Maybe Forever (Maybe... Book 3) (2 page)

"I'm guessing they're looking at sales figures, too." I left my chair and followed Freya's wonky trail to her bedroom. I knew she was looking for her stuffed penguin. It was her favorite toy, the one she refused to sleep without. I usually kept it on the bottom shelf of the set of floating shelves we'd installed in the girls' bedroom. Mads had moved it to a higher shelf, and now Freya was staring up at it with the sort of longing that could erupt into tears again at any moment. I grabbed Mr. Penguin, as we called the toy, and put it a few meters away from Freya. She immediately reached for it, happy again. "And my team's projects have always netted great results."

"Well, that's why I'm calling," Jens said. His voice sounded muffled against the layer of background noise—espresso machines hissing, snippets of conversations tumbling over one another, clanging glasses. "We want to keep your team...you, Marius, Johan...together. But it'll only work if you come back a little earlier."

"I can't do that..." I said it before I even thought it through. I couldn't leave Freya yet, even if there were days when the fog around me made me wonder how much I truly loved my baby. I told myself I'd love her more, and sometimes I felt like I did. Even today...when she'd cried so much her cheeks flamed red...deep down, I knew I loved her like there was no tomorrow. "It's too soon."

"Laney, you had to start your maternity leave early again...you've been away for almost a year now," Jens reminded me...as if I needed reminding. I'd gone into labor early again, had been in labor for close to fourteen hours before Freya finally arrived. "And the guys at the top...they need to see you are serious about your career."

"I thought I'd already proven that to them."

"Their memories are short. If they don't see you, they think you don't want to play the game."

"I need to think about this. I need to talk to Mads as well—"

"It's not his career, Lanes. It's yours."

"He's my husband, Jens. Of course I'm going to talk to him about this."

"You remember when you moved to Copenhagen? You made the decision without even talking to Niklas," Jens pointed out. "This is no different. It's your career, Lanes, not his. And if you still want a job at the end of the day, you're going to have to decide who and what you prioritize."

"My kids will always come first."

"Just think about it, Laney. I'm giving you two weeks to think about it. I've got to tell them by mid-August if you're coming back."

"I'll think about it."

"Think hard, Lanes. We'd rather have you back than have to let you go."

*     *     *

As soon as he arrived home, the mood transformed. My little girls forgot about me. Freya squealed with delight as soon as she heard his voice. She wiggled out of my arms and crawl-scooted across the floor to him. Liv danced around him, singing, "Daddy's home, Daddy's home!" And Mads...well, he loved his girls. He scooped them both up and kissed them, bounced them around and told them how he'd missed them all day. Watching him with them sometimes made me forget about how lately he was more absent than present. He spoke Danish with them, and Liv, who sometimes stumbled over simple English words, kept up with him. With me, she spoke a combination of English and Danish. And she wrinkled her nose at English words she thought were weird. But with Mads, she danced and sang in Danish, her eyes alight with so much love for her father that it made me ashamed to feel any ounce of jealousy. My daughter had what I'd wanted all of my life—a father who adored her, who would probably do anything for her.

I waited until it was my turn. Once Liv had decided she'd had enough of her father's snuggles with his razor-stubbled cheeks and chin, she wriggled down to the floor and ran off to look for Bobbi Fox. With Freya still crooked in his arm, he reached for me with his free hand and pulled me close. I turned my face up to be kissed but it was quick, not the lingering one I wanted. "Sorry I'm so late," he said and then planted a kiss on my lips. "The Vesterbrogade team wanted to meet and talk more about the hotel project."

"It's okay," I assured him. I kept my arms around him and leaned into his chest. Freya's chubby hand patted the top of my head. His shirt smelled hot and damp from outside. Traces of smoke, sawdust and beer clung to the cotton. "I saved some dinner for you, if you're hungry."

"Starving..." And then he kissed me again, another quick peck, before he too wriggled away in search of food.

I trailed behind him, feeling a lot like a groupie following the rock star whose touch she lives for. Four years. Four years and two children and he hadn't changed. He still looked as disarming and sexy as when we first met. A few strands of gray shimmered in his red-gold hair, but Mads still looked exactly as I remembered from that Copenhagen Cryo video. His body was still lean and firm. Every muscle still so perfectly honed that I often wondered how he could even be real. Women still approached him, still flocked to him. And he pretended not to see, not to notice. But sometimes I wondered if it secretly pleased him. To be so desired, to still be so in demand. No wonder the clinic had wanted to sue us...

I, on the other hand, was not as slender and toned as I'd been before the babies came. A c-section scar ran across my belly from giving birth to Liv. I'd been afraid I'd have to have another caesarean with Freya but she was a natural birth. I was still trying to lose my baby weight. I'd gained fifteen pounds with Freya. Fifteen pounds that seemed to settle around my hips and thighs. I tried jogging, dieting...nothing seemed to shake it, but Mads claimed to prefer me curvy. I wasn't sure I believed him. I wanted to, but whenever I looked in the mirror I saw a washed-out, lackluster version of myself. I tried to make up for it by still doing all the things that made me feel sexy—wearing makeup, getting my hair done, getting a bikini wax even when I knew I'd be too tired to give Mads enough time to even enjoy it. We hadn't made love in months. He was still affectionate with me...but he didn't initiate lovemaking now. And I didn't try. He still kissed me with the same passion, still nuzzled into me at night and claimed me with his hands, but...I wanted more. And I didn't know why he was so disinterested.

He was already at the table, eating the chicken and salad I'd prepared while cradling Freya. "Sit with me,
kareste
."

I joined him at the table and took Freya so that he could eat more easily. Once she'd settled into me, I asked him about Milan.

"It's a forum or some kind of exhibition on new Scandinavian design. They've invited twenty designers and firms to take part in it." He fetched a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and twisted it open. "You know how good this feels? They think we are part of this new wave of Nordic design. They're comparing us to Fritz Hansen, Arne Jacobsen and Bruno Mathson." His heroes—the icons of Danish design. He was bristling with pleasure at being compared with the likes of them. And he really was that good. The pieces he designed for us were proof of it.

"It's our wedding anniversary, though..."

"So come to Milan. We can celebrate there."

"We've tried that before." I picked at the extra napkin on the tabletop, fraying the edges with my nails. "It's always the same at these fairs and forums. You'll be so busy, you won't have time to spend with us...and traveling with a seven-month-old and a four-year-old..."

"I'm doing this for us, Laney. I'm doing this so you and the girls won't have to worry about—"

"We have what we need. We don't need more." I didn't want to have this argument again—every now and then Mads still felt like he had to compete with my old life. Even if it would have been wonderful to have that sort of financial security, I didn't want the emotional void that came with it. I could live with saving up for the vacations we took and dreaming of the summer house Mads kept talking about but that we couldn't afford.

"I'm not just doing this for you. I'm not a fucking failure, Laney—"

"I didn't say you were a failure!" Freya was getting agitated. I didn't want her to start crying, so I took her to her bedroom and put her in her crib with her penguin. Liv was sitting on the floor by her bed with her stuffed fox.

"Why is Papa mad?" she asked me in a hushed voice. She was cradling her fox, holding it like it was her very own baby. "Is he mad at me?"

"No, Livvie. Papa is just tired..." I pulled back the top sheet and got her into bed. "I promise, he'll come in soon...he'll read your favorite story." I breathed a relieved sigh as Liv climbed into her bed without a barrage of questions.

"Tell Papa I want the story about the fox."

"I'll tell him."

I closed the door when I left the girls' room. Mads was still in the kitchen. He'd abandoned his plate of food and was standing by the sink, his hands braced on either side of it.

"I don't want to fight, Mads..."

"Like hell you don't."

"And now Liv thinks you're mad at her..."

"Don't do that, Laney—don't make this about the kids."

"I'm just telling you what she said to me—"

"This design forum—fucking hell, Laney, it's good for me and the guys. We've worked so hard trying to get established and now we're there. I thought you wanted this too."

"I wanted you to get the level of success you said you wanted. You said you didn't want to
be
the
new
Bruno Mathson, you said you just wanted to make beautiful furniture—and that's what you do."

"I want us to never have to worry—"

"We don't have to worry. We're fine..."

"I want you to have the things you want—"

"I want my husband, then! I don't want to feel like a single mom all the time. I need you here, I need you!"

Mads shook his head and stalked out of the kitchen. I followed him, my insides twisting and tying in knots. "I told Liv you would read to her...."

"I will! Jesus Christ, I read to her every night, Laney—don't you start saying I'm not here for my daughters..."

"I need you here for me too—"

"I can't be here 24-7, Laney, they need my help at the workshop too—"

"Mads, listen to me...my boss—they want me to come back to work—"

"Isn't that what you want?"

"What? No, not yet—"

"You're always saying you're bored being at home, so go back to work."

"I'm not bored, I never said I was bored." I couldn't remember saying it, but maybe I had. Sometimes I missed being around other adults. I didn't want to sit through another play date with a Danish version of a latte mamma who was perfectly content to talk in that sing-song baby voice. I missed talking to my husband about something other than what the kids had done all day. I missed having a life that was just mine.

He raked his hands through his hair. We were sinking—
I
was sinking. And I watched him as if through a blurred window, watched the tension steeling his shoulders, the taut pull of his jaw as he paced and tried to figure out how to untangle this mess.

"Laney...just, leave the kids with Ingrid and Anton, or see if Henrik and Eddy can take them, and come to Milan with me."

"You know it won't work. You'll be too busy..."

"Laney, I want you to come."

"I know.”

"But you won't."

"How will you make sure we have time together? I want to be alone with you."

"I don't know what you want me to do.”

"Carve some time out for me. I need you too, Mads. I'm floundering here. I'm trying to keep everything running so you don't have to focus on what's going on here."

"I'm here every night—"

"You're here, but you're not here. Your mind's on the workshop, on your projects. I try to talk to you and you don't hear me. You make promises to Liv—she was so upset because you forgot you promised to take her to the playground...and I've been trying to cover for you when you tell her you're going to do things and then you don't—"

"I didn't promise her we'd go to the play—"

"You promised her at breakfast, and she remembered it. She remembers
everything
you tell her, Mads. She
never
forgets." My hands dropped to my sides. My insides twisted, coiled, pulled so hard... I was shaking so hard, I felt as though I'd lose my footing if I kept standing. I sank onto the sofa and then breathed in and out slowly. My chest felt hot and tight.

Mads stopped pacing. He came over to me, sat beside me and rubbed the back of my neck with his strong fingers. "
Tag det roligt, Laney. Det er okay. Vi vil være okay.
" He pulled me close to him. My body betrayed me. It gave in so easily to him. Even when he was part of the reason I felt so awful. I wanted to be able to look at him and list in the most rational tone of voice all the ways he was failing me. I wanted him to understand that just kissing me wouldn't magically solve our problems.

"Tomorrow...we'll celebrate our anniversary tomorrow," Mads cupped my cheek with his hand. He bit his lower lip and smiled at me. I nodded slowly. The pain in my chest eased enough that breathing didn't hurt now. I hated these spasms...they were happening more and more now. Whenever I was too upset or anxious... God, my hands were still shaking. Mads noticed, too. He clasped my hands between his. We sat like that, neither of us looking at the other, until finally my pulse stopped roaring in my ears. "I'll book a table for us at Madklubben. I'll call Ingrid and see if Sasha can come and watch the girls overnight. And then I'll book a room for us at the Kong Arthur...and it can be like that first night we spent together. Okay...? Just you and me,
elskede
. No distractions."