11
NIKLAS’S GIRL
Morning light streamed into the corner office and onto the desk where I was working. Or, rather, where I was staring over my laptop and out the window, through the trees to the sparkling lake. I had traveled all over the world these last months, but there was nothing like the quiet beauty of Michigan’s small, hidden lakes. Unfortunately, staring at a beautiful view wasn’t going to solve any of my problems. Time to sort out the job.
The phone buzzed on my desk. I looked down at the screen, took a deep breath, and picked it up.
“Mama?”
“Am I catching you at a bad time?”
I wanted to say yes. I had to resist the familiar urge to avoid a conversation I wasn’t ready to have. Instead, I closed my eyes and continued. “No. Just working.”
“Hmm.”
The line was silent for an extra beat. My mother was rarely at a loss for words, but I could hear the hesitancy as she began to speak. “We saw a picture of you in the paper this morning.”
I snapped my eyes open. “What do you mean?”
“You and Niklas. Something with hockey. I could see it was you.”
My hands shook as I typed in a search on my laptop. The article popped up, and I clicked on it. Relief trickled in, thawing my limbs. The article was about Niklas, not the two of us. In the photo, I wasn’t recognizable. I wasn’t exposed. Yet. I closed the article.
“Since when do you read the Sports section?” I finally asked, trying to keep my voice light.
“Since you surprised us with Niklas. I figured we might learn something even if you’re not going to tell us.”
I felt the sting of my mother’s rebuke.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“When you said you were staying with someone you met traveling, I assumed this person was a girlfriend. Not an enormous Swedish hockey player known for his rougher side.”
I winced. “I didn’t think I needed to say it, but not everything you read about him is true.”
My mother took a long, audible breath.
“So are you…” I could almost picture my mother’s face as she worked up to her next question. “Are you living with him?”
“Yes,” I said quietly, knowing the next question this answer would bring.
“Are you planning to get married soon? Because you know what happens when you wait too long.”
I gritted my teeth. Was this a reference to my relationship with Brad? The implication being that if Brad and I had only gotten married, everything would have turned out better? There were so many problems with that statement I didn’t even know where to begin. Then again, I knew the answer to my mother’s question.
“We’re probably not getting married,” I muttered.
“Oh.”
My mother didn’t comment further, but she didn’t have to. I had already come up with plenty of reasons why Niklas wouldn’t want to be married—and most of them weren’t good. I squirmed under the silence.
Finally, my mother gave a little laugh. “Well, honey, now I understand why you haven’t called me.”
At least my mother and I were on the same page there.
Some of the tension left my shoulders. “I don’t know what’s going on, Mama. And that’s the truth.”
“If it makes you feel better, your father doesn’t seem as worried. He really liked Niklas.”
