"Nice war paint." Joan sits around the table from me. "What'd you kill?"
"What?" I'm not quite sure what she's on about. Maybe I need a mirror. Or to wipe my face and—oh, there we go. Covered in grinding dust. In the perfect outline of my mask, I'm sure. Of course it manages to get behind the visor. Could also be the fact I was cutting and grinding all day on the dropsaw and the linisher. But hey, it was fun working with Maurice for a change—although I can still smell the metal we've been cutting. Joan's still actually talking, and now she's making her point.
"So, I've been thinking… given how busy you two are going to be over the weeke—"
"No." Coming from the kitchen, where dinner is just about to be served. Joan looks at me, about to plead her case.
"No." I take her hand gently and lower my voice. "I know how much you want to, but trust me, it's a bad idea."
"Having Tink here for a sleepover is not a bad idea."
"It is when you're lying to her parents about it."
"Well no one else's parents are going to be out for the weekend."
"Who said anything about us going out, Snowflake?" Kristoff musses her hair with his left hand while placing her meal in front of her with his right.
"Hey—shouldn't your wife get first dibs?" I mean I should, right? His cooking skills were the reason I married him. Well, among a number of other things that are probably more important but not so much right now because I'm goddamn hungry.
"Ease up feistypants, we're all hungry."
Please tell me I didn't say all that out loud.
"After sixteen years I should know how your mind works," he winks at me, heading back to the kitchen. "And anyway, I need two hands to serve yours."
I was about to ask if it was because my steak was the size of a small country, but he came back with a plate in one hand and a champagne flute in the other. I'm not sure, but I get the feeling I've forgotten something important. I surreptitiously check the date on my phone. Yes, there's a reminder there, throughout pretty much the whole day. I have forgotten something. That quip about sixteen years is the clue. One glass of champagne to celebrate another year. I'm lucky he doesn't expect gifts on time—he knows better by now. You learned that too, didn't you? Yeah, I'm sorry about that first Valentine's day, but I think that picture of my face makes up for it. I just look so shocked its hilarious.
That said, not all gifts are so physical in nature. Some things are worth more as actions and expression than any physical goods ever could be. Anyway, I'm essentially tearing through my steak at a rate of knots by the time Kristoff sits down with his. No formality right now, which is good, because I'm making kind of a mess. At least it's all on my plate. Remember that time we had the fancy soup? Yeah, nearly needed to wash down the whole room. Okay, fine, we weren't that bad, and maybe it was because we kept trying to dunk our bread in each other's soup—and that was your just desserts for teasing me all day after you got home that time.
It was rather less funny near the end though; when soup was about the only thing you could keep down. I cared for you as best I could, with help from the nurses at the hospital. I–I don't want to think about that time. Not now. I'd rather try to remember all the good we had; all our adventures; all our… explorations. And yes, I will tell Joan about our first date, and how badly I messed it up. In my mind, at least.
So now I'm lying on Joan's bed, and she's lying next to me, and in the background the radio is playing something from the 90's. I can't remember the name, but the chorus has that line 'save tonight and something or other, for tomorrow I'll be gone'. I have to blink back tears, because it reminds me of our last night, because on that tomorrow you were gone. Forever.
"So, you already know I was basically stalking Elsa at her physio."
"And you got dragged away kicking and screaming, yeah."
—∞—
I still had a few more physio sessions to go through, mostly working on impact training. I tried to see Elsa during her sessions, but she must have re-scheduled things to avoid me. I didn't like the idea that she might be actively avoiding me now. She was still staying at the hospital though, in a long term post-op ward. I had to wonder why she didn't go home, to an apartment or something. I didn't know at the time she'd only been renting, trying to live in a student flat while working on her dance career. It really did take off, but by then it was too late.
I sat, somewhat heavily, in the chair next to Elsa's bed. As was starting to become traditional, I'd brought some fruit to share. A little punnet of strawberries. I would confront her about avoiding me, but I didn't want to hurt her—she might have had good reason. It might not have been her choice. I had a breathless little laugh at that. Maybe I'd gotten all worked up over nothing. Still, I asked.
"Elsa, why are you avoiding me?"
"Avoiding you, Anniken?" She looked at me, slightly confused. "We're right here. This is not avoiding you."
"No, I mean the physio, you stinker. Okay, yeah, I know, I know, I shouldn't have sneaked in and watched you, but you were making so much progress and I wanted to see you stand again and I'm so proud of you because you managed it and I wanted to help you because it was me that hurt you and—"
"Slow down, please," she held up her hands in a halting gesture. "And you know I'm not mad at you for hurting me, right?"
"Okay, sorry, but you still haven't answered my question."
"Which question, Anna?"
"Why your physio schedule changed."
"Because it's my fight."
I was stunned. Did she not want my help? Was being around me that bad for her? And yet, here we were, and she seemed perfectly personable, taking the last strawberry that I was reaching for. Our hands collided, and she dropped the fruit.
"No, you take it," she said softly. Was it a peace offering?
"You probably need it more, with the food here," and I winked at her. Somewhat reluctantly she took it, smiling as she bit into it. I liked her smile. It was still kind of guarded, but we had just been fighting. Well, sort of.
Silence fell between us, and I took that as a cue to leave.
"Stay, please."
"You want me now, but not helping you stand again?"
"I can stand on my own, you know," she sassed me.
"Prove it."
And she did, swinging her legs out of the bed, gripping the edge to help herself stand, swaying a bit as she put more weight on her right leg.
"So why don't you want my help?" I was going to get to the bottom of this.
"Can you dance?"
"Huh?"
"Can you dance?" Okay, there's a point here, and she's using me to make it. I just don't know what it is. Up until this point I only knew that dance was important to her, from the brief conversation I overhead with Oaken.
"I can't dance," I finally admitted.
"Then you can't help. But David can."
"Who's David?" I was very confused.
"He's the master choreographer and dance instructor for our theatre." I blinked. It didn't make things any clearer. So she was learning to dance, from someone who put together dances for a living. "I used to work as a dancer, Anna." And suddenly it all made sense. She was right, I really couldn't help her with that.
"So why didn't you just tell me?" She sat back on the edge of the bed as I spoke.
"Because you weren't listening. You just kept talking and talking and asking the same question."
I had. My cheeks coloured in embarrassment. Maybe if I'd known what to ask—or hadn't been so accusatory—we wouldn't have danced around the topic for so long. I stepped forward—I wanted to hug her so tight for proving wrong and still wanting me around and maybe just to her smile again. Definitely to see her smile. She put a hand out to hold me back, and I flinched. She looked at her hand, then at me. For so long sudden movements like that meant I was going to be hurt. It was instinct for me to shy back.
"Anna, I—"
"No. No, it's okay. I–I just wanted to give you a hug."
"But you shouldn't be scared like that. I would never hurt you like he did."
"Do you want a hug?" Maybe it was better to ask first.
Her face fell, and her voice was quiet, almost afraid. "No."
Maybe she was afraid. Of what, I had no idea. I wasn't sure if it was fear of being hugged, or fear of my reaction to her refusal. I watched her face, trying to figure out what was going on. All I got was a timid smile, and a whole lot of worry. I had to take a softer approach—and no matter her answer, accept it. I still wanted her to be my friend, and I hoped to be one of hers.
"You're sure you don't want a nice, warm hug?"
"I–I am, but… but is it okay to just hold hands?"
"Why would it not be?" I smiled up at her, taking her hand in mind, twining our fingers together.
—∞—
"So—" Joan yawns, interrupting herself. "—auntie Elsa kinda pushed you away there."
"She did baby. It always seemed like that, right up to our big fight."
"The one on the video, right?"
"That's right. Now, if you'll let me get on with the story?" And she punches me in the arm.
—∞—
A few days later I was talking with Elsa again. I was pacing at the foot of her bed, worried about what I was asking, wondering if it was too weird, or just normal concern. My pacing was apparently getting on her nerves.
"Anniken, you're making me restless with all that pacing," but there was a hint of humour in her voice. Somehow that made it harder to speak, not easier. "What are you so worried about?"
"Ever since Hans left—"
"No, Anna, you left him." I smiled, despite my anxiety. She was making sure I knew where she stood on that issue with great certainty.
"—the house has been really empty, and this tiny little part of me wanted him back to make it not empty—but I don't listen to it, it's silly—but even with the radio or the TV and whatnot it just feels empty and there's a guest bedroom, and a nice big bed in the master and I feel really bad seeing you have to stay here all the time and so I was thinking maybe you'd like to—because I mean, I don't mean you owe—I mean I owe you, and I thought you might like to—and okay, okay, deep breaths, deep breaths.
"Theresasparebedatmyhouseanditsyoursifyouwantit."
"Anna?"
"Yes?"
"Deep breaths." And we were both laughing. I managed to get breathing under control and after we'd finished laughing I tried again.
"My house feels empty. I have a space in my bed you could fill—I mean a spare bed you cou—"
"Thank you, but no."
"You'd rather stay here?"
"No, but I'd like it if you'd asked me to dinner before inviting me into your bed."
"If I'd what before I—what?"
"You were asking me out, right?"
"Umm, no," I shook my head, blushing. "I was offering you a room."
She smiled.
"But if you like, I guess I could get you dinner before you move in."
"This is all moving so fast." She held a hand over her heart, voice turning melodramatic. "First dinner, then moving in. Next thing I know you'll be asking me to be a father."
I couldn't help but laugh. Then frown. "Why do you get to be the father?"
"Because I'd wear the pants," she stuck out her tongue and for some reason I was very tempted to try and kiss it, just to see what her reaction would be. I think she caught my look. "A real dinner would be nice. How about we take it from there?"
—∞—
"Umm, mom, which one of you was actually asking the other out?" That look on her face is so cute. Joan's doing the finger thing again, pointing in opposite directions.
"I don't know. I think it was me, fumbling over everything like that."
"You're sure auntie Elsa wasn't just leading you on because she wanted you to ask her out?"
"I'm not," I smile, remembering that day. First time I'd asked out a girl, and of course I made a complete mess of it. Looking back though, it's pretty entertaining. And maybe Joan's right, I've often asked that question myself. You always pushed me away, tried to keep me at arms length, but secretly you wanted me. I think you wanted me to break down that wall. You wanted me to prove myself, and I wanted you to be worth it. I did, and you were. And if I tell her about our first date, I'm also telling her about the first time you tried to cook for me—it's only fair.
