She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, you noticed.”
“Of course I noticed.” I suspected it beforehand, but she still should have told me.
“I was going to, but it’s just so embarrassing, you know? I’m nearly twenty-five.”
“Why is that embarrassing?”
For a moment she plucks the buttons on my shirt. “It’s because I’ve been sick. Yet another thing to add to the long list of things that everyone else has got to experience, and I haven’t.”
I watch her steadily. There’s no point telling her it doesn’t matter, because it’s clear she finds it troubling. I cover her hand with my own and press it against my chest. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Thank you,” she says softly, and then looks up at me impishly through her lashes. “Can you, um, un-virgin-ize me?”
I feel my mouth twitch. “I’m trying to be stern with you, and then you say cute things like that.”
She giggles and puts her arms around my neck. “How can you be stern with me daddy? I’m just too sweet.”
“Hmm, yes. Too sweet for your own good.” She rests for a while against my chest, stroking her nails along the back of the hand I have resting on her bare thigh. Yes, I will un-virgin-ize you, as you put it, Lacey. It would be a pleasure.
“What are those symbols tattooed on your fingers? I’ve wondered since you interviewed me.”
“Runes.” I point to each of them in turn, sounding them out for her. Ehwaz, laguz, raido… They must sound harsh to her, but I hope they sound beautiful, too.
“Does it spell out a word? What does it mean?”
I run a finger across my knuckles, reading it out. “Ek erilaz. I am the runemaster.”
She sits up, snorting with laughter. “You are the runemaster?”
I grin at her. “It sounds grand but it just means, I wrote this. I studied runes in Sweden as part of my doctorate and saw this phrase over and over. On standing stones. On jewelry. It’s very common.”
“But you like it because it sounds grand, right?”
“Of course. Words are important. Words have power.” I wrap my hand around her wrist, and say, “Kneel.” Like the good girl she is, Lacey immediately slips from my lap onto her knees. “See?”
She leans forward and runs her tongue over the symbols on my knuckles. “Yes. But it’s not just what you said. It’s the way you said it.”
I clench my hand tighter and angle my hand so she can better see the sigils inked into my flesh. “I don’t have to say it. I am the runemaster. Does this look like I don’t mean it?”
Lacey smiles up at me. “No, daddy.”
I look at her down there for a moment longer, enjoying the sight. Then I help her up onto my lap again, because I’m not done cuddling her. In my arms, she’s light-hearted and happy. I hate sending her back out into the world where her anxieties will get their claws into her again. I wish I could always keep her with me.
She traces the markings on my fingers, and then the faint pattern of the tattoo on my chest through my shirt.
“Tell me about Sweden?” she asks.
“Sweden? Well, the summers are good and hot, but it’s cold and endlessly dark in the winter. If you’re in the countryside, then it can be romantic. Winter days in Stockholm are black and miserable. They gave me the motivation to study English hard and I took the first job in London I could get.”
She laughs. “Are you telling me you came to Britain for the excellent weather?”
“No. The food.” Joking about British food with my colleagues has become a habit, but I glance at her quickly, hoping I haven’t said the wrong thing, but Lacey just grins.
“Hey, don’t go making fun of our cuisine. Fish and chips. Egg and chips. Curry and chips. What more variety could you want?”
I want to tell her about the food I miss in Sweden. Pickled herring salads. Open sandwiches piled high with shrimp, slices of boiled egg, cucumber and crème fraîche. The displays of green Prinsesstårta in bakery windows, and how a summer gathering isn’t complete without a slice. Food is something I enjoy very much when I’m not focused on work. I would like to be able to share that with her. Not just the food, but the experiences that come with them.
A picture forms in my mind, very clear, of Lacey at my parents’ house near Söderhamn. It’s Christmas and the garden is deep with snow, and she’s bundled up in a quilted white coat and a fluffy scarf and beanie. Her lips are cold but her tongue is warm as I bend down to kiss her.
“When did you come to London?” she asks, pulling me out of my daydream.
“I was twenty-eight. A city like Stockholm starts to feel very small after a while. I was ready for something new.” I was also coming out of a very intense and destructive relationship that’s made me hesitant to embark on anything too serious since. We were on again and off again for years, each breakup more dramatic and stressful than the last.