Tell Me You're Mine(4)

My newly won freedom. My new strength.

I just wish I could forget the real me completely.

And that’s where Stella Widstrand comes in.

My thoughts are interrupted when the lecture begins. I listen closely and take notes until the break. Then I stand up and let the people in my row file past me into the aisle. I’m considering if I should leave the hall or stay, when I hear his name.

Fredrik.

I look around the hall. He’s sitting a few rows above me. He looks up, meets my eyes, and nods briefly. I know I’m staring. He rises and turns around, looking for Medhi. He shouts out something to him that I don’t quite catch.

Fredrik is slender and slightly taller than me. He has a thick mop of blond hair that he often tosses to the side or runs his hands through. He laughs a lot. I can imagine the seven-year-old version of him in his school picture. Pretty much like now, but with a tooth missing in the front.

He usually wears jeans or chinos low on his hips and T-shirts. He’s a skater and coaxed me onto his long board once. He ran along beside me, holding my hand and laughing so hard. When I asked why, he told me I squeal like a girl. He’s cute, cool, handsome. And he’s a good dancer. I know from experience, at the freshman party.

He can never, ever know what I’m really like.

There’s a gorgeous, rail-thin brunette sitting next to him. She stands up, pulls on his hand, and he looks at her. Laughs at whatever she’s telling him as they climb up the stairs toward the exit. He’s obviously tired of me. Maybe he suspects something. Maybe he knows.

Maybe everybody knows there’s something wrong with me.

I sit down again. Wish my life was different. Wish I fit in, that I was like everyone else. That there was no shadow inside me. Nothing to hide. But my life is not like anybody else’s.

And it’s her fault.

I want revenge.

I want her to suffer, like I’ve suffered.

I want her to cease to exist.

I want her to die.





Stella



Thunk, thunk, thunk. The sound of basketballs bouncing against the floor and walls. Now and then a ball actually hits the backboard with an echoing racket. The noise level is deafening.

I’m headed down the bleacher stairs at the Vasalund Hall in Solna. A firm grip on my paper cup of scalding-hot coffee. I sit down and nod to some familiar faces, then take out my phone to avoid conversation. I spent the week going to work, listening to my patients, buying groceries, cooking dinner, doing laundry. Pretending that everything is the same as always. But I haven’t been able to think about anything but Isabelle Karlsson. I think about her all the time. It didn’t matter to me that Henrik was working late every night or that Milo hung out with his friends too much.

Marcus sent a text message:

Does dinner Wednesday work for you? My brother defers to you.

I’ve always liked Henrik’s little brother, but I have no desire to socialize with anyone right now. Still, I reply that we’re looking forward to finally meeting his new love interest. And seeing him and the kids, of course.

Another basketball mom I recognize asks if she can sit down. I scoot over on the bench and look out at the players. Milo is dribbling on the other side of the court. I wave but he doesn’t see me. I take my diary out of my purse, balance it on my knees. In my teens I kept a diary almost daily, and this ended up being the last one.

There’s obviously page after page about Daniel, but also about what I wanted to do with my life. A teenager’s thoughts, plans, and dreams. I wanted to be a tailor. Or a ceramist. Maybe work in fashion or interior design. I wanted to do it all. I wanted to be a Renaissance woman, working in some creative field, traveling around the world, spending a month here or there.

Daniel didn’t share my dreams. He had no interest in traveling or studying or learning new languages. He wanted to stay in Kungsängen, the suburb of Stockholm where we grew up, and eventually open an auto repair garage. He was content with his cars, some street racing, and a few beers with his buddies on the weekends. We were very different. But I was in love, and we were happy.

In the fall of 1992 Daniel and I spent all of our time together. We drove around in his red Impala, having fun, with no clue what was in store for us. We both wanted to keep the baby. We even talked about having more.

I wrote about the pregnancy, about my anticipation and my fear. About the looks people gave us. We were teenagers expecting a child and not everyone thought it was as wonderful as we did.

The birth, the first time I held her to my breast. Daniel with tears in his eyes and Alice in my arms.

The first time we met the little person who would turn our lives upside down. Her scent. I could smell her forever. Her sweet little mouth. Her dimples.

I thought I’d feel more when I read about all of this. That every word would grab me, give me joy and laughter, or sorrow and tears. Honestly, I don’t remember much of what I’ve written. It’s like a story told to me by an acquaintance.

As long as I refuse to think about that day a year later. As long as I keep the door closed to that room. I don’t know if I have it in me to face the pain, if I could handle hearing the accusations. I just don’t think I can go back, let guilt drag me down again.

Why weren’t you there?

I flinch when someone scores a basket, and the man behind me roars.

Milo takes the rebound and dribbles across the court.

When he was younger I went to every practice, every game. Both basketball and tennis. Even though I don’t need to anymore, I still go to many of them. He’s thirteen. And I am hopelessly overprotective. He’s my only child.

I wonder when I stopped thinking of him as my second.

Both of them got their smiles from me. Milo has my curly hair and Alice, my eyes. Otherwise they both favor their fathers.

Alice. Daniel.

Milo. Henrik.

Different lives.

Are they colliding now?

What will that do to me? To my family?

It must be a coincidence. It has to be my imagination. I’ve spent enough time hoping and believing. I can’t handle more anxiety and useless suspense. Nothing will change what happened. I’ll never get back the time I lost.

As we leave Vasalund Hall, I throw the diary into a trashcan.





JULY 29, 1993


I’m a mother now!

Alice Maud Johansson is one week old today.

There was no way I could have imagined what it feels like, I know that now. My life has changed completely.

Who knew I was capable of feeling instant love for a person. She is the most perfect thing you could possibly imagine. Little, tiny chubby fingers and toes. Tons of hair sticking out in every direction. She was born with her own fur hat, Daniel says. Just like him. Thick, black hair.

The world’s cutest little mouth. I think she even has dimples. Especially one on the left side, like me. Her right ear looks like Daniel’s and Maria’s. Elf ears. It’s genetic.

She looks more like her dad, but she has my eyes. She’s a mix of the two of us. I have never been so happy in my life.

She’s also so helpless, completely dependent on me.

It’s a lot of responsibility.

It hasn’t been that long since I waddled home lugging bags of groceries—which Daniel chewed me out for afterward. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to lift anything heavier than a carton of milk or a loaf of bread. Then he put his ear on my belly and listened. He sang Elvis songs to it, “Teddy Bear” and “Love Me Tender.” Then he fell silent and stared at me with wide eyes, whispered that he could feel her moving. Then he ran his hands over my stomach, searching for our baby, trying to feel her feet. That was just a week ago. It could have been a century ago.

I was in labor through a whole night. It hurt like crazy, and I thought she’d never come out. It was awful, but also the most awesome thing I’ve ever experienced. When they finally put her on my breast, all pink and wrinkled, her big eyes stared straight into mine, and it was the most beautiful moment of my life.

Daniel didn’t like seeing me in so much pain. I squeezed his hand so hard he thought he might faint, too, he told me later.

And he did actually faint! At the precise moment Alice was born. He fell like a tree and hit his head against a chair. He doesn’t want me to mention it, but he got five stitches near his hairline. My love. My brave hero.

The first time he held her, he cried. I feel more in love with him than ever.

Mom and Helena were here today. Even though Mom thinks we’re too young, she could barely bring herself to let go of little Alice. Helena was kind of stiff, both to me and Daniel. She still can’t relax around him. And she didn’t want to hold my daughter. It made me sad.

We’re becoming so different as time goes by.

I brood more and maybe I’m a bit on the introverted side. But how do you get anywhere if you don’t reflect and think? My sister likes to get things done; she doesn’t like to think so much. She carries on no matter how she feels. I got pregnant accidentally, and I don’t really know what to do with my future; she spends her time focusing on minor details.

Do I wish I were different? How could I? Who would I be then?

Life is unpredictable. Anything can happen.

No matter how much I brood or how much Helena plans, neither of us knows what to expect. Isn’t that what makes life interesting? I know I’m being silly now. A teenager trying to sound deep or whatever.

I need to sleep. Daniel and Alice are lying next to me, sleeping like logs. My family.