As we walk hand in hand, I take in the beautiful island and all the people around us. It’s a nice perfect day, which apparently is a rare occurrence in Copenhagen this time of year. It’s often rainy and overcast. I decide that I’ll fess up today.
We venture into the street food market. “This is the best place to get Danish street food,” he tells me. “Anything you can imagine.” Sure enough, the place is packed with all kinds of vendors: open-faced sandwiches, sushi, oysters, burgers... everything. When Eli mentioned ‘street food’, I thought it would be cheap, but that’s not the case. I opt for a sausage on a bun with cheese and pesto and a lemonade for a cool fifteen dollars.
Eli has lamb Moroccan stew and a foreign beer. We sit in open cafeteria style seating. The woman next to me is having sushi, and the man to my left is having what looks like a ham and cheese sandwich. The sausage on a bun was expensive, but it’s delicious. I’m all about the lunch and have almost forgotten about my worries. We people watch, and every once in a while, we smile at each other. We’re not very chatty today. I think the both of us realize it’s our last day together, and we’re both kind of upset about it. I wonder what he’s thinking. I want to know, but I don’t dare ask.
We walk over to the paper trees. “People from all over the world leave little notes and hang them in the trees,” Eli says. “Wishes. Messages of hope. Notes to loved ones. Goodbyes.”
“It’s easy,” he tells me as he takes a small white scrap of paper. “Just grab a pencil and a piece of paper. Write it down and hang it in one of the trees.” He scribbles something quickly, folds the small piece of paper, and hangs it. I desperately want to know what he’s written but I don’t ask.
I grab a small pencil and a piece of paper, and write down a wish. I fold it in two, and smile up at Eli. I hang it up in the tree, right next to his. He doesn’t ask me what I wrote. He simply takes my hand and leads me down the path, where we end up in a tiny little café, and share ginger cookies and coffee.
We’re tucked in at the back of the little café — there’s no one here but us. The day’s moving along nicely with more to come — Amalienborg, dinner, and a quiet evening at his place.
I don’t want to do this at his place. I want him to remember only the good memories when he’s lying in his bed, when he’s reading a book on his sofa, when he’s whipping up a meal in the kitchen. I don’t want him to remember this conversation, this revelation. Yet, I don’t want to be a coward, I don’t want to wait until I get back home, and tell him in a Facebook message. He deserves more than that. He deserves so much more.
“Thank you for everything, Eli,” I say.
He wraps a hand around his coffee cup. “My pleasure. Thank you for coming.”
“It was one of the best weeks of my life,” I admit. “If not the best.”
He smiles shyly, and then his gaze searches for mine. “For me too.”
Oh god, this hurts so much.
“One week,” I say.
“One week,” he echoes.
I want to cry.
“I’ll miss you like crazy when you leave,” he says, “but we can chat like we used to, video chat, send each other silly pictures and memes. We can video chat and you can be a pirate, and I’ll talk to you with a cat on my head.”
He’s smiling, and I just want to crumble. He’s completely clueless.
“The thing is,” I start. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t want to do this. “The thing is…” I just can’t. My pulse is racing. I rub my palms down the length of my skirt. I stare at my half eaten cookie. I stall.
“What?!” he asks, impatient. “The thing is what?!”
The words finally come out in a swift sentence. “The thing is… I didn’t tell you everything about my arrangement with John.”
He cocks a brow, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I told you that John and I agreed on a week only, and that he was adamant that it would be a sexual relationship only.”
Eli nods, not quite following.
“Sex only,” I repeat. “That means… that means no more joking around, no long conversations, and no more silly messages.” Each word I utter brings me closer to tears, and by the time I finish my sentence and take a breath, I’m crying.
Eli’s face crumbles. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. A heaviness fills me, and I fear I might be sick. I never imagined that hurting someone could feel this way. I’ve never hurt anyone before.
“You mean… this is goodbye forever,” he says quietly. “We won’t keep in touch?”
“John agreed to this only if I promised to say goodbye for good following our week together,” I explain. My heart sinks a little more with each and every word. “That means no messages, no emails, no video chats, complete blocking on all social media accounts.”
He looks wrecked, in shock. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. I can’t believe it either. I can’t believe that I’m uttering these words. It seemed so simple a week ago, back when I wanted Eli so much, I wasn’t thinking straight. Before I gave him my heart, and he gave me his.
He’s speechless. He closes his eyes and presses both his hands on the small table separating us. He draws a slow breath and opens his eyes again. His gaze is cold. He’s not the man I know. “You had no right,” he says. “You had no right to do this.”
