Page 71 of The Happiness Blueprint
“I could stay here all night,” I say.
“Why don’t we? The sunset is nothing compared to the sunrise. I’ll order us some dinner.”
I stiffen and doubt creeps in. I don’t like sleepovers. Never have. The houses always smell of other people and their laundry detergent. It’s like being breathed on with their warm breath for the duration of the stay. I feel good now,wonderfuleven, but when you sleep with another person, there is sometimes less air to breathe, and cold feet touching you with sharp toenails, and indeterminable sounds that wake you. But then I wonder if staying here with Alex could be just like it is now, in this moment. The up and down of his chest and his scent, the only difference being that I close my eyes and sleep.
“Alex, I’d very much like to do a sleepover with you.”
ALEX
Shared Calendar
New Note (Klara): Last night was amazing
Reply (Alex):Youare amazing
Reply (Klara): Please go ahead and schedule some dates if you want to. Various locations
• NEW EVENT (ALEX):Next Tuesday, 7pm. Dinner at Alex’s
Reply (Klara): It’s a date
I could get used to this, Klara in my arms. In fact,onmy arm, stopping the blood flow and leaving me with a tingling sensation. I should nudge her off, but I don’t want to disturb her. The curtains are long gone, so I woke up when the sun did. I feel calm for the first time in God knows how long. I know it’s okay: if anything, Calle would be happy. Brush dark hair away from her cheek and kiss the top of her head. She stirs, eyes with slight traces of black makeup open.
“I thought you’d run for the hills if I told you how I feel,” I say when she wakes up.
“What hills? We’re in the flattest part of Sweden.” She smiles, and I can feel my heart swell.
“I have to get going soon. I promised to stop by my parents’ and look at the case file properly ahead of the trial.” Still haven’t been able to read his defense or look at the images. Pushing the thought away for now.
“How are your parents? I mean, how have they been since the accident?”
“They’re okay. My dad kept building things for months afterward. Mum kept baking. They just kept going to the extreme, never stayed still. I stopped, completely stopped in my tracks. My dad grieves with his hands, not his brain or heart. He can’t relate to my experience at all. The garage is full of things he built. Birdhouses, chairs and sleds. You name it.”
“That makes me feel sad. A museum of processing loss.”
“When you put it like that... Maybe he should get rid of it.”
“Well, we work in construction. We could make an inventory and offer the items to customers for free?”
“He’d grumble and protest, but I think you’re right. It’s time the garage emptied. I’ll talk to him about it.”
“As for your mum—is that why you always bring cinnamon rolls to work?”
“Let’s just say we have enough for the staff meetings this year and next.”
This year and next.Let the reference to the future slip, pass, like tiny annoying symptoms of a cold that you push through and go to work with, knowing they’ll eventually floor you. Ignore them, and I know she does too because she just nods. Want to keep this a happy memory.
And in happy memories, one person doesn’t head back to London.
KLARA
How many times are you allowed to sit IELTS?
Google Search I’m Feeling Lucky
When I leave, I message my sister.
Me: The man I assumed to be married has turned out to be single.
