Maybe Tonight (4 page)

How many of my donations have led to successful pregnancies?”

Ida coughed and sputtered. “Where is all of this coming from?”

They were in her office, the pile of forms he needed to sign to go inactive forming a daunting pile on her desk. It was midday, but the wan sunlight made it feel like it was still morning.

Mads shrugged. “I’m just curious. I figured you must have records of this. You keep telling me how popular I am. So…how many has it been? And how many are here in Denmark?”

“I can’t give you that information.”

“Why not?”

“It’s private, Mads. You know the people who come to us value their privacy.” Ida’s shoulders tensed.

“It’s not very private when you advertise the mingles in
Metro
and the morning papers.”

Ida’s brows furrowed. She wouldn’t meet Mads’s glare, only kept typing furiously on her keyboard. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“You told me if I ever wanted to know this information, all I had to do was ask. Well, now I’m asking.”

“We haven’t used you so often in Denmark.”

“Why?”

“It would be problematic. Your look is too popular here.”

“My look?”

“Don’t play coy, Mads. You know women think you’re attractive. We see it at all the mingles.”

“But how many have used me here? Surely you can tell me that.”

“We’ve only let ten women in Denmark use your samples. The rest have been overseas.”

“Overseas meaning?”

“Canada, the United States, Russia…Australia.”

“And the samples here in Denmark? How many led to successful pregnancies?

“As far as I know, two.”

“As far as you know? You never did any follow-ups?”

“Why? Why is it so important?”

“I met my daughter, Ida.”

“How? Did someone give you the…”

“I bumped into her mother, she remembered me from the mingles. She was out walking with her daughter and I saw her.”

Ida blanched. Her mouth gaped but no words came out. She blinked rapidly then looked away from Mads. Her fingers still hovered over the keyboard.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost like a whisper. “I’m sorry, Mads…we should have never let anyone in Copenhagen use your sample.”

“I don’t care that it was here, Ida. I just want to know how many kids are out there…how many who could look just like me…”

“The foreign clinics never tell us anything. All we know is how many times they request a specific donor.”

“Well, how many times have I been requested?”

“A lot…”

Now it was Mads’s turn to grow silent. He almost didn’t want to know how many times he’d been requested. He let his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling and tried to remember how many times he’d been asked to leave extra samples.

“Did she look like you?”

He closed his eyes. “She was the spitting image of me when I was a child.”

“I’m sorry, Mads…that must have been awkward.”

“It was. Especially when I think of what I could ever have to offer any child. I have nothing, Ida. What could I possible tell her if she ever showed up on my doorstep?”

“Tell her the truth.”

“The truth wouldn’t make any child happy.”

“Well, don’t tell her about the money part of it. Tell her you wanted to help her parents. That’s what you did. She wouldn’t be alive without you.”

Mads nodded. Maybe Ida was right, but he tried to imagine–years from now–telling Lida how he’d helped her come into existence, and the disgusted look on her face shamed him. He picked up the pen and started continued signing the rest of the forms.

There was more to life than this.

There were things they never did.

They never became friends on Facebook, Instagram or any other social media, though there were so many times when Mads wished he could see what her life in Stockholm–her life without him–was like.

“We can’t,” Laney reminded him whenever he brought it up. “His kids are on Facebook, and–even if Niklas says he hates Facebook, he’s got an account there too. He’ll notice.”

They texted and made furtive phone calls whenever they could. And the days would pass and then she was back in Copenhagen again.

When they were finally together again, she admitted she wished she had pictures of him. “Sometimes the ones in my head aren’t enough.”

They were lying in his bed, the sheets twisted around them as darkness settled in the room.

“I’ll be glad when we don’t have to pretend like this anymore.”

“Me too.” Mads aimed the lens of Laney’s phone at them. She was nestled into his chest, her hair a dark cloud of curls on the pillowcase. He took a shot before she realized what he’d done, but she didn’t protest.

“Now you have a picture of us together…”

“I’ll have to hide my phone now.”

“Are you ever going to leave him?”

She nodded and pressed her lips to his collarbone, branding him. “It’s just hard to do it the right way.”

He dropped her phone on the mattress and took her face in his hands. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. The tiny pink tip of her tongue slid across her lower lip.

“I need to know this won’t be forever…I don’t want to hide in the dark like this.”

“It’ll be different soon,” she promised in a breathy voice. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Okay…I just need to know…”

“Soon, Mads…I promise.”

Later, when Laney took the evening flight and returned to her life in Stockholm, Mads took the train to Humlebek and then walked in the pouring rain to his grandmother’s house. The last time he’d visited, his grandmother had been in a strange, distant mood that had only lifted when his cousin Henrik arrived bearing presents and news of his latest trip to Singapore. But today, he found her at her kitchen table, bent over a crossword puzzle and humming along to a Frank Sinatra song on the radio.

“
Farmor
, you can’t sit here in the dark,” he said and switched on the pendulum lamp that hung over the table.

“I like when the dusk comes,” she retorted and turned her face up for a kiss on the cheek. “Now, pour us both a glass of white wine and tell me the latest.”

“We should eat too.” Mads checked the refrigerator. Sometimes his grandmother forgot about lunch or dinner, even when her home help assistant saw to it that there was a warm meal ready. Today though the house didn’t smell of the nursery-style food the assistant usually made–fish pies, mashed potatoes, boiled meat. Henrik must have come by–there were packs of hot-smoked salmon and fresh vegetables, pots of single cream and a new carton of milk.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Alma set down her pen and removed her reading glasses. “I don’t remember if I ate lunch.”

While Mads cooked, his grandmother went through the house, turning on the window lamps to chase away the autumn darkness. When she returned, she set the table for three.

“It’s just us,
farmor
. I don’t think Henrik is coming by, is he?”

“Henrik? Oh, no…no. Not today. I was thinking about your grandfather, my darling boy. For a moment, it felt like he was here with us.”

Another Frank Sinatra tune filled the silence. His grandfather had always liked Old Blue Eyes. Mads could imagine him now, sitting beside his grandmother, patting her hand and smiling.

“Maybe he is here with us,” he said as he brought a serving bowl full of pasta with salmon and cream sauce to the table. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of Chardonnay he’d found there. He uncorked it and then poured a glass for his grandmother and one for himself. Then he glanced at the extra table setting . He poured a healthy measure in that glass as well. His grandmother laughed and patted the tabletop.

As he served the pasta, he told her grandmother about Karin’s upcoming nuptials. He thought she would be surprised, but she simply nodded and tutted at all the right points.

“I think it’s good she’s found someone who makes her happy,” Mads said. “I didn’t make her happy. I don’t think we made each other very happy.”

“Neither of you were ready for marriage.” Alma tasted the sauce. “This is lovely, Mads. I always forget how well you cook.”

“You taught me.”

“I taught you how to make Danish food. But this is something completely different.”

“You took good care of me,
farmor
.”

“Your grandfather and I, we worried about you.” Alma let out a sigh. She touched her fingertips to her lips. Mads looked away. He didn’t want to see his grandmother cry. Lately she’d been crying a lot, remembering too much of the past.

“We didn’t want to tell you not to marry Karin,” she continued, her voice soft as a whisper. “We knew it was too soon for you both, but we knew we couldn’t stop you. You were so determined.”

“I know,
farmor
. Henrik…he tried to talk me out of it.”

“We all wanted you to wait. We knew you weren’t happy in Stockholm. But we couldn’t…well, at least you both came to your senses.”

Mads rubbed his chin and tried to think back to those days. When he was young enough to not give a damn about what anyone else thought. Had anything changed? He was still in limbo–sleeping with a woman who was involved with someone else and not caring what anyone thought. The only difference was now he knew he was in love. And he was pretty sure she felt the same.

“Where is your pretty American?”

“She’s at home.” He hadn’t told his grandmother about the reality of his situation with Laney. He didn’t want to give her anything else to worry about. She already worried too much about him. “She’ll be back in Copenhagen soon.”

“I like her, but she seems so sad.”

“She’s not sad,
farmor
.”

“You boys never learn how to read women, do you? Your grandfather was the same.”

“Things are complicated, farmor. That’s all.”

“When she leaves her husband, it will be less so.”

“She’s not married.”

“No, well then she is just as good as married. I heard her that time, Mads, my dear. I am old, but I can still put two and two together.” His grandmother took a dainty sip of her wine. “She is trying to sort things out, isn’t she?”

He nodded. “I just never thought I’d be in a situation like this.”

“No, well, we never do. Your grandfather was engaged to be married when we met. He left his fiancée for me.”

“You never told me that!” Mads grinned, imagining a younger version of Alma, charming his shy grandfather. “Naughty Alma.”

His grandmother laughed and covered her mouth again. “It was love at first sight. I believe in it. I believed in it then too. And I know you do as well. You are a romantic, Mads. You always have been.”

“Is there any cure?” he joked. Outside, the rain continued to fall, pelting the window and blurring the darkening sky.

“No, but you see…it’s the sort of illness you never want cured. To love someone so completely, to want only them and to know they feel the same…no one can ever replace your grandfather for me.” Alma’s eyes crinkled as she smiled at Mads. She reached across the table and patted his hand. “And you never felt that way about Karin. But I think you do now for your American girl.”

Mads stared down at the tabletop and let the warmth of his grandmother’s hand soothe away his doubts and fears.

“Sometimes it scares me, how much I care for her.”

“Love is supposed to be scary. That intensity? That’s the fire of it, that’s when you know it’s real.”

“When were you going to tell me about your girlfriend?”

Henrik and Mads were waiting for Adam to return with their beers. It was Friday night, and Mikkeller & Friends was crowded with the usual locals and some tourists. Mads ducked his head and pretended not to hear Henrik. He wasn’t in the mood for another grilling over Laney. Everyone knew now. Everyone had an opinion. Sometimes he wished he could turn back time to that moment when he and Laney first met–before anyone knew–when the intensity between them was so strong, so intimate and it was theirs alone.

Of course Henrik wanted to know. Now that Adam had brought Laney into the conversation, there was no way Mads could avoid talking about her. It wasn’t as though she was a secret. He just wanted to wait until she was finally here in Copenhagen before he started telling everyone about her.

But Henrik ignored Mads’s silence. “I know
farmor
met her—she told me all about it. So spill the beans. Can’t believe you haven’t told me before now.”

“You were in Singapore.” It was a weak excuse, he knew, but Mads thought it would suffice.

“Bullshit. You told me everything else, even about that wacky couple who propositioned you. So out with it! I hear she’s American and she’s leaving her husband for you.”

“She’s not married. They were living together, and yeah, she’s moving here next week for work.”

“And you.”

“And me…yeah.” Mads couldn’t help smiling. Sometimes it didn’t feel real, that she was there, that they were finally together.

“Fucking hell, you’re blushing! Unbelievable. So how long has this been going on?”

“A couple of months.”

“And you didn’t spill the beans to me and I’ve been moaning all the time about these crazy women I keep meeting.”

“Your stories were amusing.”

“What stories?” Adam asked as he plonked the glasses down on the table. He climbed onto the bench beside Henrik and stretched out his long legs. “Damn, it’s crowded tonight. What did I miss?”

“I was trying to get my cousin to open up about his woman.”

“She’s nice,” Adam volunteered. “I like her.”

“You’ve met her already?”

“She came to a party at our place.”

“Don’t mention that party…” Mads grimaced. He hated thinking about how Trine had behaved towards Laney. Whenever he thought about it, he was reminded of the panic he’d felt when he’d searched the crowded apartment for her, and then one of the Bunheads had tittered, “Your girlfriend left in a huff…” like it was a joke.

“Why? I liked meeting Laney, even if Trine was being a bit…mean about it.”

“Mean is an understatement.” Mads tapped the tabletop with his thumb. He didn’t even want to revisit that night. Fuck…he thought he was going to lose her then over Trine’s viciousness. “Trine had no right…”

“Totally with you there, Mads,” Adam said and gulped down some beer. “She knows she was out of line.”

“So…what’s next? When do I get to meet her?” Henrik leaned forward, his elbows pressed into the tabletop as he raised his eyebrows raised and  grinned at Mads.

“Soon,” Mads said. “Just…soon.”

The last person he expected to show up in his workshop was Anoushka. She was alone this time and was examining a dining table Mads had made as a one-off project. He wiped his sawdust-covered hands on the legs of his pants and nodded hello at her.

She rushed forward and kissed both of his cheeks. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”

Mads shrugged. “Well, either you need some new cabinetry…or something else. And for that…you’d need to contact the clinic.”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Anoushka laughed nervously and fidgeted with the bracelets jangling around her wrists. “I remembered you were a furniture maker, and I thought…maybe you’d want to help us with some things for Lida’s bedroom. I spoke to my husband about it…and he thought it was a good idea.”

Lida… he’d been trying not think too much about her. The little girl who looked so much like him. He swallowed hard and nodded. “How is she?”

“She’s wonderful,” Anoushka said and then looked around. “Should we sit? Maybe this will take a while?”

Mads nodded absently and gestured at the set of chairs one he’d designed when he was still a student. They were wide armchairs honed from cypress wood with thick, vegetable-tanned saddle leather upholstery and most customers gravitated toward them.

“Do you want something to drink? I could fix some coffee?”

“No, I’m fine. I just…I thought this would be something beautiful you could do for Lida, since we can’t really introduce you to her yet.”

“You want to introduce her to me?”

“Of course! She should know how you helped her become our daughter. My husband and I always felt that way. We told Ida from the start. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No, I guess she thought it would be weird or a contract violation. I’m not really supposed to have any contact at all with former clients.”

“Mads, how will the clinic ever know? And why would they care? We’re asking you to design something beautiful for our daughter, not for a secret donation.”

“No, yeah…you’re right.”Ever since that afternoon when he’d bumped into them, he’d been thinking about Lida even when he tried not to. She’d creep into his mind, filling little corners with images of her sleeping face, her burnished curls and smattering of freckles.

He stared down at his clasped hands. He thought about the desk he’d designed for Laney and how much she loved it. Every night she sat at that desk while she worked. Sometimes he caught her tracing his message to her with her fingertips. What if he could create something like that for Lida? Something she’d grow up with that she’d know was something he’d created just for her?

“I’ve got some ideas,” he said. “Tell me what you think you need.”

“You’ll do it?”

He nodded and raked his hair back. “I will. It would be an honor.”