the marriage subject. So, I’m grateful he lets it slide. “Thank you.”

  “You can pay for my hours working on the investment prenup by cleaning the house we buy,” he teases.

  I laugh. “Never going to happen! Equal responsibility or I’m not doing this.”

  He smiles. “This makes us economically independent from each other. If one of us decides to break up, it’s easier with this contract.”

  I get a bit insulted. “What do you mean one of us? Are you planning to call it quits?”

  “Nope.” William puts his arms around me. “I love you.”

  I almost fall off the branch again and struggle to hold on.

  William loves me.

  “Really?” I regain my balance. “Why?”

  His voice trembles as he looks at me with puppy dog eyes and the most vulnerable expression I’ve seen on him so far. “I don’t think you realize how much you mean to me.”

  No, I don’t.

  Nothing about dating me has been easy for William, yet he tells me he loves me. But who am I to question his feelings? If he loves me, well that’s… “Perfect.” I kiss him, perhaps to hide that I’m not capable of saying it back or maybe to cover the fact that I do. “Then let’s buy a place together,” I say.

  HOME

  It’s the end of October, Skar’s Auto is out of my hands, and I’ve sold my last car. Mom refuses to talk to me at work unless she’s angry at me, but with Josefine there, I’m getting through it. Nana’s well into her treatment, which unfortunately is not going as well as we hoped, and she’s exhausted most days which surprises me. Poor people who go through chemo; that must be a nightmare if Nana’s one of the lucky ones.

  I meet William at the bank to sign the contract for our fixer-upper house and receive the keys to our new home. We share the cost, paying one million kroner each, and after setting aside money for a thirty percent tax, I’m left with four hundred thousand kroner in the bank.

  I’m rich.

  Luckily, the previous owners of our house have already moved into their new apartment, so we get the keys right away.

  We drive past Nana’s house; our new home is only five houses away from hers.

  “I see it.” By now I’m clapping my hands and shouting at the sight of the white house with its picket fence. The cobblestone driveway is wide enough for two cars, yet William parks perfectly aligned with the fence leaving space for another vehicle.

  Before William’s turned off the ignition, I’m out of the car, through the gate, and waiting impatiently by the entrance. “Hurry.”

  The click from the lock as it opens gives me a sprint in my step. I pull down the door handle and fling it open.

  William swings me into his arms and carries me in. “Welcome home, honey.”

  I squeal with joy.

  The brown-painted wooden floors are worn down. Wallpaper is peeling off the walls, and in the bathroom, all the porcelain fixtures are orange. It’s all dreadful, but it has the potential to transform into a new home.

  I head into the living room by the windows overlooking the garden. “Oooooh, the Christmas tree can go here.” I spread my arms out creating a circle to demonstrate.

  “You’re thinking about Christmas already?”

  “It’s my favorite season with so many cozy traditions. Right?”

  William shrugs. “I can’t really think of any. Mother makes the Christmas pork ribs for dinner. We open presents.”

  “That’s it? I imagined you’d have more since you’re so fascinated by tradition. I do recall you commenting on my bunad.” I wink at him. “Mom and I had several, but the most important one for me has always been on the evening before Christmas Eve, the twenty-third of December. She would make mulled wine, and we’d snuggle up in front of the TV to watch “Dinner for One.” Have you seen it?”

  “Not sure.” He walks over and puts his arm around me.

  “I’m sure you have. The black and white sketch with the old widow and her butler pretending to be every guest at the table. I know it’s silly the way he drinks more and more while desperately trying to stay in character for her, but what tradition isn’t silly, huh?” I lean my head on his chest, and we stand there together in our home looking out at the birds playing in our yellow trees, ready for winter.

  “Let’s make that our tradition then. You and I and a widow’s dinner,” William says.

  “Really?” I kiss him, knowing this is the beginning of a new life, and with him willing to participate in my silly traditions, it’s going to be a great one. “I’ll miss Mom intensely at Christmas, and right now, I think it’s the only way I can be with her here again. Or at least imagine and live in the bubble of how she used to be,” I say.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be here holding you through the entire evening. But before that, let’s make it a home.”

  “Yeah, and a home needs a bed.”

  We need to practice if we’re going to make sex enjoyable for us both.

  Concluding it won’t be the best tactic to share my expectations with him, I keep my mouth closed. If food is the way to a man’s heart, critique must be a sure way out of it. Right now, the only one who’s enjoying sex is him.

  “We need to practice,” he says, almost knocking me off my feet. “That way, maybe I’ll change your mind about a baby.”

  I roll my eyes. “Let’s stick to practice.” He can’t be serious about this baby thing. I’m sure it will calm down now that we’ve taken a new step by moving in together and have time to get to know each other better.

  The first snowflake of the season kisses my nose as I balance the can of paint and brushes in one hand while unlocking the door to our new home. Looking up at the sky, I smile. In only three weeks, Christmas is here.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I call out and pause for a joyful reply. “Hello?”

  I put the supplies on the new kitchen island and walk upstairs. “William?”


  William’s face lights up on the screen of my phone. “I’m running late. I’ll be home in about two hours. What am I supposed to bring again?”

  My brows furrow. Every day, he asks. Yesterday it was brushes and paint. “Sealant for the moldings. Do you want me to get it?”

  “No, no. I’ll bring it. Count on me.”

  I hang up and glance around. We can make it. A few strokes of paint left, and we’re done. Masking tape has become my enemy these last few weeks. It seems to take me longer to apply than the paint.

  When William enters the house, I’m finishing up on the first coat of paint in the kitchen. “Hi, honey.”

  He hangs his jacket in the hallway and heads for the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

  “Look at the walls,” I say, noticing his lack of shopping bags.

  “Did you wear that sweater to work today?” William studies me. “Red’s not really a good color for you.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m painting a wall. Help out instead. And wear whatever you’d like to.”

  He cracks two eggs into the frying pan sizzling with butter. “You want some?”

  “Sure.” Moving the ladder into the living room where I’ve masked around the wall for the TV, I open a new can of paint and poor it into the tray. We’ve decided a dark gray will hide the TV, making the view out into the garden below the main focal point. “I didn’t see any bags when you walked in. Did you remember the sealant?”

  From the kitchen, a loud bang echoes through the walls. “Shit! No. I’m sorry. Avocados or salad?”

  Shock.

  “Avocado, please.” The sound of wet paint from my roller sticking to the wall, rolling up, then down, fills me with pride. This is our home, our rules, and our way of life.

  “Finish up, dinner’s ready in five.”

  After sealing the brush in a plastic bag for reuse, I pour the excess paint back in the can. I fill two glasses with water and bring knives and forks to the kitchen island.