Page 115

November 7th, 2017 3:00 am

Subject: Last email.

The first thing I noticed was your shoes. She’s a runner, I remember thinking. And then it was your nose. It’s weird, I know. Who looks at their dream-girl, and thinks, Wow she’s got a really great nose. Maybe because my schnoz is so big. Hang ups never die! The third thing was my chest and how bad my heart raced. Fuck, she’s gonna hear it. I didn’t know what to say to you then and I sure as hell didn’t yesterday. Both times, whatever it was, truly forgettable.

I’ll see you someday with your daughter, maybe she’ll be playing soccer, ha. And you’ll be cheering in Swedish, and when she scores the winning goal you’ll cry, and she’ll be embarrassed that you’re crying. She’ll roll her eyes but secretly love that you love her so much. I love that you cry, Isa. I hope you’re not still pinching your skin or digging your nails into your hand to make it stop. I want you to cry all the way home in the car from the game while you sing at the top of your lungs, “Wonderwall.” And when you get home, binge on Lucky Charms to celebrate. Just the marshmallows though, right? And when you finally tuck her in at night, you’ll say your prayers and make wishes, and they all come true. Because no one deserves it more. Not one fucking person.

Especially not me. I wish our love had been stronger than our mothers’ hatred. I wish twelve years was enough time to stop the ache of wanting to kiss someone the way I still want to kiss you.

But, by some miracle, my biggest wish did come true. I didn’t ruin your life. You’re as perfect as you were that day I first saw you.

Who am I kidding? I’m a selfish asshole. That’s not my biggest wish.

Farväl, min kärlek,

T

Chapter Sixty-Two

Mora, Minnesota

November 2017

Analise

It was snowing on Analise’s wedding day.

Flurries, the weatherman said on the television that morning, but nothing that would accumulate from the somber sky. The church had a quaint sitting room containing a scarred oak vanity with an attached mirror. Analise sat on a stool fitted with crushed blue velvet. How many brides had been here before, looked in this mirror, and saw an elated face beaming in the reflection? Smiles as bright and hopeful as a perfect spring day in Minnesota. She turned away, unable to admit that her wide eyes, shaded and outlined to magnify their color and shape, could not mask the sadness and hesitation.

There was a knock on the door. It was the fourth knock in the past ten minutes. She kept stalling. Every time she rose to her feet, she couldn’t take a single step and would sink back onto the stool, immovable. She imagined the guests murmuring, checking their phones, and craning their necks every minute or so. The pianist was on the same song for the third time.

The door quickly opened, and Dany entered. He’d brought reinforcements: Penelope and Melia. Dany’s hair was styled back from his face. He strode over in his shiny rented shoes, and his eyes glinted with concern as he knelt in front of her.

She smoothed the black lapels of his tux. “You’re not supposed to see me in my dress,” she whispered, not trusting her full voice.

“Truth be told, Ana,” he whispered back, his mouth twitching, “I’d much rather see you without your dress on.”

She chuckled, a bit of tension easing from her, but then Dany turned serious. “My timing is terrible, I know, but sometimes I can’t get my thoughts together when it’s convenient.”

She touched his shaved skin.

He continued, “You asked me what I would do if Sofia suddenly came back into my life.”

“Yes.”

“It would tear me apart. I’m telling you this so you know I understand.” His brown eyes held hers tightly. Eyes full of what Analise loved: his steadfastness, loyalty, and devotion. “But,” he pressed on, “I need you to believe me when I say this—I would still choose you. I would get up every day, and, even though it might kill me to have to see her, I would choose you.”

Analise nodded, swallowing her emotions. She looked past him to Melia holding Penelope’s hand. Her daughter’s eyes reflected Analise’s uncertainty.

Dany brushed his knuckles on her cheek. “Sofia was meant for me in a certain time and place. She gave me Julia. How could I not love her the rest of my life?”

His words brought the clarity Analise needed, but she dropped her face, shaking it. “No,” she gasped, shocked at what she was about to do, about to say. “No. If Sofia came back, I’d want you to be with her.” She stole a glance at Penelope. “I’d want you to have back what was cruelly taken from you, to have what you desperately prayed for when she was dying.”

“Ana, no⁠—”

“Yes. Yes.” She smudged her eyes. “I can’t—I can’t be with you when I can’t stop thinking about him. What he lost. What Penny and I lost. I love you too much to lie to you.”

“Mamma?” Penelope spoke up, and Analise saw the conflict etched into her features.