Let Go

by Alexandra Winter

  “What? All by yourself? But it’s Christmas. You shouldn’t be alone. Are you sure Mom’s not…”

  Nana slouches forward. “That is a lovely idea, but no. She made it quite clear I am on my own, both with the disease and in all other facets of life.”

  I stop the car outside her home and help her attach her spikes to her shoes before getting out. They grab on to the ice beneath her feet, while I concentrate on keeping my boots from sliding out to the side.

  “This year, I am forced to wear cotton because of this dreadful skin of mine, and that is not how I want to celebrate Christmas. It will be a good evening for reflection, and for that I am grateful.”

  Knowing her, every other day of the year she wears whatever she likes, but not that evening. She’s always dressed up, fixed her hair. “What do you want me to tell his family?”

  “My darling, Amalie. My days of excusing myself to others are past. Tell them whatever you like.”

  As soon as I get home, I make lasagna and Thai chicken soup to take over so Nana has easy access to food. The following evening, William and I head over to decorate the tree with her.

  Color is drained from her face when she lets us in.

  “Why don’t you lay down. We’ll set this up, and serve you dinner in bed,” I say.

  Nana shakes her head. “Thank you, but I would like to enjoy your company.” She sits down in an armchair in front of the tree while William sets the table. I get Nana’s decorations out from storage. She keeps it all in two silver-painted cartons, neatly sorted inside. One box for the tree, another for the rest of the house.

  “You should have that one,” Nana points to a yellow ornament with silver writing on it. “Your mother made that when she was your age, pregnant with you.”

  Yellow, the color Dad hated me wearing. I pick up the tiny ornament and read Mom’s writing out loud: “Christmas love.”

  William sticks his head out of the kitchen. “She had you when she was nineteen?”

  No, I’m not having a child now so stop it!

  I stare daggers at him to be quiet about it, but he ignores me.

  “The greatest gift she ever received,” Nana says.

  William nods from the kitchen door, but this time, I ignore him.

  Hah, we can both play this game.

  During dinner, I can tell William’s dying to ask Nana about Mom having a child young. So, when he opens his mouth, his question surprises me. “What are your wishes for Christmas, Nana?”

  She sits back in her seat and takes my hand. “To travel to Porto with Amalie.”

  Oh no.

  William’s face stiffens. “Porto? I thought we put that behind us?”

  Behind us? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put Porto behind me.

  “Let’s get you well first,” I say. Nana’s eyelids seem heavy, and by her slow movements, I can tell she’s tired. I follow her upstairs and tuck her in. “The rest of the food’s in the refrigerator. And if you need anything, I’m only a phone call away.”

  Back home, William kicks off his shoes and demands answers. “Porto? Is this something you’re planning behind my back?”

  I hang my coat and go into the kitchen. “It’s a vacation, honey. Nana’s dreamed of going for years, and so have I.”

  He stalks after me. “Without me. So, this is where it starts, is it? You want to travel without me, then what? You buy a house there?”

  I’m about to argue when a tingling feeling spreads through me and makes me smile. I still have leftover money from selling Skar’s, and Erica’s words come to mind. “You don’t rent in Porto. You buy.” It would give Nana a safe place to travel to. “Would that be a good investment?”

  “Amalie! This isn’t funny.” William slams his hand on the kitchen counter.

  I jump back. “Don’t do that!”

  “I’m so sorry.” He walks around the island and opens his arms. “I get scared you’ll leave me. I’m planning my future with you here, and I know you’ll change your mind about having kids. We belong together, Amalie.”

  My voice is shaking, burying my face in his chest. “I bought a house with you here, William. I’m not leaving you, but I have to be allowed to plan vacations with Nana and invest the remaining money I have.”

  “Buy a new car or something.”

  A car?

  Even I know that’s a guaranteed loss of money. “Instead of investing in Porto.”

  “Didn’t you tell your client Porto was a great investment that day when I was waiting for you in your office?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “He’s a client. You’re my girlfriend. Soon you’ll be my wife and mother to my children, and you won’t have time for any real estate in Portugal. Are you kidding me? You know nothing about that.”

  I struggle to digest what he’s told me. His expectations are clear. He wants me to be a stay-at-home wife. “No, I don’t know anything about it, but I thought you would want to help me.”

  “For you to invest in Porto would be insane. I’m not supporting that. Why don’t you spend it on furniture or décor?”

  I stare at him. “But you have your apartment in Oslo that’s making you money each month.”

  “You don’t have enough money to buy an apartment in Oslo. Amalie, you don’t know what it takes to invest in real estate, trust me on this. Stick to what you know.”

  I know design. I know marriages that have stolen women’s lives, and I know that this feels wrong.

  Why do you get to grow your wealth, while I’m expected to waste mine?

  The following day, I download a language course in Portuguese, and buy two tickets for Porto, leaving in August next year. I print them out and put them in an envelope to give to Nana for Christmas.

  She should be well enough to travel by then.

  DINNER FOR ONE

  December twenty-third arrives, and when Mom packs up to leave The Bluebird early, I have to ask, “Are you watching ‘Dinner for One’ tonight?”

  She stares at me. “Are you planning on barging in to ruin my pleasant evening if I am?”

  I sigh. Mom’s continued to remind me every chance she gets, not Josefine, but me, how dreadful it was for her when we stopped Dad from taking her with him in his boat. “We tried to protect you. I’m sorry, but he’s a dangerous man. But you’re going to watch?” The thought makes me giddy, hopeful even.

  “Of course not. Do you think I have time for silly TV sketches?”

  I shake my head. “Merry Christmas at least.”

  “Please, save your sentimental wishes for someone who wants them.”

  Josefine walks over to us. “I want them,” she says.

  Mom rolls her eyes and walks out.

  “If you want to leave early, I’ll cover for you,” Josefine says.

  I glance around the room. Four guests tonight. “Are you sure? I wanted to make mulled wine, light candles and make it as cozy as possible since it’s William’s and my first time watching together. He’s at the office finishing up before the holidays.” Thinking of Mom, how she used to prepare for tonight, I blink to force the tears threatening to fill my eyes.

  “Johan’s doing the same for me, so just go. I’ll explain to Mr. Jensen we had a slow night and close up early if no one else arrives anyways.”

  Every time Josefine mentions Johan’s name, it’s like someone giving me an electric shock. I’d hoped she’d realize he’s no good, but she’s entirely blinded by him.

  I hope he’s stopped cheating.

  “So happy we’re closing for Christmas.” I wrap my arms around her. “I’ll see you in January. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Josefine.”

  I’ll tell her after the holiday if he’s not a better man by then.

  “Merry Christmas, Amalie. Any idea what William’s getting you?”

  “No,” I say.

  He hasn’t asked me either.

  “I bet it’s a ring,” Josefine says.

  I
laugh.

  I hope not.

  “I don’t think he’ll dare to buy me a ring after our trip to Oslo.”

  Would he?

  “I don’t want to explain again tomorrow that I’m not ready. I want a calm, cozy evening tonight and above all Christmas Eve.”

  At home, our furniture and décor have arrived. After some debating, we agreed to split everything, so William bought the TV, couch, speakers and other things I didn’t want to spend as much money on, while I discovered my favorite piece of furniture, an old wooden closet, online a week ago and refurbished it. A carpenter had used it to store his tools out in his shed, but he got too old to work, so his daughter sold it for him along with a kitchen table, for only two hundred kroner. The closet’s perfect for the bedroom. I added a rod to hang up my clothes and sanded down the insides of the two drawers to remove any splinters. I painted it light blue. It’s the oldest piece of furniture in our house and my most cherished. It’s also home for the yellow suitcase that I’ve pushed up on top.

  In the living room, our tree sparkles in the corner by the window, and outside, the snow glistens in the moonlight. I spend all evening preparing mulled wine, gingerbread, and lighting candles. Pouring the hot drink into Santa mugs, I glance over at the clock.

  Where is he?

  In half an hour, the show starts and lasts only eleven minutes. I adjust the tray of gingerbread like Mom would display it and turn on the TV, so we’ll be ready when it begins.

  Fifteen minutes later, I walk over to the window to look for the lights of William’s car. He knows how important this is to me. Something must have happened. I call him. The phone rings five times before he picks up.

  His voice is cheerful. “Hi, honey.”

  “Um, hi. Sorry if I’m bothering you, but will you be home soon?”

  “What time is it?” A crackling sound resonates through the line. “Shit. Yes, I’m on my way, I’ll be home in twenty.” He hangs up.

  My pulse is racing.

  He forgot.

  I stare into the liquid in my cup, so dark red it appears to be black. I mute the TV, pull my legs up underneath me on the couch, and spread the new knitted blanket over myself. The tag is still attached, so I rip it off. I fill a spoon with chopped nuts and drop them in my mug, then a spoonful of raisins, wrap both hands around the cup, and lift it to my lips, blowing the steam away.

  On the TV screen, I recognize the introduction and turn the sound back on to hear the history of the show: “This black and white sketch from 1963 is a must watch for seven out of ten Norwegians ever year. Tonight we revisit the countess who insists on keeping with tradition forcing her poor butler to play her departed friends at this four-course dinner party where there is more toasting than dining.”

  It’s about to begin.

  William, where are you?

  “Enjoy the butler pretending to be Miss Sophie’s four close friends around the dinner table in everyone’s favorite, ‘Dinner for One.’”

  It starts.

  The introduction to the show with its song of ‘Happy Birthday’ sounding as if it’s being played on a comb echoes in the house. This is when Mom would scooch closer to me, and we’d smile at each other. At this moment, I miss her so much my body aches.

  The door opens with a bang. William’s strained voice calls out. “Did I miss it?” He storms into the living room with shoes and coat still on.

  A grin stretches across my face. “You made it!” I pat the cushion next to me. “Come sit.” I’m not wasting time asking him why he’s late now that the show’s already begun. It doesn’t matter, he’s here now.

  “One minute, I have to use the toilet, then I’m all yours.”

  Smiling from ear to ear, I turn my attention back to the sketch, mouthing every word as the two characters speak.

  The countess scans the table set for four guests. ‘Is everybody here?’ The butler nods. ‘They’re all here waiting for you, Miss Sophie, yes.’

  “What’s this?” William’s voice is harsh, angry. In his hand, are two plane tickets to Porto with Nana’s and my name on them.

  My heart sinks. “I’ll explain about it later. Please come sit. You’re missing it.”

  On the screen, the butler finishes presenting the guests as though they are there and walks across the room to collect the soup. On the floor is a tiger skin with a gaping head, and as the butler stumbles over the head, it’s as though Mom’s laughter fills the room, like she’s here with me.

  “This isn’t funny!” William throws the tickets on the seat next to me, standing with his arms crossed. “You’re going, and didn’t bother to tell me about it?”

  “No. But, William, please. I’ll explain after this.” I point to the screen. “He’s serving the sherry.”

  I mouth the butler’s epic question: ‘The same procedure as last year, Miss Sophie?’

  But William’s harsh expression stops me from continuing when the countess responds that it should be the same procedure as every year.

  “I’m in this relationship too. You only make time for Nana, your Mom, or The Bluebird. What about me?”

  I stare at him, biting my lips together to hold back the tears and show him how hurtful this is. I point to the screen. “Please don’t make me miss this.”

  “I didn’t sign up for a globetrotter when I met you, Amalie. I want a wife, and a mother to my children.”

  William continues to talk, but I no longer hear him. In my peripheral view, the show enters its final part. Mom’s presence fading.

  “Please stop, William.” A tear escapes my eye, and I wipe it off.

  His voice intensifies into yelling. “This starts with one trip. Before I know it, it’s another, then another, and then our life here isn’t good enough for you anymore. Then you’ll leave me!”

  The final line of the show echoes through the living room as the butler is about to follow the countess to her bedroom, again pretending to be all her friends from the dining table: ‘I’ll do my very best. Good night.’ And with his wink, the screen turns back to color. It’s over.

  My voice shakes. “I’m going to bed. We can discuss this tomorrow.” I stand, look down at the two tickets spread out on the couch, let them lay there, and walk over to William.

  “A trip will never be what makes me want to leave you.” I go up to the bathroom, undress and turn on the cold water in the shower. Eleven minutes, that’s how long the show lasts. That’s how long he forced me to listen to his panic over two plane tickets. Sure, I could have told him, but it’s eleven minutes. I’m furious, and although I’m boiling inside, the cold water doesn’t help. It’s like my nerves are shut off. I turn on the hot water, allowing it to veil me like a blanket. After thirty minutes, I dry myself and listen outside the door to hear if William is still here. He’s gone.

  I dress in my warmest clothes and walk over to Mom’s house. When I arrive, her bedroom light switches off and my hope of seeing her tonight vanishes. When I get home, William’s nowhere to be seen. I go to bed.

  Eleven minutes was all I asked for.

  CHRISTMAS EVE

  In the morning, William snores while I slide out from beneath the red sheets decorated in snow crystals, and tiptoe downstairs. It’s still dark outside and will be for a few more hours. Outside the living room window, a deer wanders across the yard, lifting its legs high to hurdle the snow. I leave the lights off not to scare it away.

  I tuck the blanket over me after sinking into the couch. The atmosphere is different in the house today as if the tension between William and I still lingers in the room.

  My body temperature rises thinking about how Mom and I used to spend this morning. During the night she would hang Christmas stockings on the fireplace, we’d watch Disney cartoons, then prepare dinner. There are no stockings here, and my motivation to make one for William is gone. Missing is that intangible safety and love Christmas brings.

  Next, to me, the tickets lay scattered across the couch. Staring at them, my heart
’s pounding. William is upset I didn’t tell him about them. He is also refusing to let me go and will expect me not to. How can I please him and Nana at the same time? I gather the tickets, get out paper, and wrap them up as a present. I find a card and write:

  Dear Nana.

  Merry Christmas. Let’s go on this adventure together in August.

  Love Amalie.

  I glare down at the glitter falling off the card.

  Should I ask Nana not to tell William that I gave her the tickets? Keep it secret until he comes around?

  I pick up the pen, rest it on the card. But stop.

  No. That will only make it worse.

  I have to tell him. No matter what the consequence.

  “Amalie?” William’s voice behind me increases my heart rate. “What are you doing up? It’s only six o’clock, come back to bed.”

  I hold up the wrapped envelope while turning to face him. My skin is tingling. “I’m giving Nana the tickets. I’m not going to take away her dream just because you’re scared. I want to do this for her.”

  He walks towards me, his brows lowered, and instinctively, I step back. Like two magnets pushing the other away, I move when he does.

  “I love you,” he says. I stop, and William closes in. “I’m sorry I made this difficult, and that I ruined last night for you. I guess I got jealous of the attention you give her. Still, I don’t ever want to stand in your way of doing nice things for others. I love that side of you.”

  Supporting myself on the counter, I realize I’ve been holding my breath. As I exhale, all I want is to be held by him. I lean in on his warm chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  He strokes my back. “Let’s not keep secrets from each other. Okay?”