Maybe none of that was important, but it was more than I’d ever had with a lover. And sometimes it scared me. I didn’twant to get used to this. I didn’t want to miss our drives to Burlington, debating song lyrics or our favorite bands from every era.
Today’s conversation was all about sweets.
“I’ve always had a sweet tooth,” Dex commented from the passenger seat. “I actually toyed with the idea of opening a candy emporium and selling nostalgic things like Abba-Zabas and Sour Strips.”
“What’s Abba-Zaba?”
“What’s Abba-Zaba?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re Swedish! And Abba is in the name. How can you not know?”
“I’m not sure what we’re talking about, but I might as well break the news and tell you that not everyone in Sweden loves ABBA.”
Dex gasped. “Pull over. Now. This is an ABBA-loving SUV and if you don’t like it, you can walk to Burlington.”
I chuckled. “I’m not pulling over. This is my vehicle and for the record, I like ABBA just fine. But you can’t assume every Swede loves them. And what do they have to do with candy?”
“Nothing at all. I got sidetracked.” Dex queued “Dancing Queen” on his cell and blasted the volume.
“For fuck’s sake,” I grumbled, adjusting it to more manageable decibels.
Dex cackled with delight and proceeded to give a small speech about the joys of candy, particularly the kind with sentimental value. “Abba-Zaba is basically just taffy, but childhood memories of sneaking contraband treats with my teammates in the summer stick with you.”
“Why did you have to sneak?”
“No sweets were allowed in our house. None. My mom might not have been home much, but she still ruled the roost. She policed our diet and exercise through nannies and babysitters who were too afraid of her to disobey. Sneaking was the key to fun. No wonder I own a donut shop now.” He snorted. I gripped the wheel tightly and furrowed my brow, annoyed at his motherall over again, but Dex moved on quickly. “What kind of sweet treats did you like growing up in Sweden?”
“Uh…I liked salty licorice—SalmiakTwists. I still do. AndAhlgrens Bilar. They’re these little chocolate cars…very Swedish, very delicious. Gummies are big too…fruit flavors, sweet and sour.”
“I’d like to go there someday,” he commented wistfully as “Dancing Queen” morphed into “Winner Takes it All.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “I’ll take you. I’ll show you everything—Gamla Stan, the Skansen open-air museum, the archipelagos, the ice hotel in Jukkasjärvi.” But I stopped myself. There’d be no trips to Sweden together.
Instead, I went with, “Did you know there’s an ABBA museum in Stockholm?”
Dexter beamed. “It’s on my bucket list, baby!”
And with that, he cranked the volume and sang the chorus at the top of his lungs while I pretended to be annoyed. I glanced in the rearview mirror to change lanes and was hit with a vision of Annika, laughing in the back seat of a car, her eyes sparkling with her unique brand of mischief.
The wave of sorrow hit the same as always, but it was hard to hold on to hurt with Dexter howling like a wounded animal beside me. I smiled and checked my mirror again. Anni was gone.
A couple of hours later, we were in a tiny office, hovering near Freya as a nurse swiped a gelled wand over her belly.
“Ten perfect fingers and toes, healthy organs, a nice-sized cranium, and…oh, we have a thumb sucker.” The nurse tapped the monitor. “I’m gonna have you look away if you’re not interested in finding out the sex, ’cause all modesty is out the window.”
I squinted at the screen while Dex covered his eyes. Not that it helped. I really couldn’t tell what I was seeing. And then…I could.
I brushed a tear from Freya’s cheek and squeezed her hand. “Det kommer bli bra.” It’s going to be okay.
She nodded and if Dex noticed that Freya was more emotionalthan usual, he didn’t comment. We took her out to lunch and shopped for maternity clothes at Dex’s insistence. Freya had a cute baby bump and seemed happy enough to show it off in cropped tops and oversized shorts or sweats, but she humored Dex. Afterward, we visited her workshop and admired the half-finished pottery for her new client.
If shopping for pregnancy items was for Dex, the glimpse into her professional and personal state of mind was for me.
Det kommer bli bra.It’s going to be okay.
On our way home, dusk settled over the forest like a thin blanket as we wound our way through the twisting roads. Dexter had gone quiet somewhere near Rutland. I couldn’t tell if he was dozing, but his eyes were closed. He missed the panorama of steepled churches and the rolling hills of Elmwood, and the grand canopy of hollowed trees on Belvedere. In fact, he didn’t stir until I pulled into my driveway.
His Tahoe was in my garage, out of sight of prying eyes. Dex could stay if he wanted…or go.
He wordlessly followed me inside, shedding shoes and socks, and curling beside me on the sofa. There was a baseball game on—Yankees versus White Sox. I wasn’t interested, but I didn’t mind having it on. The sound of baseball commentary was oddly soothing. I brushed fingers through Dex’s hair and melted into the cushions with the comforting feel of his weight on me, my thoughts drifting pleasantly.
