“I’m not sure if it’s the same,” I said. “But you know I’m getting a good response from the expat photography project I did. When I get back to Detroit, I’m meeting with another friend about some other project leads she has. If I drop everything to move to Sweden with you, I’m scared that in a few months, when you’re traveling more days than not, I’ll be back where I was before I left Detroit. On a career path I don’t like, just because it fits into my boyfriend’s life.”
I already knew what it meant to be that woman.
Niklas’s frown deepened.
“Can’t you work on a career from Sweden?”
“I have no connections there, nothing to work with. I’d be completely dependent on you.”
Niklas leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. He looked out the window, and for a moment I wondered if he wasn’t going to say anything. Finally, he turned back to me and gave me a little smile.
“I probably shouldn’t say this, but I don’t mind if you’re dependent on me,” he said. He sounded resigned. “So if I ask you to come back to Sweden with me, you’ll say no?”
I wasn’t sure if this was a question or a statement.
“How about ‘not yet’?” I asked, trying to avert the threat of tears.
“You don’t think I can give you the life you want.”
He said this quietly, almost to himself, as if it were no longer a question. Every word hurt, pushing my tears to the surface.
“Please don’t say that. That’s not what this is about.”
He nodded, but it looked more like acceptance than agreement. I squeezed his arm, planted hard on the table. I rested my hand on his bare skin, trying to find my way back to him.
