Open Me by Lisa Locascio

Author:Lisa Locascio [Locascio, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780802165701
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2018-08-07T07:00:00+00:00

4

ON MY FIFTEENTH DAY IN JUTLAND, I WOKE TO SøREN KISSING ME ON THE FOREHEAD.

“Good morning, skat!” He squeezed me. “Good morning, little sleeping Roxana! I am going to take you on an adventure today.”

I hadn’t been outside in weeks. I put on my linen dress and my orange scarf, wanting to look nice. When I opened the door to leave the bedroom, a new, dry smell rushed in from the hallway, breaking the seal between night and day. The table was set with hard-boiled eggs in eggcups, rolls, jam, butter, and cheese. Søren showed me how to peel thin slices of the cheese with a T-shaped utensil strung with a wire.

“This is very nice,” I said.

“It is my pleasure,” Søren said, peeking up to give me one of the sunny smiles I remembered from the beginning.

It was our first real breakfast, the first nonstoned meal we had eaten together in many days. I watched him split a roll, butter it, spread jam over the butter, and drape a white sheet of cheese over the jam. The egg yolks were golden jelly, darker than any I had ever seen, and they tasted like sunshine. Only after we finished eating did I realize Søren hadn’t said a word about my chewing.

“Ready to go, little dreaming Roxana?” Søren asked, packing items from the refrigerator into his bag. I took his arm.

Being outside felt like being high. I had missed the sun, its caress of heat. Everything looked friendly, the brick buildings, the pearly cobblestones, even the flat squares of pavement. I wanted to walk and walk. But Søren went to a little black car I had never seen before and opened the passenger door. Fuzzy upholstery and stale plastic. It smelled exactly like hot cars at home. He settled in the driver’s seat and turned the key.

“I thought you didn’t have a car.” I said.

“It belongs to my girlfriend’s mother,” Søren said and then put his hand over his eyes. “Sorry. That was stupid.” He slammed his head against the ceiling of the car.

“Please don’t do that.”

“I am an idiot.” He head butted the ceiling again, hard, and then a third time. “The car belongs to Mette’s mother,” he said. “My ex-girlfriend’s mother.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I knew it couldn’t be your girlfriend’s mother, because her car is a green Honda, and it’s on the other side of the Atlantic.”

Søren made a sound, half laugh half cough, and pulled away from the curb in silence. I shifted in my seat, stung. We lived together. Wasn’t I his girlfriend? I wanted to ask, but I was afraid of what he would say, a feeling that was becoming familiar.

We came to a stop at a roundabout near a field, beside the smallest truck I had ever seen, beat-up and beige, toylike. A tall man in khaki coveralls walked out of the field and leaned over the side of the truck, digging in a canvas sack in the bed. He had black hair and a short beard.

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