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She met him on a bus trip to Karlovy Vary in the Czech Republic, which I donated to her—I couldn’t afford more with my small student budget. In the meantime, with Horst, the Rhenish bundle of cheer, her girlish carefreeness has returned.
“I’m washing clothes right now,” I inform Mareike, who makes a sound of astonishment.
“Housework instead of partying?” She sighs from deep within her chest. “Give me Kevin, please, so I can appeal to his conscience…”
“Oh, he’s not here.” After the sentence slipped out, I realize I don’t sound disappointed at all, but quite neutral.So, that’s how it is when you grow up.“I’m also glad for the rest. The day was exhausting; imagine, it started with me giving the client…”
“Let me talk to the girl,” Horst’s voice suddenly trumpets in my ear. “Little Celine, are you on the line, snookums?”
“Sure, Horst, who else should it be?” Somehow, I’m quite glad for the interruption. When I think of how Pauline reacted to my coffee-mishap confession… It’s probably better not to stimulate my aunt’s overactive imagination with it, too. “What’s up?”
“The perfect house for the two of you.” His professional salesman smile, coming through the phone, infects me. Before his well-deserved retirement, Horst worked as a real estate agent, and the hunting fever for lucrative properties is still in his blood. “160 square meters of living space, double garage, south-facing slope, property with just under 8 acres. Already forwarded the exposé to Kevin.”
“Oh, fine, thanks,” I say without much enthusiasm because Kevin will surely find fault with this offer too, just like all the others.
“You still keep your inheritance in the overnight account, don’t you? So, you can get to it right away when you need the equity? And always remember: you shouldn’t pay the ancillary costs for the notary, for the entry in the land register and the land transfer tax from the mortgage to be taken.”
“Sure, Horst.” A bit bored, I nudge the sweater floating in the now ice-cold water and pull the plug. I should rinse the woolen fabric with equally cold water now, right?
“I see…” Horst laughs. “I’d better discuss it with your boyfriend. Do you still want to say goodbye to Mareike? She must be stuck somewhere, wait a minute…”
“Nah, let it go, Horst. Give her my regards.” This brings something to mind. “Just one more thing: Will we still have the family reunion over Easter? After all, it’s already mid-February, and I need to reserve the hotel room for you.”
“Wait, I’ll give you your aunt…” A scraping penetrates my ear, then I hear from Mareike’s giggling that Horst has probably already given her another heartfelt hug.
No, I’m not jealous! It’s just…A deep sigh slips out of me. If only Kevin had a bit more of Horst’s sensual temperament. But I don’t want to complain.He’s reliable, has a bright professional future ahead of him, and—my God! —who’s flawless? Certainly not me!
“…heard? You’re not going to book hotel rooms for us, are you?” Aunt Mareike sounds upset. “I still have the caravan. No need to go through all that trouble!”
Mhm. How am I supposed to break it to her gently? And why me of all people?With both hands, I push aside the grumbling I feel in the face of Horst’s cowardice. After all, it was he who never wanted to camp in Mareike’s trailer again. I guess he didn’t dare to tell the truth to her Frisian pighead. I sigh.
“…booked already?Jeetje![7]“ Now it’s Mareike, sighing her Dutch equivalent of an “Oh, dear!” straight through the line. “I know, mypoepie, I’ve always encouraged you to take things into your own hands. But do you have to test it out on me, of all people, first?”
I join in her laughter and seize the opportunity, taking advantage of her misunderstanding to get myself out of this mess. “You just know me too well,” I reply in a deliberately ambiguous manner, hoping it will pass as a white lie.
“What do you want me to say?” My aunt laughs again. “I’ll just say this: I’m proud of you, mypoepie. Constant dripping wears away the stone. And I’m not saying now, either, that I hope you’ll speak this way to Kevin soon, too.”
Involuntarily, I look up at the ceiling. I guess she had to come down on me like a ton of bricks now. “Kevin is perfectly fine for me; I really don’t know why you would say something like that. Rather… not saying it.”Anyway, why am I defending Kevin? Earlier, I was mad at him myself, after all.Distracted from my train of thought, I say goodbye to my aunt. I ask her to give my regards to Horst and take the phone back to the hallway. A little exhausted, I study my head-shaking reflection in the coat closet mirror.
When did my relationship with Kevin stop being exciting? Why do I no longer feel tingles when I read love stories and think about my boyfriend? Why, when watching romantic movies, do I no longer substitute the main character for the man at my side?
Sighing, I admit to myself that I can’t put sole responsibility on Kevin. And the butterflies in my stomach haven’t forgotten how to flutter either. This day and my strangely violent reaction to this tattooed outlaw have shown this to me. I should, no, Ineedto make more of an effort with Kevin.
With renewed vigor, I head back to the bathroom. I rinse the turtleneck of doom thoroughly until the last drop of shampoo residue has flowed down the drain.
When it—neatly tweaked into shape—finally hangs on the padded hanger, I pause briefly.
What if I were to forget it here in the bathroomby accident?Hanging conspicuously on the drying rack above the bathtub? Isn’t interest in a rusty relationship always aroused by a pinch of jealousy in movies?In my mind, I play through the tantalizing suggestion a mischievous little devil must have whispered to me. But then I realize that—judging by the degree of his unabating suspicion of a presumed competitor—Kevin’s interest in me has probably not waned one bit.
It is my foolish heart. It no longer wants to leap up into the air at the thought of him.
After I have admitted this to myself, I hang the darned object of my completely inappropriate desire on the balcony. Far from eye, far from heart…
My conscience pinches me a bit, as I uncork the bottle of champagne, which I had chilled today before breakfast. But as soon as the fizzy bubbles tingle on my tongue, I feel like this is exactly what I needed.
With the champagne glass in one hand and the Kindle e-reader in the other, I snuggle down in the corner of the sofa. In the glow of the cozy nostalgic LED reading lamp, I search for the bookmark in Sandra Pulletz’sVanilla Crescent Kisses.
Over the weekend, I read through almost the entire romance novel. Now I want to deliberately use the ending to imagine Kevin in the role of the male protagonist as I read. Maybe the merging of Lorenz and Kevin will get the butterflies in my stomach fluttering again for the right man.
