Bright Midnight

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Lise says from beside me. “He wants to drop her off at her hotel.”

“I didn’t say that,” Anders protests gruffly.

“Ha!” Astrid says, starting the car. “You’re coming with us to the bar first. Then we’ll take you to your hotel. You’re our hostage now.”

Lise pipes up beside me, says something else in Norwegian.

Anders looks at me. I can’t read him. I’m not sure if I want to.

Being dropped off at my hotel probably would be for the best though, but then what? I would spend the rest of the night, the rest of my days here, maybe even the rest of my life, wondering just what the hell happened.

I can’t pretend I didn’t come to this country hoping this would happen.

Hoping, secretly, without my heart knowing it.

But I know it now.

And this shouldn’t have been possible.

So I think I owe it at least that.

Even though I don’t owe him a thing.

Everyone is staring at me, waiting for an answer.

“I’d love to have a drink,” I say, as Astrid pulls out of the parking lot. Not sure I had much choice in that anyway.

I can see Anders frowning out of the corner of my vision. He turns around and nods. “A drink it is.”

“Good,” Astrid says, stepping on the gas so hard my head goes flying back against the headrest. “Sorry!” she says, winking at me in the mirror.

“Is this your first time in Trondheim?” Lise asks me, as we cruise down cobblestone streets, past brightly colored shops and people huddled under umbrellas.

I can barely take it all in. All I can keep thinking is:

Is this real, is this real, is this real?

Is this really Anders sitting right beside me?

My first love.

Maybe my only love.

And the first person who showed me what it’s like to break.

5

Shay

Suffice to say, Lise asks me the most questions during the drive, all of which I answer on autopilot.

First trip to Norway.

Just arrived here.

Was in Ireland before.

No idea what’s next for me.

No idea.

“That must be nice,” Lise says, as we’re crossing over a bridge that spans the river and the banks are lined with old boathouses done up in a rich colors: golds and blues and reds that reflect onto the dark water.

“Nice?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” she says. “To do whatever you want, go where the wind takes you. To have no plans, no place to go.”

Yeah, I think. But sometimes you want a place to go. A place to be.

Astrid parks the car on narrow, hilly road and we all clamor out. I try not to look in Anders’ direction and as I pull my jacket over my cardigan, glancing down at the wet patches on my jeans, I wonder if my makeup is running down my face. Thankfully the rain has eased up to a drizzle.

Even with the shitty weather, Trondheim looks and feels miles different than Oslo. The buildings are older, less modern and more quaint, the traffic is low, cobblestone streets filled with young, fresh-faced bikers, smiling through the rain, twisting off the main roads.

“This is Trondheim’s Old Town,” Astrid announces as I walk beside her, staying ahead of Anders. When we cross the main road called Nedre Bakklandet, and nearly get run over by what seems to be an endless stream of young, beautiful people on bicycles (who bikes in this weather?) she points to a building by the bridge. “And that’s my favorite bar. The beer is cheap and good.”

The bar is called Den Gode Nabo—I have no idea what that means, it sounds like a planet from Star Wars—and inside it’s deliciously warm and dark, like a Scandinavian dive bar, but clean and full of character. The tilting floors, the walls, even the low ceilings from which old, dusty chandeliers hang, are all knotty wood. There are long tables with benches piled with blankets and pillows and many booths and tables tucked into dark corners. I feel like I’m in an old traditional boathouse, which is probably the case. There’s even a section at the back that leads down a ramp to a floating patio on the river, though not even a Norwegian would brave a drink out there in this weather.

“Here,” Astrid says, gesturing to a booth in the corner. “Roar and I will get the drinks. What do you want? Beer? Cider?”

“Cider is fine,” I tell her, reaching for my wallet, but the two of them are already walking away to the long bar at the end. I expect Lise to stay with us, but she runs off after them.

Leaving me and Anders alone.

“It’s on her,” Anders says, taking a seat and gesturing to my wallet. “You’re going to need to save as much money as you can in this country.” He nods at the place across from him. “Please, sit.”