Authors: Jule Meeringa
“What?”
“I said he’s on his way here.”
“Thanks, I understood you the first time.”
“Then why did you ask? Can I have another cough drop?”
I fished a lozenge from a drawer and started running from one room to the other, picking things up. Something urgent must have happened, if Mathis was coming over to my house. When the doorbell rang, I had my arms full of dirty children’s socks that had been strewn on the floor, and Paula ran off to answer it. A minute later, Mathis appeared.
“Hello, Nele, I hope I’m not interrupting. I was just in the neighborhood.”
“Hi. Has something happened?”
“Did somebody die?” Paula stared at Mathis. She had recently seen a movie in which a character had died.
“Not that I know of.” Mathis tweaked her cheek.
“That’s too bad.”
“Paula!”
“I’m going to go watch TV.”
“Good idea. Can I get you some coffee, Mathis?”
“Please. But I won’t keep you for long. I was just curious about how the proposal was going. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can read it, but it’s not totally finished. We still need Lars’s part. But so far, it doesn’t look like there’s anything anyone could object to. It’s perfect.”
“Well, that’ll probably be the problem. Have you and Lars set up a time to meet?”
“No, but I should be ready by next week.”
“I’m sure that’ll work for Lars.”
Since I had no desire to chat with Mathis about his family, I went into my home office and brought back a pile of papers.
“Here, you can read it over. I’ll go get some coffee.”
When he was done reading, Mathis set down the proposal and nodded with satisfaction.
“Well,” he said then, “if this doesn’t work out, it won’t be our fault. This all looks really good. Great work, Nele.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m afraid I have to run. Thanks for the coffee. Do you think we can take this to the mayor before Christmas? I’m feeling the urgency on this.”
“It’ll be ready. There’s not much more to write. Then all we have to do is work on the presentation.”
“Perfect. When’s the application deadline?”
“End of April.”
“We’ve got time, thank God. I don’t think we’ve missed anything.”
Mathis waved good-bye to Paula in the living room and called out, “Ciao! Feel better soon.”
It took me three days to stop feeling freaked out.
A
re you coming for Christmas, too?”
“What do you mean, too? Who else is coming?” This time my mother had caught me in the middle of holiday baking. My hands covered with sticky dough, I held the handset with one thumb and forefinger while trying to wash the other hand under the faucet.
“All you kids are coming this year. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Thrilling,” I said and immediately tried to think of other options. I’d kill myself if I had to spend Christmas with my family. Three days with my overbearing brother Frank and his punk kid? No, thanks.
“Your father and I are thrilled. It’s been years since we all sat together by candlelight and sang Christmas songs and read poems out loud. I was telling Emilie just the other—”
Here was my chance. I put down the phone and started to wash the goo off my hands.
“Why’d you do that? Did Grandma put her phone down, too?” asked Paula.
“No, but she’s talking about Emilie.”
“Oh, I get it.” She knew what my mother was like. “Why did Grandma call?”
“She wants us to visit for Christmas. There’s going to be a huge crowd: uncles and aunts, cousins.” I had somehow hoped to scare Paula off, but I was disappointed.
“Awesome! This is going to be so much fun!” She shoved a wad of dough into her mouth.
Crap.
“Actually, I think it’ll be pretty stressful. And you know you and your cousin Olivia don’t get along. You two will be at each other within two minutes.”
“We’re already grown up, so we don’t do that anymore. Anyway, Anton will be there and I’d rather play with him. I’m in love with Anton.”
“You know what might be better?” I began. “Maybe we could—”
“I don’t want to go anywhere else. I want to see Anton and decorate the Christmas tree with Grandpa. I like Grandma’s idea.”
Resignedly, I picked up the telephone again.
“. . . but Emilie said Christmas hadn’t been this warm since Wolfgang was born. You were still little then, Nele. Or was it Sabine? Either way—”
“It was me,” I said. “And we’re coming, too. Paula really wants to.”
My mother switched to worrying about where everyone would sleep and whether she had enough bedding. I told her Paula and I would bring our sleeping bags.
“Perfect. Frank and Cordula would never sleep in a sleeping bag, so we’ll give them the guest room.”
“Naturally.” My brother practically broke out in a rash at the mere utterance of the words
sleeping bag
. Such things reminded him too much of his premedicine army days, when he’d been expected to sleep in the unhygienic outdoors, “along with the rodents.”
“Sometimes it actually makes things easier that you don’t have a man, Nele. If you did, we’d have to find room for him, too. Oh! Do you know who’s getting married next week?”
“Oh, no, my cookies! I’ve got to go, Mother. They’re burning!” I threw down the phone.
“But they weren’t even in the oven, Momma. Why would they burn?”
“Because sometimes they just have to,” I said and slammed a large chunk of dough onto the table.
My God, it was beautiful! I watched the TV, enraptured, as scenes of Central America appeared on the screen. The images were so beautiful, tears came to my eyes and the old feeling of wanderlust rose within me. I poured myself a glass of red wine and cozied back up on the sofa with my blanket and hot water bottle. Outside, snow fell in thick white flakes, then melted as it hit the ground. Contrasting images zipped past on the screen: sunny beaches, laughing people, and happy couples. It was more than I could take. I channel surfed for a while, then finally switched the TV off and crawled farther under my blanket. My meeting with Lars was set for the next morning. I’d tried unsuccessfully to pawn him off on Marco. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous. The whole situation still felt bad to me. Lars had no idea about my history with his father. To him, I was just another of his father’s many business associates—one of the bitchier ones. I hated for him to think badly of me. I vowed to try harder so he’d have to rethink his opinion.
I shoved a handful of chips into my mouth. Why did my life have to be so confusing? Why couldn’t I be like my siblings: get married, have a kid or two, build a little house, and join the local bowling club?
Because that kind of stable, predictable life would bore you to death,
I answered my own question.
Even as a child, I’d seen middle-class life as annoying. After my failed attempt to run away at age ten, I increasingly got lost in daydreams. My favorite scenario was that I was adopted and that my real parents were journalists who were always traveling to foreign lands. They were rich, of course, and would one day come back to free their beloved daughter from her stifling middle-class life and show her the world. Since I looked just like my father, I knew that my dream would forever stay a dream.
Lars’s apartment was quite comfortable, if a bit chaotic—definitely an artist’s living space. Large-format photos from various artistic performances hung on every wall. In one, a fire artist swung his torches dangerously close to the audience; another picture was of a brightly rouged Samba dancer. The living room wall was sprayed with one giant word of graffiti; after some effort, I managed to decipher the word
Liberté
.
Lars had disappeared into the kitchen to prepare us a cup of tea, so I had a little time to look around. On one shelf was a framed photo of three smiling faces: two adults and a small child. My heartbeat quickened and I stepped closer. There they were: Mathis in bell-bottoms, his hair shoulder-length and his stomach a bit leaner; Helga in a long flowery dress; and Lars, perhaps two years old, looking content in his father’s arms. I felt jealousy rising in me.
“That’s me with my parents,” Lars explained unnecessarily as he carried in two steaming cups of tea. “You probably recognized Mathis.”
I nodded. But for some reason, the woman in the photo also looked vaguely familiar. Was it possible that I’d seen her before?
“Does Helga live in the area?” I asked.
“Yes, she lives here in the city. She married again, just like Mathis. But how do you know my mother’s name is Helga?”
“I supposed Mathis must have mentioned it in passing.”
“In passing?” Lars scrutinized me. “That’s funny. Mathis doesn’t talk about his life even with people he knows well. I can’t imagine him mentioning something like that to you unless . . .”
“Unless what?” I asked.
“Have you known each other a long time?”
“Yes. I mean, not
really
. . .” I felt myself turning red.
“I see.” Lars sat in an armchair and placed the cups on the table. “Actually, it’s none of my business.”
I sat opposite him at the table and stared into my tea. Off to a great start, once again!
“Mathis says you’ve already finished the proposal. Can I see it?” I was relieved to get back on safer ground.
“Yes. All we have to do is add your part. If you’d like, I can leave it here and give you time to read it over. We can figure out how to work in your contribution later.” Then I could quickly disappear.
“Good idea. But I’d like to go over a few ideas with you first. It’s easier for me to think out loud than to start by writing everything down. I’m a pretty lazy writer by nature.” Lars fished out a paper from a stack of handwritten notes.
“First of all, I was thinking that we could . . .” For half an hour, he kicked around various ideas but, although they were all probably very interesting, I couldn’t focus on the content. From his voice to his facial expressions to his gestures—and most of all, his bright-blue eyes—Lars reminded me of Mathis with all that he said and did.
“What do you think, Nele, does that all make sense?” Lars asked.
“It’s perfect.”
“Are you sure? Like I said, I don’t really want to get it down in writing until—”
“No, it’s good like it is.” He gave me a funny look.
“Well, it doesn’t sound like you want to discuss it any further. I guess I’ll go ahead and add it the way it is. Maybe I’ll go over it with Mathis.”
Well, that was just great. I wanted so badly to make a good impression. Instead, I’d messed everything up with my stumbling and mumbling. He clearly thought I was a failure.
“Okay, then I’m off to my next appointment.” I jumped out of my chair and made a beeline for the front door. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“I’ll call you when I’m done. And Nele?” Lars spoke in a quiet voice. “Don’t be unhappy.” Then he shut the door behind me.
“What did he mean by that? Can’t men ever just say what they mean?”
Shaking her head, Ines poured more sugar in her cocoa, then waved the waiter over and ordered her third slice of cherry pie. She, Sandra, and I had gone into town to shop for Christmas gifts for the children, and now we were at the café, rewarding ourselves for all that work. The person who thought up the idea of exchanging Christmas gifts had better hope we didn’t find out who was to blame.
“Don’t be unhappy? What is that? And now you’ll be up all night trying to figure it out. Men have no idea.” Sandra looked rather dark. “Let it go, Nele. Or if you must, ask Lars what he meant. Maybe he’ll actually explain—though, whether or not the explanation will make you happier remains to be seen.”
“It’s fine. From this day forward, I refuse to let male-speak get under my skin,” I vowed, lifting my cup.
“So let it be written, so let it be done.” Ines took a big gulp of hot chocolate and we toasted this decision.
It proved easier said than done. Lars’s words and the memory of the photograph stayed with me for days. At night, I dreamed about Bell-Bottom Mathis, Helga, and Lars. They jumped out of the photo, waved to me, and did somersaults. They played happily in green meadows and splashed in the sea before boarding a white sailboat and sailing away. In the dream, I couldn’t stop crying, and when I woke up, my face was wet with tears. That smile . . . I thought upon waking. Where had I seen Helga’s smile before? Did I have an encounter with her, either without knowing she was Mathis’s ex-wife or before he and I had ever met?
Lars needed exactly one week to incorporate his ideas into our proposal. One night, he showed up at my door unexpectedly.
“I just finished and I thought I’d pass the documents on to you so you can call tomorrow and set up an appointment with the mayor. With just two weeks to go before Christmas, we could be on the verge of quite a nice holiday.”
Lars dropped onto the sofa, and I took a quick look at the documents. The proposal had been just under a hundred pages, and he had added another fifteen.
“Will the mayor even read all this?” It seemed doubtful to me.
“He will if he likes the general idea.”
Mathis and I had both said the same thing.
“Do you think you’ve done enough of these for people to trust you?” I asked.
Lars shrugged. “There will always be doubters. Jealous people, too. But I haven’t had one of these projects fall apart on me yet. Can I have a few of these?” Lars reached into a glass bowl filled with hundreds of colorful gummy bears.
“Hey! Those are mine,” Paula cried from the doorway. She’d just gotten back from an afternoon at the ice-skating rink and was rosy-cheeked from the cold, a thick wool scarf still wrapped around her neck.
Lars’s hand was halfway to the bowl. “Oh,” he said, turning to Paula. “Then I’d better ask first. May I?”
“You look like Mathis, but you’re not Mathis.” Paula stared at him.
“Do you know Mathis?”
“Of course, he’s always here.”
The look Lars threw me spoke volumes.
“Now Paula,” I said, “you know he’s not here that often.”
“Are you Mathis’s brother or are you his twin? Karl and Jasper look exactly alike and they’re twins. No one can tell them apart, except for me because Karl is smaller than Jasper. Are you smaller than Mathis?”
“Mathis isn’t my brother, he’s my father.” Lars grinned at her.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I agree.”
“You can have some gummy bears.” Paula reached into the bowl and put five pieces in his hand.
“Thanks, Paula. That’s very sweet of you.”
“You want to see my class photo? Mathis said that Anneke and I are the most beautiful.”
“I’m sure he’s right.”
Paula ran to her room and retrieved the photo. “See!” She stuck the photo right under Lars’s nose.
“It’s totally obvious: you’re the prettiest. Which one’s Anneke?”
Paula pointed.
“Also the prettiest.”
“Want to have another gummy bear?” Paula beamed.
“Yes, please. Then I need to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“Paula! That’s not your business.”
“Are you going to see Mathis?” Paula persisted.
“Yes, exactly. I’m going to see Mathis,” Lars said. “It’s my brother’s birthday and we’re going to celebrate.”
A Hagena family party! I suddenly felt very weird.
“Can I come? I love birthday parties!”
“Paula, that’s
enoug
h
!” Both Paula and Lars flinched. Paula glared at me as her eyes welled up with tears.
“I don’t have a gift anyway,” she sobbed, then slammed the door shut behind her.
For a long time, Lars quietly put one gummy bear after another into his mouth. He finally looked at me and said, “You don’t have to tell me everything that’s going on between you and Mathis. But it’s obviously much more than a business relationship.”
“Actually, our relationship really is just business,” I said in a quiet voice. “Unfortunately.”
“But it wasn’t always.”
“No, for a little while it was more. It happened during summer vacation.” I felt a sudden, fierce desire to tell Lars everything, but I also felt a lot of pain. Mathis probably hadn’t said a word to anybody about us. He’d dealt with it by himself, and I doubted he wanted to stir up the past again now.
“So you two went on vacation together?”
“We met on vacation by chance. A stupid coincidence. Look, you wanted to go, I won’t keep you.”
“I’ve got time. Please don’t think that I’m just being nosey. It’s just that I’m starting to realize why Mathis has been acting so funny lately.”