obstacle, although she had a tendency to do just that. She was certainly well aware of her own weaknesses.
She had been struggling with this sewing project for an hour, and she had already smoked three cigarettes to calm her nerves. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she tried to straighten out the denim fabric under the presser foot. Twice she had been forced to undo the seam when the zipper ended up buckling.
In school she had always hated sewing class. The silence, the sternness of the teacher. The fact that everything had to be so finicky—the seam allowance, the fitting of the pattern, the wrong and right side of the fabric. The only bad grade that she’d ever received on her report card in grade school was in sewing. It was a permanent reminder of her failure to make anything from pot holders to knitted caps.
The ring of her cell phone came like the arrival of a much anticipated guest. When she heard Johan’s voice, fire raced through her breast.
“Hi, it’s me. Am I interrupting anything?”
“No, but you know you’re not supposed to call me.”
“I couldn’t help it. Is he home?”
“No, he plays floorball on Monday nights.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
A brief silence. Then his voice again, low and gentle. Like a caress on her brow.
“How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. But I was just about to have a hysterical fit and throw my sewing machine out the window.”
His soft laugh made her stomach lurch.
“You’re trying to sew something? What happened to that vow you made?”
She was reminded of the time last summer when she had tried to mend a hole in his shirt with a needle and thread from his hotel. Afterward she had vowed never to try sewing anything again.
“It went to hell, just like everything else,” she said without thinking.
“What? What do you mean?”
He was trying to sound neutral, but she could hear the hope in his voice.
“Oh, nothing. What do you want? You know you’re not supposed to call,” she repeated.
“I couldn’t help myself.”
“But if you don’t leave me in peace, I won’t be able to think,” she said gently.
He tried to persuade her to meet him when he arrived in Gotland on the following day.
She refused, even though her body was screaming for him. It was a battle between reason and emotion.
“Don’t keep doing this. It’s hard enough as it is.”
“But what are your feelings for me, Emma? Tell me honestly. I need to know.”
“I think about you, too. All the time. I’m so confused. I don’t know what I should do.”
“Do you sleep with him?”
“You’d better hang up now,” she said, annoyed.
He heard her light a cigarette.
“Come on, tell me. Do you? I want to know if you do.”
She sighed deeply.
“No, I don’t. I don’t have the slightest desire to sleep with him. Are you satisfied?”
“But how long can you keep that up? You’re going to have to make up your mind, Emma. Hasn’t he noticed anything? Is he that insensitive? Doesn’t he wonder why you’re acting this way?”
“Of course he does, but he thinks it’s a reaction to what happened this summer.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
“What are your feelings for me?”
Another deep sigh.
“I love you, Johan,” she said quietly. “That’s what makes everything so difficult.”
“But what the hell, Emma. We can’t keep going on like this for much longer. Wouldn’t it be better to make a clean break and tell him how things stand?”
“What the hell do you mean by ‘how things stand’?” she roared. “You have no idea how things stand!”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
Her voice was angry now, and she was on the verge of tears.
“You have no fucking idea what it’s like to be responsible for two young children! I can’t sit on the sofa and cry all weekend because I miss you. Or decide to be with you just because I want to. Or need to. Or have to, in order to survive. Because surely you know that my
She had been struggling with this sewing project for an hour, and she had already smoked three cigarettes to calm her nerves. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she tried to straighten out the denim fabric under the presser foot. Twice she had been forced to undo the seam when the zipper ended up buckling.
In school she had always hated sewing class. The silence, the sternness of the teacher. The fact that everything had to be so finicky—the seam allowance, the fitting of the pattern, the wrong and right side of the fabric. The only bad grade that she’d ever received on her report card in grade school was in sewing. It was a permanent reminder of her failure to make anything from pot holders to knitted caps.
The ring of her cell phone came like the arrival of a much anticipated guest. When she heard Johan’s voice, fire raced through her breast.
“Hi, it’s me. Am I interrupting anything?”
“No, but you know you’re not supposed to call me.”
“I couldn’t help it. Is he home?”
“No, he plays floorball on Monday nights.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
A brief silence. Then his voice again, low and gentle. Like a caress on her brow.
“How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. But I was just about to have a hysterical fit and throw my sewing machine out the window.”
His soft laugh made her stomach lurch.
“You’re trying to sew something? What happened to that vow you made?”
She was reminded of the time last summer when she had tried to mend a hole in his shirt with a needle and thread from his hotel. Afterward she had vowed never to try sewing anything again.
“It went to hell, just like everything else,” she said without thinking.
“What? What do you mean?”
He was trying to sound neutral, but she could hear the hope in his voice.
“Oh, nothing. What do you want? You know you’re not supposed to call,” she repeated.
“I couldn’t help myself.”
“But if you don’t leave me in peace, I won’t be able to think,” she said gently.
He tried to persuade her to meet him when he arrived in Gotland on the following day.
She refused, even though her body was screaming for him. It was a battle between reason and emotion.
“Don’t keep doing this. It’s hard enough as it is.”
“But what are your feelings for me, Emma? Tell me honestly. I need to know.”
“I think about you, too. All the time. I’m so confused. I don’t know what I should do.”
“Do you sleep with him?”
“You’d better hang up now,” she said, annoyed.
He heard her light a cigarette.
“Come on, tell me. Do you? I want to know if you do.”
She sighed deeply.
“No, I don’t. I don’t have the slightest desire to sleep with him. Are you satisfied?”
“But how long can you keep that up? You’re going to have to make up your mind, Emma. Hasn’t he noticed anything? Is he that insensitive? Doesn’t he wonder why you’re acting this way?”
“Of course he does, but he thinks it’s a reaction to what happened this summer.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
“What are your feelings for me?”
Another deep sigh.
“I love you, Johan,” she said quietly. “That’s what makes everything so difficult.”
“But what the hell, Emma. We can’t keep going on like this for much longer. Wouldn’t it be better to make a clean break and tell him how things stand?”
“What the hell do you mean by ‘how things stand’?” she roared. “You have no idea how things stand!”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
Her voice was angry now, and she was on the verge of tears.
“You have no fucking idea what it’s like to be responsible for two young children! I can’t sit on the sofa and cry all weekend because I miss you. Or decide to be with you just because I want to. Or need to. Or have to, in order to survive. Because surely you know that my
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