“You’re not dead yet, Mom,” Victor said, which made her laugh. Didrik would never have gotten away with a comment like that. “Don’t you think it’s great that Didrik is educating the viewers about history? He makes it so easily accessible.” Victor spoke encouragingly, and Didrik shot his brother a grateful look.
“But does everything have to be easily accessible? Everything has become so superficial these days. If you want people to understand history, surely the least you can ask is for them to make an effort.”
Didrik suppressed a deep sigh.
They moved on to dessert—Italian gelato served with strong coffee.
They chatted about their mother’s job and Victor’s research project, about the new library where Sofia worked as a librarian, and a little bitabout the baby. Nothing about Didrik’s job, until his father asked him something, a little shyly, as the two of them were clearing the table.
“What was that former education minister really like? I saw the show—it was good. You were good, as usual.”
Didrik smiled. His father often tried to smooth over his wife’s criticism, and Didrik knew that his father, at least, was proud of him.
“She was nice—kind of reserved, of course.”
“I can believe that. I’ve always liked her, even if she was a member of the wrong party.” His father laughed. “I thought it was an interesting discussion. Your mom thought so too.”
“Mom?”
“She watches every week, although she’ll never admit it.”
No doubt this information was meant to cheer Didrik up, but he just felt sad that she couldn’t share this with him. That she couldn’t tell him that she followed his career and apparently found his show interesting.
“You’re welcome to come and sit in the audience one day if you like.”
“I’d love that. Why not? If Mom wants to, of course.”
Didrik resisted the temptation to roll his eyes—why couldn’t his father think for himself? He was a highly competent individual with a long career in engineering and management behind him, yet he still had to ask his wife’s permission to do things.
“No problem.” Didrik patted him on the shoulder.
Dusk was falling by the time the party broke up. Didrik hugged his brother and sister-in-law again before they both climbed onto their bikes and Didrik got in his car.
It was a long drive from Uppsala back to the northern suburbs of Stockholm, but there was hardly any traffic today. He soon reached his own little suburb and drove into the safe housing estate where all the homes looked the same—modest dwellings that, these days, sold for sums that were anything but modest.
When he and Lovisa had started dating, they’d commuted between Uppsala and Stockholm. A couple of years later, Didrik secured a postlecturing at the University of Stockholm, while Lovisa took up a research job at Södertörn University. They bought an apartment together in the Gärdet district. However, city life hadn’t suited either of them.
He loved the house they had now. It was painted white and lay in a quiet cul-de-sac that was perfect for children, where they could play or learn to ride a bike without any dangerous traffic.
He got out of the car. Could he bring himself to go inside?
A movement by the front door stopped him in his tracks.
It was her.
Lovisa was there. She was home. To stay?
He quickly walked toward the door, but she was already on her way out. She closed the door behind her and put the key in the lock. She glanced up when she heard his footsteps. Looked at him wearily, as if he were an irritant.
Strands of hair had escaped from her blond ponytail. She was wearing her long gray coat over a navy-blue turtleneck sweater. Navy blue suited her. She was irresistibly beautiful. He admitted this to himself reluctantly—because she was no longer his.
“Can’t you come in so we can talk?” He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to make her the very best cup of tea, serve it with a slice of the walnut bread she loved. They would chat. About their work days, their dream of a family, their careers, plans for the future. The kind of thing they always used to talk about, though if he was brutally honest, they hadn’t done much talking recently.
“I have to go,” she said firmly, removing her key from the lock and dropping it in her purse.
“Please, Lovisa. Can’t you stay? Please, I ...” He broke off. He didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t let her leave. “Don’t go.”
She paused as if she was wondering what to say, almost as if there was something on the tip of her tongue. But then she shook her head and looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry Didrik, but it’s best this way. Best for us.”
