Page 57 of Pretender

She keeps her eyes on him while sitting down.

“Oh, no. Your dad always said that, too, I don’t get it. I like doing things myself, and Will and I want to live sustainably. I can’t keep living off your generosity now it’ll be two of us.”

“But your honeymoon is a gift and you will accept it.”

“With all the gratitude, my son. The Maldives will be a fairy tale.” She turns to me. “Isn’t he just too kind? Always giving, giving, giving."

“Yes,” I say, not sure where to put my hands or how to sit on this oversized outdoor sofa. I reach out to Aiden, it’ll probably be more natural to hold his hand.

But he’s not looking at me.

Amara’s gaze flits down at my hand between me and Aiden and up at her son. He’s staring into space again.

“So, Linnea, you’re Norwegian?”

“I am, but I grew up all over.”

“Why?”

“My parents were IT expats, so we moved around a lot. They implemented software for large companies worldwide.”

“Are they still with us?”

“Yes, oh, I said were. Yes, they’re just retired. In Oslo.”

I reach out to Aiden again, and when he doesn’t move his hand towards mine I plant mine in his.

He doesn’t want to touch me. He’s still not looking at me. Just down at our hands. Is he so off me after yesterday, he can’t even pretend anymore?

“Do they visit you often?” Amara asks. “Will I get a chance to meet them?”

“Oh…”

Aiden faces me in my periphery. We’ve not talked about family yet. Only briefly. He’s probably curious too.

How much do I share?

They were always work-focused and our relationship is shallow, at best, and I suspect my mother never wanted to be a mother in the first place?

Nah.

“They’re quite finished with travelling. I’ll see them for Christmas, I guess.”

Amara purses her lips, and my stomach churns in the silence.

“Tell us about your grandfather,” Aiden says and squeezes my hand before I spiral. I glance up at him. Can he see the relief in my eyes? I thank him silently with a twitch of my lips, and he mirrors me before turning to his mum again. “Linnea’s grandfather taught her how to play croquet.”

“He taught me most things I know. He was quite the man,” I say. “I spent every summer with him until I was twenty-eight. He taught me to fish, drive a boat, and play chess, poker and rummy.”

I pause, the memories flashing behind my eyes. From all the summer evenings spent playing cards and boardgames on his terrace, to the campfires and burnt marshmallows by the shore. My grandfather’s eyes as he looked at me with the adoration I missed from his daughter.

I clear my throat, pushing that thought away.

“We’d read all kinds of books together,” I continue. “From The Hobbit to Nancy Drew. Darker crime novels when I got older. He was a police officer in his day.”

Will returns with a tray full of drinks and I catch my breath.

Eek, I’ve been babbling.