Maybe Baby (12 page)

"Thank you," I said softly. "I really needed that."

"
Don't think about him." He kissed me again. "It's just you and me this weekend, okay?"

I nodded and let his words soothe me. But when we stepped back into the living room, I felt his grandmother watching me. I couldn't meet her eye. I was pretty ce
rtain she'd heard every word I'd said.

Alma Rasmussen adored her grandson. There were pictures of Mads everywhere. Old school portraits with Mads at various ages hung on the wall leading to the kitchen. One picture in particular caught my eye. A teenaged Mads glared at the camera, the bump on the bridge of his nose red, swollen and angry-looking, and violent bluish-black smudge under his right eye. His straw-colored hair hung lank around his face. I wanted
to reach into the picture and tuck it behind his ear. This teenage version of Mads was full of anger, and his pale eyes seemed to challenge the photographer. But there was a story there; what had happened that led to the bruises on his face.

"
He was sixteen then."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hadn't heard his grandmother leave her chair or even walk across the creaking oak plank floors. She patted my shoulder, and then sighed as she looked up at the photograph. His face was thinner but he was already beginning to look like a man and not a boy.
"What happened to him?"

"
A fight," she said and shook her head. "The poor thing, trying to defend a girl. He was so angry then." The older woman sighed again.

"
Why? What happened?"

"
His mother died. She had a terrible accident," she said softly in English. "He hasn't told you this?"

"
We haven't known each other that long," I admitted. The truth of it jarred me. We'd shared such a deep intimacy but we didn't really know much about one another. "It's still quite new."

"
Mads must have strong feelings for you, then," Alma surmised. "You are the first woman he's brought here since his divorce."

A scintilla of surprise sparked inside me. I tried to keep my face from revealing anything, but Alma was perceptive. She linked her arm with mine and led me back to the living room. At her bookcase, she showed me
a framed photo of Mads on his wedding day. The sylphlike woman at his side was laughing at someone just beyond the camera. Her golden hair was decorated with flowers, and looked perfect with the thin, gauzy dress she wore. Her delicate features gave her a childlike fragility but something told me she wasn't as whimsical as she appeared.

"
That is Karin," his grandmother said, switching now from Danish to English. She tapped the dusty glass. "She was a sweet girl, but she and Mads weren't a good fit."

She showed me another picture of Mads,  a candid shot taken in what looked like her garden. He was laug
hing and his eyes twinkled with energy and joy. Beside him was an older man whose face was also alight with laughter. Mads was the spitting image of the man. They had the same nose, though the older man's was straighter than Mads's.

"
His grandfather, Henrik," Alma said. "Handsomest man there ever was, and the kindest too. Just like his grandson."

"
Mads resembles him," I said carefully, trying to use the Danish I'd learned. She nodded in encouragement at me. "They have the same eyes... the same nose."

"
They were very close." Alma eased herself back into her chair. "Henrik was more a father than a grandfather to Mads. Mads's father... he didn't know how to be a father."

Nor mine, I thought. So we had that in common. F
athers who didn't know how to be fathers. "My father didn't know, either," I said. "He left my mother around the same time she found out she had breast cancer. When my mother died, he said I wasn't his responsibility."

She fixed her milky eyes on me and said in a low, clear voice,
"I know you have something unfinished at home, my dear. And I know you feel very strongly for Mads."

"
I do," I assured her. "I'm ... trying to sort things out at home. I want to be with Mads. I do."

"
Then promise me one thing. Don't you break his heart. Whatever you do, don't you hurt my grandson."

"
I won't. I promise." There was a stammer in my voice, even though I'd wanted to sound confident. Alma Rasmussen didn't look away. Her smile was gone now, and it didn't return until Mads came back.

"
Farmor
, are you telling tales?" Mads returned bearing a tray with more cake, and flowers he'd arranged in jam jars. "I hope you're at least telling Laney nice stories about me."

"
I only have nice stories," she said as she beamed at him. When she turned back to me, I couldn’t meet her eyes. All I could think was what would happen if I never left Niklas, if somehow he managed to convince me to go through with the sperm donation and the insemination. Everything drained out of me. I didn’t want to lose Mads. But that’s what would happen if I didn’t do something soon. And we’d both end up hurt.

Later, as we drove back to the city, I watched
Mads's reflection in the window and imagined him in a house by the sea, like his grandmother's. He had her eyes, startlingly pale green one moment, warm and flecked with coppery tones the next. I angled my body closer to his and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. He grinned at me.

"
You're going to cause an accident if you don't stop," he teased. And as he said those words, something in his tone touched me and spiraled around inside me. I saw us bathed in golden light, our lives spread out before us like little books waiting to be discovered and read. The children we could have together, the life we could have if I would just take a leap of faith and let go of the gilded trappings of life with Niklas. I blinked quickly and turned my head away so I could stare out the passenger window. I didn't want him to see the confusion tumbling around inside me.

But that unsettling feeling was still there. Mads was inside me, even when he was not. Unfurling like a flower and taking root. I couldn't dispel him. I didn't want to. He reached across the space between us and stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb. His touch branded me and left me breathless. I was his.

"Do you want to go to the hotel, or to my place?" he said so casually that I nearly missed the twinge of uncertainty in his voice. We were on Øster Søgade now. The sign for my hotel was a few meters ahead. The sky had already darkening and streetlights were flickering on, casting a sulphur glow on the black asphalt streets.

"
Let's go to your place." I let my hand slide down to his thigh. His muscles tensed under my fingertips. "I want to see where you live."

"
Good, I was hoping you'd say that."

"
Why? Have you got a surprise planned for me?"

Mads shook his head.
"I was just hoping we wouldn't have to spend all our time together in hotel rooms. There's more to life than hotel beds."

"
Though we have had fun in them."

"
We have," he agreed. "We'll have fun in other places, too."

His apartment was on the other side of Dronning Louise Bridge, in the Nørrebrø district. I'd only ever passed through this part of Copenhagen en route to Ingrid and Anton's house. It had a different flavor from the rest of the city. It was gritty and lively, with kebab shops and hair salons specializing in African hair vying for space with trendy fusion bistros and designer bike shops. Nestled between all this chaos was a down at its heels, umber-hued turn of the century brick warehouse. And on the second floor of the warehouse was Mads's apartment. We climbed the uneven marble steps to his floor, and then he opened the door and let me into his life.

I wasn't sure what I'd expected. A pokey studio apartment, maybe? A utilitarian
Funkis style apartment with perfectly square rooms and no wasted space? It was nothing like the sprawling apartment Niklas and I called home. Mads had taken what looked like raw, industrial space and converted it into a loft, dividing it into what was absolutely necessary for him. A living room, with walls lined with bookshelves he'd made himself, a galley kitchen that proved he never really ate at home, and sliding paneled doors that separated the bedroom and the bathroom from the rest of the apartment. The gracefully arched windows jarred with the modern loft style, but somehow it fit.

There was a warmth here that felt very familiar and welcoming. I wanted to sink into his sofa and curl up with a book from his shelves.  I wanted to stay here with him and never leave.

"So this is home?" I trailed my fingers over the planes of his cheeks.

He set my bags down by the bedroom door.
"This is home. Not as nice as a hotel, but you're always welcome here." He grinned at me, a nervous, boyish grin that made me want to melt into him and forget everything else. And for a little while I did.

Mads pulled me up from the sofa and said,
"Come on, or we'll be late."

"
Late? I thought we were staying in," I teased as I wrapped my arms around his neck. I didn't want to go anywhere. Being along with him was all I'd thought about the entire week and now we were finally away from everyone. "Can't we just stay here and order some takeout?"

He planted a quick kiss on the tip of my nose.
"No, we're going out on a date. It's what proper couples do."

I smiled up at him.
"So we're a proper couple?"

"
We could be." He unwound my arms and led me towards the hall. "It all depends on you and what you want."

His words hung in the air between us as we put on our jackets and shoes. It was up to me.

He made me wait.

All through dinner, I wanted to feel his hands on me. Each smile promised more. A raised eyebrow set my heart racing. I crossed my legs, trying desperately to quell my desire for him.

"
Why do you stay with him?"

The question slid so easily from his well-formed lips. Our shared dessert was now nothing more than choc
olate smears on a white porcelain plate. A tiny chocolate crumb dotted the left corner of his mouth. I wanted to lick it away, but I needed to concentrate. His lips were so beautifully curved. It was hard not to stare.

"
That's not a simple question to answer."

"
Sure it is." He was stroking the back of my neck, drawing lazy circles with the tip of his index finger. "You must have your reasons for why you've stayed so long."

"
I don't want to talk about Niklas."

"
Laney, I just need to know what we're going into. I need to know how you feel." His touch branded me, claimed me as his own. My muscles unknotted for him. My blood pulsated for him.

"
Maybe I don't know the answer anymore."

"
I think you do."

"
Sometimes it's... easy to stay with him. When you've been together for so long, you know each other inside and out. You know what to expect," I said, carefully choosing my words. We were in a minefield. It would be too easy for either of us to get hurt. "And Niklas, the way he lives, it's what I always thought I wanted. The expensive vacations, the apartment in the right neighborhood, the never having to worry about money because there's always more than enough. I never had that security before."

"
So... why are you here with me?"

"
Because I like you, and you make me feel good."

"
That's good. You do the same for me."

"
I thought I wanted to marry Niklas. I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But I'm not so certain anymore."

Our waiter refilled our coffee cups and then asked if we wanted anything more. Mads shook his head and asked for the check. He'd abandoned my neck and was now playing with the springy curls escaping from my bun. I nestled into him, my head resting on his shoulder. He curved his arm around me and the scent of him c
ocooned me. Niklas never held me like this in restaurants. Not in Stockholm, anyway. In Stockholm, he frowned upon public displays of affection. I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy being so near him and feeling his warmth and desire.

Mads's
lips grazed my forehead. I closed my eyes and wished I'd met him in Stockholm, before I'd ever walked into that Third Thursday, before Niklas ever left his imprint on me.

"
If you aren't certain... if you want another option, choose me."

We slowly retraced the path back to his apartment building and marveled at the fog rolling across the lake. You could barely see the island of
Christianshavn and each step felt like delving deep into a dream. But, oh... how wonderful it was to walk beside him, to feel his palm slide against mine and our fingers lace. The heat of his skin kissing my skin. The gentle pressure of his thumb. We walked along the harbor without speaking. Fog lights blinked in the distance and the damp air chilled my skin. I wanted to tell him this was something new for me. Niklas never held my hand anymore when we were out walking together. He said it made him feel uncomfortable. I tried to remember the last time anyone had held my hand like this. I was not the girl boys walked home. I wasn't the woman they walked home either. I'd let myself become a booty call so I could have sex like a man and not let messy emotional attachments get in the way, and I'd convinced myself it was so I could be independent. Now, Mads was holding my hand, and all I wanted was for him to smile at me again and make me feel like the most beautiful woman alive. And it wasn't long before he did.