Page 40 of The Second Chance Bus Stop

J o nk o ping

I have been sleeping better since our sheep-spotting outing. I filled my camera roll with forty-eight images of sheep. We

first found a field just outside town with white, fluffy sheep but realised we couldn’t get close enough, so we made another

attempt at a city farm where two sheep lived with a goat and a donkey and I could spend a considerable amount of time petting

them all and taking the pictures I needed. It worked, and I’m a genius.

I know I have to visit my parents, and I want to visit my parents but it’s like booking a hair appointment—it’s lovely once it’s done and you feel all new and glossy and

refreshed, and don’t have to think about it for another three months. But calling to book it gets put off for weeks. I decide

to get it done.

Me: How about I come over tomorrow evening?

Mum: Can’t wait.

Mum starts listing the food courses she’ll be making, and I know I’ll be having a bowl of cereal before we leave, as there’s

nothing on the menu I can eat.

I was surprised when Blade asked if he could come with me and even more surprised when I heard a voice that sounded a lot like mine saying ‘yes’.

‘Are you a fan of strained silences interrupted by the occasional “Pass the salt” or “You’re a disappointment we’ll never

recover from, even if we reach the ripe age of one hundred”?’

‘It can’t be that bad.’

I just shrug. It is that bad.

‘Remember that there’ll be three courses, and the fork on the left is for the first dish, then you work your way in.’

‘Soph, I’ve been to a dinner party before.’

‘And you need to take your shoes off because Mum cannot stand the idea of dirt in the house.’

‘It’s going to be fine.’

Now on our way with no time to come up with a last-minute excuse, I wonder what I was thinking. Out of the corner of my eye,

I see the intersection that signals my parents’ street.

‘Next right,’ I instruct Blade, not taking my eyes off him.

‘There’ I say and point. ‘The house on the left. With the dark green front door.’

We park on the empty, lifeless street outside my childhood home and an automatic light flickers on along the walkway through

the front garden when we step onto it.

I give Blade one more glance. He looks... good. Some part of me feels proud that someone like him would come with me. Even

if it’s not technically a date, he is here with me.

He has finally dropped the beanie, and his soft-looking curls are delivering perfect, flowy movement and volume.

They’re begging me to run my fingers through them.

As a stim, of course. A sensory stim, because hair like that would feel very good on my fingers. No other reason.

I wipe my feet four times, then step back another time and wipe them again. No mud. No dirt. No germs. Blade wipes them once. And then I ring the bell.

My mother opens the door, as is the standard. My father will have been shooed off the sofa twenty minutes ago and chased off

for a shower and a change of clothes. I can see the familiar scene in front of me. Twenty minutes! TV off! Seriously, Harald? Yes, yes, it is only your lastborn child but a dinner table is a dinner table.

Ten minutes! Where is the remote? There—off.

We take our shoes off by the door and place sock-clad feet on the shiny, newly washed wooden floor.

My mum is an herb, perhaps the ever so popular Ocimum basilicum —basil. It has plenty of complex flavours and spends a lot of time in the kitchen. The herb can also make a ball of dough

or even some cheese look fancy. She wears a wrap dress and her short blonde hair looks like she’s just had her roots done.

‘Hello, darling.’

The table is already laid out, and I count four places meaning none of my brothers are here. I imagine the fast excuses they

would have delivered when asked to join for a midweek dinner with Sophia. There is a carafe of water and a bread basket in

the middle. The whole house smells of deep cedarwood candle this time. I wish Mum would stick to one scent and not keep changing

them.

Mum reappears and presses a glass of Prosecco in my hand then turns to Blade.

‘Sophia’s co-worker. We’ve heard so much about you.

’ I cringe. Actually, so much for so much .

If I remember correctly I have mentioned Blade in two fleeting group chat contributions and one phone call.

And it hits me. I didn’t tell them he’s my co-worker.

Is it that unlikely that I’d turn up with an actual date ?

A man who might be interested in me romantically?

Not even my own mother thinks it’s possible for me to find love, so what

hope is there? I mean, fine, I’ve brought a man home. Or even a boy when I was younger. But still. I feel the heat climb my

cheeks and look at the floor.

‘Thank you for having me. I’m Blade.’ He produces a bottle of something red from a plastic carrier bag, which I hadn’t noticed

before. ‘And actually, I came here with Sophia. I’m here with Sophia.’ He sounds almost as awkward as I do but I know what he’s trying to say. Thank you. Oh God. Thank you! I need to chip in. Mum looks at us both.

‘Yes, we came here together, Blade and I.’ I wave my hand between us. ‘He drove us here in his, well, in Sixt’s vehicle.’

I see Blade’s eyes light up with amusement, which, unfortunately, I take as an encouragement to continue my monologue. ‘I

still have my car, and my driver’s licence is not in need of renewal until next year, but the car is a very big car and it

makes me nervous, so in the end it was a great thing that Blade drove us here.’

‘I see,’ Mum says. ‘Sophia, you look very nice tonight. Did you put makeup on?’

I simply nod.

I push the food around my plate mindlessly. Somehow food always tastes less appealing when I need to use multiple utensils

and a napkin properly and more delicious when it’s eaten in private with hands or just the one fork.

‘I keep saying that Sophia needs some time off. She’s always working,’ my dad says in his strong Swedish accent.

‘I like work. It’s relaxing and enjoyable. Job descriptions are clear and easy to carry out.’

‘We’re going on a cruise to the Med in July, just organised the upgrade to a balcony suite. You should take a holiday sometime, Sophia,’ Mum says.

‘I don’t enjoy travelling,’ I say. They know this. Travelling is not a break, to me. It’s an extra workload of packing and

unpacking and writing lists of what you might otherwise forget. It’s getting used to a new place and not sleeping well the

first night. Then when you’re just about used to it, it’s time to leave. I’m about to interject that my uncle didn’t like

travelling either, and then I remember that apparently that’s not true. He did travel, at least once. The reassurance I’ve

always felt that he was like me— that there is someone that I’m like—is somehow rocked by the discovery that he lived abroad. Maybe I’m not like anyone, after all.

‘The weather will be perfect in July. Hot but a change from here.’ Blade says, continuing the holiday talk. I can’t help but

smile.

‘Have you been there?’

‘Well, no, this is my first holiday in quite a while,’ he says and my parents don’t quite know what to say. A whole dinner

in English is too much for them to handle, and they go back to offering sauce and wine.

I sit quietly, because whilst we’re on the topic of work and holidays, I could also say that I’ve been working every hour

possible for the past five years to prove I can run the business. That if I lose my business I won’t know who I am any longer.

I am happy to exist as the Sophia who owns a flower shop, but if I’m just Sophia, I’m simply one of the other 100,752 women in Sweden with that first name. For the second time this evening it’s as if Blade

has read my mind. Or, rather, my feelings.

‘But speaking of work, Sophia seems really good at what she’s doing. The business seems to be thriving. This whole trip has been really successful so far, and Vincent seems to be really pleased with her work. But I imagine it’s not easy for her, not knowing the future of the shop.’

My mum carefully finishes chewing before replying.

‘My brother was very proud of his shop and wanted to make sure that it would be properly taken care of and run successfully,

which is quite understandable. Especially given Sophia’s... challenges .’

I shrink. I attempt to eat a potato because otherwise I will simply confirm to the whole table that I do have challenges. But no, look at me, at least I’m not challenged by eating this potato here, even if it did touch the sauce. I swallow it with

great difficulty, the traces of sauce tickling and burning my throat as it descends.

‘Well, she’s excelling. She’s been running a business for four years now, and not just making it work but making it work successfully,

from what I can see. I couldn’t run a business for a year if you asked me to. I can’t imagine wanting to end the beautiful

thing your daughter has created.’

Dad coughs. Then looks at Mum.

‘Could you pass me the salt, please?’

While we wait for dessert I walk around the room pressing my index finger into the flower pots along the windowsills, checking

the moistness.

‘Sophia.’ I jump. ‘We do water our plants.’ How can I explain again that I don’t doubt it, I have to press my fingers into the soft soil? Mum goes on. ‘We’ve discussed this and you know how I detest this type of controlling,

ritual behaviour. What would your old therapist Karin say?’

Karin. If asked who I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley way my answer would have to be Karin, closely followed by the Portaloo bully.

‘I do it to Lina’s plants also. She doesn’t mind.’

My dad and Blade appear behind us, trying to break up the tension by showing family pictures on the mantelpiece.

‘That’s Sophia there, crying over Santa.’ He laughs.

‘I was scared of Santa too. Didn’t really have a father figure so a man barging into the house with gifts was a bit of a terrifying

concept to me,’ Blade says.