“Define normal,” Kaj mumbled, following Noah out of the bedroom.
The apartment looked different in daylight—smaller somehow, but warmer, too. Morning sun streamed through the windows, illuminating specks of dust that danced in the air. Trinity, the calico cat, wound around Noah’s ankles as they entered the living room. The chunky Cheeto was perched on top of the back of the couch.
Trine was in the kitchen, pouring freshly squeezed juice into four glasses. Still wearing mostly black and grey, Noah’s mom looked almost the same as she did ten years ago. The only color accent on her was the auburn wig that enhanced her sharp cheekbones. Beside her was this tall, heavily tattooed woman with silver hair who was busy preparing a variety ofsmørrebrød. Everything looked so tasty, Kaj’s empty stomach growled.
“You’re finally awake, boys. Slept well?”
Trine’s smile hit Kaj with the force of a physical blow. Her face was more lined now, and there was an underlying melancholy in her ocean blue eyes, but the tenderness and mischief that radiated from her was the exact same as he remembered from when he was a kid.
“Kaj Larsen,” she said, setting down the juicer. “Look at you, all grown up and famous.”
A knot of emotions he wasn’t prepared for twisted in Kaj’s chest. He’d spent years deliberately not thinking about Trine, about how she’d been more of a mother to him than Katja had ever been. About how she’d given him a safe place when his own home felt like a minefield. About her jokes, her words of encouragement, her unconditional support, her acceptance and understanding. About how, after everything fell apart with Noah, he’d cut her off too, because seeing her would have meant confronting the mess he had become.
“Hi, Trine,” he managed, voice rougher than he intended.
She crossed the room in four strides and pulled him into a hug. The scent of her perfume—floral notes blended with citrus and sandalwood—engulfed him. His arms instinctively wrapped around her small frame. For a moment, he was sixteen again, safe in her kitchen while the world outside raged. Kaj clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes as the distinctive itching that always came before crying hit his nose.
“It’s been too long,” she murmured against his shoulder. When had he gotten so much taller than her? “Far too long.”
The lump in Kaj’s throat made it impossible to speak. He nodded, aware of Noah watching them, of the silver-haired woman tactfully busying herself with the food.
When Trine pulled back, her eyes were bright and watery. She patted his cheek with a cool hand. “You look good. Success suits you.”
“You look exactly the same,” Kaj said, finding his voice. “Still the coolest mom in Denmark.”
“Flatterer.” She laughed. “This is Sigrid, my wife. Sigrid, this is Kaj, Noah’s…” She trailed off, glancing between them with a raised eyebrow.
“Bandmate,” Noah supplied quickly.
“Friend,” Kaj said at the same time.
Trine’s knowing grin made heat rush to Kaj’s face. Some things never changed.
“The Kaj Larsen,” Sigrid said, extending a hand adorned with tattoos that disappeared beneath her rolled-up sleeve. “I've heard stories.”
“All lies,” Kaj said automatically.
“Oh, those are the only ones I believe,” Sigrid replied with a grin.
“I hope you boys are hungry,” Trine said, gesturing to the spread on the counter. “Sigrid went a bit overboard.”
“It’s not every day I get to cook for a rock star. Let alone two.” Sigrid winked at Kaj as she gave Noah a hug, squeezing him to her side.
They settled at the dining table, falling into a domestic rhythm that felt strangely natural. Kaj and Noah moved around the kitchen as if they’d done it a hundred times before, their bodies instinctively avoiding collision in the small space. That was until they sat to eat. Their knees bumped underneath the table, clearly not designed for more than two people.
Sigrid had prepared an impressive array of smørrebrød—some traditional, others with her own twists. Rye bread topped with herring and pickled onions, roast beef with remoulade, cured salmon with dill and mustard sauce. She also made a couple with scrambled eggs and chicken for Trine along with some lemon water as chemo apparently was messing up her taste and appetite. Kaj hated to know that, wished he could take the cancer away. Trine had always loved cooking and eating. Still, the familiar sight of Danish open-faced sandwiches made Kaj’s stomach growl audibly.
“Someone’s hungry,” Trine teased, passing him a plate.
“I haven’t had a bite since yesterday’s snack on the plane,” Kaj admitted, loading his plate. “And these look so good.”
“I made your favorite,” Trine said, pointing to the sandwich with egg and shrimp. “You used to inhale these when you were a kid.”
The fact that she remembered after all these years made Kaj’s heart skid. He took a bite and closed his eyes as the flavors exploded on his tongue.
“Still your favorite?” she asked with a kind smile.
“God, yes,” Kaj groaned. “This is fucking—sorry—freaking amazing.” He grimaced, not sure why he corrected himself.
