Maybe Forever (Maybe... Book 3) Read online

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  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 ha
ir. 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."

  I nodded again. I would take this. I knew this would have to do until he could finally take some time off from work.

  We sat like this, with him still holding my hands but not looking at me. And me...I just nodded and then said, "Don't forget to go in to Liv..."

  Mads murmured "okay" and then let go of my hands. He kissed the top of my head, then left me on the sofa. I heard him as he spoke to Liv; my heart swelled as I listened to the loving tone he used with her. I cleaned up the kitchen, then turned off the lights. I waited in the bedroom for him to come and lay down beside me. But finally I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I didn't hear him creep in and turn off the bedside lamp. I didn't feel his weight in bed beside me.

  When I woke the next morning, he'd already gone to the workshop.

  CHAPTER TWO: Mads

  Make It Up to Her

  She was right.

  Of course she was. Sometimes I told myself I couldn't expect Laney to carry the burden on her own. Other times I took for granted how strong she seemed. I'd seen how she handled Liv and Freya—even on the worst of days she was capable of doing it all without me. And maybe that was the worst of it. I knew she'd be fine without me.

  All of this was coursing through my mind as I crossed the bridge to the city. A wispy layer of clouds blurred the sky. Though it was still early, heat rose from the pavement and through the soles of my shoes. It looked to be another one of those sticky summer days that Laney always called "dog days.” I was already sweating even though I tried not to walk too fast. The first week of July...just a week until my wedding anniversary and Laney and I were fighting. My wife...even at our low points I was still so happy I could call her that, that she'd chosen me...my wife... even if, right now, she wasn't very pleased with me. I would have to figure out a way to make it up to her. I needed to unravel whatever was going on inside of her. I missed my wife who would reach for my hand and lace her fingers with mine over dinner. I missed how she'd lower her eyes...those coppery-brown eyes of hers that sometimes mystified me...and slowly, slowly lick her lips and curve them into a smile that promised so many things. I missed how she'd call me into the bedroom and I'd find her naked and waiting, tempting me to be late for meeting Anton and Adam for a beer or going to the gym. And she always won out...I could never resist her pull on me.

  I loved Laney. It was that simple. I needed to tell her that. I left without even touching her or kissing her. I never did that... I stopped in my tracks. I was halfway across the bridge. I could go back. I could tell her I was sorry about last night. I’d fallen asleep while reading to Liv. We barely made it through Hvad Betyder Ræven? When I woke, it was already six in the morning and the sunlight streaming in the window made the room feel like an oven, even with the ceiling fan whirring above us. But Liv still slept peacefully, her thumb planted firmly in her mouth. And Freya...my littlest angel...was cooing in her sleep. I'd stood over her, watching the slow, even breaths she took as her chubby fingers twitched. Whatever Laney and I were going through, we would figure it out. We had to. I didn't want to lose my family. I didn't want to lose my wife. I didn't want to lose her.

  I turned around and started heading back to our building. I still had enough time to go back and make things right and get to the workshop in time for the design meeting Anton had scheduled. He'd quit teaching last year and joined us after three years of hanging around and helping us build a fair share of cabinets and shelving units. And though he wasn't always a deft hand at carpentry, he made up for it with his expertise at organization. He ran the office, he made sure invoices were paid on time, and he was often the first point of contact. I was back on Sortedam Dossering when my phone vibrated. I pulled it out of the back pocket of my jeans. It was a text from my cousin Henrik, reminding me we needed to check in on farmor. Then another text came, this one from Anton—our first client was early. Shit... I was only two blocks from the apartment. I wanted to sprint home, even if I only got five minutes with Laney. But there wasn't time.

  I'd make it up to her later.

  I wasn't sure which of the guys had recommended Benny to us, but she was a distraction. Every year we took in a couple of interns from Designskole to help them get practical experience and lighten the load for us. This year we had three—Willem, Ibrahim and Benedikte, or Benny, as she kept telling us to call her. She looked more like a pinup from the 1950s than a furniture designer. She showed up every day in overalls that only enhanced her assets and deep red lipstick that made her full lips even more obvious. Looking at her was like seeing her naked. And her direct stare—she always stared and her lips curled into this cheeky smile that challenged you. No, she was trouble. She was good at what she did. There was no question about that, but she was one of those women who knew how to push buttons, how to make you feel unsettled. Jonas had already confessed to me over beers that he had his eye on her. He was newly single and on the look-out for someone who'd fill the void in his life left by his ex-wife.

  I ducked my head at her as I came into the workshop. She was staining a dining table Jonas had designed. Her fingertips were bruised a reddish brown that reminded me of blood. "Hej, Mads," she called out to me. I said a quick hello; I didn't want to linger. The summer heat hadn't permeated the thick stone walls yet, but soon we'd have to open the window
s.

  Anton was already in the office we'd set up at the back of the workshop. Before, it was my storage area, but with the demand growing for our furniture designs, Jonas and I decided we needed to get more organized. Laney helped us initially, but then Anton joined us and took on the task of setting order to our daily lives.

  "I made you some coffee," he said without looking away from the computer screen. He gestured towards the coffeemaker. "And don't forget to book the restaurant."

  "How do you know about that?"

  "Ingrid told me, so Laney must have told her." Anton shrugged. The keys on the keyboard clicked and clacked. I poured myself a cup of coffee.“Mads, maybe you should skip the forum."

  "Did Laney put you up to this?"

  "No, but maybe she should have."

  "Don't, Anton. I already got into it with her last night."

  Anton finally looked away from the screen. He reached for his coffee mug. "She's not herself these day, Mads. I noticed it last time you two were round. She's...it's like the life's been sucked out of her."

  "She's just tired. Freya's not sleeping again."

  "I think it's more than that." Anton scratched his neck. "I've known Laney a long time—"

  "I know."

  "Mads—just...follow through, okay?" Something in his tone of voice caught me off guard. His dark eyebrows were knitted together, the line of his shoulders tense. "She needs this."

  Anton's words kept eating away at me. I knew Laney wasn't happy. I didn't know what to do to make her happy. She always looked...worried, and when I tried to talk to her about it, we ended up arguing. And I saw how worn out she looked. And I pretended not to see. Oh fuck, this was my fault. I knew it. I could have been better at being so many things for her. And she stuck with me. She still told me she loved me even if sometimes her voice sounded so weary that I was afraid to question, even in jest, if she was certain. Because why would she be certain? I'd not been there for her, not since Freya was just a couple of months old. I'd helped as long as I thought she needed it and then jumped right back into working.