AN: So, this is my first attempt at writing a date of any kind. It doesn't feel quite right, but maybe that's just me—or maybe I'm avoiding some other problem there. I don't know. Anyway, have some update.
Saturday. We're doing the installation at Al's plant now. He makes carpet, and seeing the machines working yesterday was fascinating. Anyway, we're putting in a new set of work platforms beneath the latex vats. Six panels, bolt together. Maurice's design to make installation easier. Eight heavyweight upstands, and two reinforced braces to go across the centre section. It's a very noisy morning now we've removed the old platforms. Me and Kristoff are one team installing the upstands, and Maurice and Audrey are the other. Dynabolts.
It's weird, but even after this long dynabolts remain the best way to anchor something into a concrete floor. We install the upstands one at a time, manhandling them into place, drilling into the factory floor, then hammering in the bolts and torquing them up. We break for lunch, and me and Kristoff sit outside, in the sun, enjoying the view across the back of the city. Al's factory is on a low hill, and you can actually see a fair bit from up here. I like it.
We don't really talk, but I apologize about forgetting our anniversary on Thursday. He understands though, and points out that he put a reminder on my phone for me. I remember something you told me, knowing we'd never get to an anniversary. Why bother celebrating the day it was official? Why not just celebrate each other every day—because every day was special. Is special. A hand waves in front of my face.
"Hey, did I lose you there for a second?"
"I was just thinking about something Elsa said about anniversaries," honesty always works, I've found. Okay, maybe a few white lies to protect someone's feelings every now and then, but by and large the truth is a whole lot less stressful to deal with.
"You can't let her go, can you?" He's not accusing me, but there's a slight hint of sadness or disappointment in his voice. I'm not sure if it's at me, or for me.
"No, but… do you blame me?"
"You know I can't, feistypants. I saw what you had. And anyway, it's about time we got back to work." I check the time on my phone. Yeah, yeah, it's definitely time we get back to work. Not that any of us will complain if our breaks are longer than usual. And Al's not gonna complain either, because this'll be done before Monday, maybe even before the end of tomorrow. We work hard, and we work to our own schedule, but anyone who's seen the final product, on time, and generally under budget, has never had cause to complain.
By the end of the day four of the six platform sections are up, and we lock a pair of jacks underneath to support them through the night. It's time we head home. Joan is suspiciously absent from the house—oh, she is in so much. Then there's a crash from upstairs, and Joan's shouting at us through the house, just like every other 'civilized' teenager. Well, at least she's home. Her hair's a glorious mess when she comes down the stairs—and I think that's my fault, because you never got bedhead like that.
"Umm, mom…" she's nervous, playing with the ends of her hair. This is not a good sign. "Can I… Uh… Can I talk to you, u–upstairs?"
"Dinner in twenty?" I ask Kristoff, heading for the stairs.
"Longer. Think I'll take a shower first."
I nod, following Joan up the stairs and into her room and okay, this I was not expecting. Tina is lying in our daughter's bed, snoring, and possibly drooling. I'm torn between anger, relief, and amusement, because old Weaselly—Westley—Belafont is going to be pissed; but Joan came straight to me; and also because it's funny seeing Tina like that. Joan looks helplessly at me and shrugs.
"They kicked her out. She didn't know where else to go."
"I thought she was grounded—like you're supposed to be." I give her a pointed a look.
"Hey, she snuck in through the upstairs window. I thought someone was going to try and rob us."
"So you rushed upstairs to grab your sword, right?" I'm already facepalming.
She just looks at me sheepishly and shrugs again. It's pretty clear she's completely lost, and doesn't know how she's supposed to handle this. I'm not sure I know either, but I'll give it a shot. They deserve that much. And after dinner I'm giving that bastard Westley a piece of my mind. Yes, I can spare it, stinker. I didn't give you the last piece of it, after all. I'll handle it more tactfully than Kristoff would, anyway. I pull Joan into a quick hug.
"Thank you for coming to me; I know it must have been hard."
"I really couldn't hide it for long," she laughs, hugging me back. "Sooo… I'm off the hook?"
"This time. I'll get started on dinner. Should be done by the time your father gets out of the shower. I'll make extra for Tina, in case she wakes up."
I tell Kristoff what's happened over dinner, and I can see his face shading with anger. He wants to give Belafont a right earful. I won't let him. It's tense, because I know he means well, and I can see he really does want to help, but his bluntness—which as you know is usually far worse than mine—could well undermine what he's trying to say. I pick up the phone and keep it next to me for a little while, watching the end of the news. I'm putting off doing something hard. I don't like doing it, but I'll have to. I dial the Belafont's number.
"Mrs Bergman?" It's Tina's mother; she sounds out of breath, like she's scared—or maybe she was crying?
"Yes?" Wasn't I supposed to be the one asking questions?
"Have you seen my daughter—she ran away yesterday after Westley was shouting at her."
"She's safe, Mrs Belafont. I heard she got kicked out of your house."
"Westley just doesn't understand." Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. I still think his wife should have more say though—unless maybe Tina thought it wasn't safe to stay.
"Has he been hurting Tina?" Maybe it's too direct, but I have to know. The silence at the end of the line is telling. My free hand balls into a fist and I can tell I'm wearing a grim expression by the looks Kristoff and Joan are giving me. Too late for that. If Westley's been abusing his daughter he's going down. I don't care. I'd say everyone needs a father, just not an intolerant bigot like that. And then there are plenty of couples that are either two fathers, or two mothers, and they've raised perfectly normal children. I just don't understand the mindset people like Westley have about gay relationships.
Mrs Belafont is speaking again, and I'm now struggling to pay attention in my anger. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that."
"I told him if he wasn't going to let our daughter come back, I'd leave him." My turn to be speechless. I'd always thought Westley would've married someone pretty but vapid, easily pliable to his schemes. Apparently he didn't, which is even more surprising, all things considered. I can hear someone shouting in the background. Miss Belafont relays the message that Tina's safe, here, and the shouting only increases in pitch. A short apology issues from the speaker, and then the line goes dead. Clearly there's some friction in the Belafont household.
Kristoff looks at me, raising his eyebrows in silent question.
"Mrs Belafont—and why don't we know her name?—wants Tina safe, and back home. Westley clearly doesn't. I just heard them start a shouting match."
"Mom, you said something about him hurting Tink… is he?"
"Well, Mrs Belafont didn't actually say, but I think you better ask Tina yourself."
"Why don't you ask her?"
"Because I'm an adult, and right now she might not trust us adults quite so much. You're also her friend—and I trust you. And apparently she ran away yesterday, so again, when did she get here?"
"Late this afternoon."
"It doesn't take anywhere near that long to walk from the Belafont's to our place, and you both know it."
"Mom, she hasn't told me where she was, okay. She just kinda climbed in through the window, said she'd been kicked out, and crawled into my bed."
"Okay, okay, I believe you," I take a breath to calm myself down. We'll figure out a way through this. "Did she look hurt?"
"No, just tired."
"Go upstairs," I wave in the appropriate direction. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the company, even if she is asleep. I'll come up and check on you both in an hour or so, okay baby?"
"Okay, I guess—but what are we gonna do?"
"Tina can stay here as long she wants to, but I'm not going to stop her mother visiting or taking her out."
"Just behave while we're at work tomorrow, Snowflake. And if her father comes around, call us."
"We will, dad. And I will, I promise. I migh—"
"No hitting." And she frowns at both of us.
Joan heads off upstairs and me and Kristoff settle in to watch some crappy Saturday movie. We just kind of sit and cuddle, occasionally munching on the chips between us. When the movie's over I make my lunch for tomorrow. Kristoff makes his in the morning. I learned long ago that I had to get into this routine or I'd go without lunch at work—though there was a time shortly after I'd started that Kristoff took to packing extra lunches just in case. He always did care about me.
It's maybe two hours after I called Tina's parents. I go upstairs to check on Joan. Her and Tina are standing in the middle of the room, wearing only their bras and pyjama pants. I feel like I'm interrupting, but it's Tina that urges me to stay, turning around slowly so that I can see she's not actually hurt.
"You didn't have to get Joan to ask, miss Bergman, I would've told you myself."
"Well, it's good to know for the future. Joan told you're welcome here, right?"
"She did. And about my mom maybe picking me up—when?"
"I just said if she did, I wouldn't stop her. She never said anything about it really."
"Oh, okay. I feel kinda bad for worrying her like this."
"Like the first time the two of you ran away?" I ask pointedly, fixing her with a hard gaze. "About a fortnight ago, if memory serves."
They both look at me, cheeks colouring in embarrassment and shame. For some reason they can't meet my gaze. I look over at Tina.
"Tina, your mother said you ran away yesterday, and I know it's not far to walk here, so where did you go?" She looks away, gazing at something in the carpet that only she can see. Okay, guess I'm not getting an answer for that yet—but that's more concerning. "I'm just worried about where you were."
"I was safe, just…" Joan moves over to wrap an arm around her, and those crystal blue eyes fix me with a glare. I've hit a nerve somewhere, but I don't even know what it is. I've got to get to the bottom of this, because there might be something worse going on, and I cannot have that. Not in my house. It's already seen enough darkness and horror. The kitchen, eighteen years ago, was enough. I leave our daughter alone with her friend. I pause for a moment, just outside the door.
"If you want to come downstairs in a bit, I'll tell you some more of our story."
"It's not fair bribing her like that, miss Bergman."
"If you want to keep her to yourself, mess Belafont, I'll just tell her tomorrow night."
"Oh." I can hear some hushed whispering behind the door. A moment later it cracks open. Joan peeks out, looking up and down the hall.
"So you sort of accidentally invited auntie Elsa on a date, right?" And before I can protest, she drags me into the room. "And Tina was gonna hear it anyway."
Joan and Tina are lying on their sides, sort of cuddling, or spooning, or maybe trying to use each other as blankets given the way their limbs are draped around. I sit on the floor with my back to the vanity. I'm quietly reminded of how we used to lie sometimes.
—∞—
Elsa was laughing at me, and she was the one that had fallen. On top of me, no less, but that might have been why she was laughing. I really had no idea what I was doing a) dating anyone, and b) dating another woman. She just thought it was funny. Dinner had seemed too stressful to get right, so instead I'd asked her out for lunch. Just somewhere nearby—which turned out to be a mall, with the usual 'healthy' food options.
Extricating myself from the chaos of tangled limbs and fallen crutches, I helped Elsa up, steadying her as she leaned on the crutches. Then I took the time to fix my dress, which might have fallen bit further than off-the-shoulder really should, and then I smoothed out her hair and jacket. Well, it was my jacket, but I'd let her keep it long enough now I basically considered it hers. I still wasn't sure why she wore it, but it somehow looked nice over her pale blue dress with the plunging neckline that seemed to draw attention from every quarter—and more than enough from myself.
We'd worn nice clothes—perhaps too nice—for what was basically a trip to the mall. I felt terribly awkward. I had no manual to work from either. Romance was about feelings, not mechanics. Tough gig for an engineer. I wasn't up to cooking for her, despite our conversation the other day. Or dinner, for that matter. I still felt safer at home after night fell. Another thing to blame Hans for, but in time I got over that. The mall was noisy, but more than anything Elsa seemed to notice my silence—mostly because she'd only ever really heard me talking.
"Are you okay, Anniken?"
I wasn't. Why, I couldn't really say. I felt elated to be out in public with her, but also slightly nauseous because this was all so strange and suddenly real. But I didn't tell her any of that. I just smiled, and she seemed to buy it, but I noticed how guarded she became afterwards. That was my first mistake. Well, second, considering I'd also somehow tripped her while we were walking and she'd used me for a landing pad.
I looked around the options in the foodcourt. It really wasn't a great selection, and nothing looked that healthy—which I knew had to be a consideration for her considering she was a dancer and also recovering from a broken leg caused by me. I spread my hands wide, offering her the selection. I still didn't know anything about what she liked—except for the fruit I brought her—so this was easier to my mind. And that's how on our first date we wound up in the food court eating fish and chips—somewhat fancy, actually, given it was smoked salmon served with lemon and pepper chips. I couldn't let her know I didn't like fish. Which is also what she tried to cook the first time she cooked for me.
I really was an idiot.
Not knowing how to gauge how well the date was going, I felt lost. I couldn't just ask, because that seemed to be against some sort of unspoken rule about these things. I just had some chips, figuring that maybe later I'd fill up at home. I also felt like I had to make some kind of conversation—people went on dates to learn about each other, right?
"So, you're a dancer?"
"I was, until someone hit me with their bike."
"I only hit you because you jumped out in front of me." It was automatic, and true, and I regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
I looked away, down at the table, not worthy of meeting her gaze. I heard her fist bang against the table, and then a loud scrape as she pushed her chair back. Several people nearby turned to look at us. I put a hand out, just catching her wrist. She looked down at my hand as if it was something completely alien. But she stayed seated, so I was willing to call it a win.
"I ruined the date, didn't I?" The look she fixed me with said everything. My shoulders fell and I sighed. I needed to learn tact, and what to say when. "I'm sorry. At least let me help you back to hospital."
—∞—
"That sounds really touchy for Elsa," it's Tina interrupting this time. I can see Joan trying to surreptitiously kick her—probably for interrupting.
"She was, for a while at least. Some times I had to walk on eggshells, and others she was perfectly willing to talk about these things. It took time to figure out why."
—∞—
We wandered back through the mall without further incident, or much talk. It felt wrong, but that was that. My first date with a girl and I'd managed to ruin everything. Or so I thought. Because someone was having fun with the PA, playing a bit of rock. I was singing along, helping Elsa through the crowd.
"…to do with you
I don't really mind what happens now and then
As long as you'll be my friend at the end"
"If I go crazy then will you still
Call me superman"
I turned to my left, wondering who else was singing. It was Elsa, and her voice was amazing. We had a short little singalong as we walked, the tension between us somehow dissolved by this moment of bonding. There was still some tension though, and we still hadn't said much by the time we got back to hospital. I felt like I had to say something though, to apologize for being an ass. Because only then had I realized that my response to Elsa's earlier statement was also an implied question and a sort of oneupmanship thing, and that maybe she wasn't ready to face it yet—or at least she wasn't ready to tell me about it.
"I'm sorry I said that. It was pretty tactless of me."
"It was, but up 'til then we were having fun, right?"
"We were," I nodded, hoping this was some kind of forgiveness. "And I liked hearing you sing." She blushed at that.
"I liked your singing too, Anniken. Very enthusiastic. I would like to see you again."
"What, you thought one bad date was enough to get rid of me?" I couldn't help myself. Honestly, I couldn't. I was lucky that she smiled. I smiled too, blushing slightly, because despite everything I'd managed to make her smile again. It was worth all the touchiness, all the weird looks we got—and even a ruined date—just to see her smile. Even now, all these years later, I can still see her smile. One good thing I can never forget.
