I Love You Jag Alskar Dig

This story is inspired by my stay in Stockholm a couple of months ago. I spent a lot of time just walking the streets where this story is based, absorbing the atmosphere and the first couple of pages were actually written at the hostel. It's a whimsical tale of two women who meet out at Ikea, one is Swedish and the other is an American ex-pat. I've used Swedish and English for the title and also thrown a few Swedish words into the dialogue, along with translations. I hope you enjoy it.

Shaima.

*****

I first met Annie on a cold, blustery day out at Ikea in Kungens Kurva, she was manhandling a flat pack item into the back of her Volvo whilst arguing with someone on the phone. When the item wouldn't fit she hauled it out again and started pulling other items out of the car whilst continuing her argument which by this time had turned into a monologue. Her accent gave her away as an American although I've always found it hard to distinguish between American and Canadian accents.

"So, this is how it's going to be, Gustav. I don't love you any more and that should make you sad but instead you're quite happy to go back to your mother's while you work out your issues. I've moved out and I'm not going back," she put the phone in her pocket just as the flat pack item she'd balanced precariously on the edge toppled over and hit her foot.

"Fuck," she yelled and then seeing me loading my own car she blushed, "sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Why?" I replied, "it's a normal human reaction, you are not supposed to be jumping for joy when you drop something on your foot."

Annie grimaced at that and lifted her foot onto the tailgate to massage her bruised foot. She was wearing sheepskin boots which weren't designed to withstand the impact of something heavy falling on your foot. She was dressed for the cold in a winter coat, woollen sweater, jeans and a thick woollen hat. When she looked across at me I felt a slight weakness in the pit of my belly, she had green eyes and a cute pixie-like face. One of the advantages about not announcing my sexual orientation to all and sundry is the opportunity to check out women and she was definitely my type of woman.

"It's the legacy of a Christian upbringing," she told me.

"Well, I'm not a Christian," I grinned, "but would you like a helping hand?"

"Please," she dropped her foot to the ground, "I have to get this back home and then try to work out how to assemble it. My Swedish is okay but I'll have to look up a few words on Google."

"Where do you live?" I approached the car.

"Mariatorget," she replied.

"Okay?" I bent down to help her lift the box, "I live in Slussen, so we are neighbours."

"I like Slussen," she replied, "it's got that lived in look."

"I'm Annie," she introduced herself as we slid the large box into the back of her Volvo.

"I'm Agnethe," I replied.

We stared at each other for a few seconds and then she seemed to come out of her trance-like state and tucked a strand of light brown hair back under her hat.

"Tack så mycket."

Thanks so much.

"Varsågod," I straightened up and looked past her for a moment. What were the chances that this woman lived not far from me? I did contemplate stepping back but then I switched to English, "would you like me to help you assemble," I glanced at the picture on the front of the box, "this desk?"

"I couldn't ask you."

"No, but I could offer, we are in the same neighbourhood after all but there is a price."

"How much?"

"Coffee," I replied.

"Coffee I have," she smiled, "okay, I supply the fika and you'll help me assemble this desk," she glanced at the box, "skrivbord?"

"Ja, that is the right word," I backed away.

Because I was a local, so to speak, I led the way back home, it's a good half an hour or so back to Mariatorget. The area has become something of a popular destination along with Slussen thanks to the Millennium series. Tourists can often be seen with Millennium maps in one hand and a look of intense concentration as they try to navigate their way through neighbourhoods where the fictional character Lisbeth Salander lived. I've read the books twice and seen the films a few times, one of my ex girlfriends bought them for me for Christmas.

Perhaps it was no small coincidence that the Millennium books were on the floor of her apartment, she hadn't managed to get a bookshelf yet and by the looks of things she'd be back at Ikea before too long buying more furniture.

"I managed to grab some of the furniture from the old apartment," she slid the overcoat over her shoulders, "but I'll be back at Ikea soon enough."

"My sister has a bookshelf she doesn't want any more," I leaned down to pick up The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, "have you read the original Swedish?"

"No but it's on my bucket list," she perched on the edge of the sofa chair, "once I've furnished this apartment."

I glanced around the apartment, recalling a similar look when my marriage ended seven and a half years ago. Finding a vacant apartment in Stockholm can be quite hard, but getting one in such a prime location is almost impossible. She was literally overlooking the Mariatorget T-bana, her local subway station, I had to walk five minutes to get to the T-bana at Slussen. I turned back to Annie. Now that we were inside and out of the rain that was starting to turn to snow I could see she was only a couple of years younger than myself. She had a generous mane of long brown hair that fell to the middle of her back.

She pulled the jumper off to reveal a pale blue blouse with a pattern of white geometric lines, she was still wearing her boots. Mine had been left at the door as is our custom, but it occurred to me that I could have dispensed with that infamous Swedish custom and kept my boots on. She ran her hand through her hair and grimaced as she stared at the flatpack desk we'd lugged up the stairs a few minutes previously.

"This is going to be a challenge, usually it was my ex husband who assembled furniture."

"I'm sure we can manage," I turned to look at it, "a picture tells a thousand words, so we have to compare the picture with," I frowned as I searched for the right word, "our progress, if it does not match the picture then we have done something wrong."

"That sounds logical, what is the Swedish word for logical?"

"Logisk," I murmured.

"You can put your boots back on if you like," she replied, "just in case you drop something on your foot, I've only got indoor shoes in my size."

"I will manage," I approached the box, "so, what happened between you and your partner?"

"I felt like I was married to his mother as well," she fiddled with the ring on her finger, "I used to come back from work and find she'd moved something or put something up, but when she decided to move into our apartment I put my foot down."

"Is she old?"

"No, she's not," Annie rose and stretched, "she's from Gothenburg but she's got a guy she sees in Stockholm," she paused for a moment, "he's married so she can't move in with him but they're still fucking. She decided to move into our apartment so as she could keep fucking her lover but now that I've moved out it's thrown everything up in the air. He can't afford to keep the place without my income and she's not working these days."

"Ah, he seems like not such a good catch. Where did you meet him?"

"Disneyland," she managed a slight smile, "I was there with my cousin from Australia and at first he was more interested in her until he discovered she was gay and then he only had eyes for me."

"Perhaps I should take one for the other team," she looked past me, "I really thought I could make this one work but it seems my bad luck with men has followed me across the Atlantic."

She rose, "and now that we're on the subject of men, let me find a knife," and then she smiled at the look on my face, "to cut the tape on the box."

"Oh," I grinned, thankful she couldn't read my mind.

I learned all about her 'bad luck' with men as we assembled the desk some time later. Annie had been engaged to her high school sweetheart at the age of eighteen but they broke up when she found him in bed with his half sister a few months later. She admitted that was down to naiveté, she was from a small town in west Texas but the second one she walked right into with eyes wide open. He was married but had broken up with his wife and was living with a brother. Like most men who lay claim to the old mantra 'I just want a new start,' he kept going back to his ex wife who accepted him back every single time.

"In the end I knew it was a lost cause. He was never going to file divorce papers and she knew she had him right where she wanted him."

After that she'd headed to L.A, California where she did a Masters in Literature at UCLA and spent the time in college dating a number of men, some of whom seemed open minded and yet she could never find the right man. She had a checklist of things she could or wouldn't put up with and even I found myself sympathising with the men because she'd set the bar quite high. We Swedes can do the same thing but Annie had it down to a fine art.

"Do you not think you are setting the bar too high?" I asked her as we sat down at her new desk, "men will always leave socks on the floor or the toilet seat up."

"I've been thinking that too," she looked past me, "I think I get it from mom," she paused, "she went to college and got her degree in economics but then married dad and became a stay at home soccer mom. It's not as if dad doesn't want her working, he's earning enough money so that she can stay home but I know she wants to work and find her own feet."

"And what about your sisters?"

"They're both married but my older sister Laura's marriage is on the rocks after he had an affair. She took him back, which is always a bad idea in my book. Men always say sorry but they never stay sorry," she tightened the final leg on the desk.

"And your younger sister?"

"Zara is married to a woman," she replied, "she lives in Maine where she's working on her next novel, some steamy lesbian love story."

I looked up suddenly and she raised her eyebrows.

"Something I said?"

"I'm gay," I finally replied, "but I don't wear it on my sleeve."

"Huh," she smiled crookedly, "that's what I love about this country, and Europe in general, you can just be what you want. When Zara came out it was like Armageddon to the power of ten. Mom was one of those conservative types. She always voted Republican and sent money to anti abortion groups and family groups, although she never liked the NRA."

"And now?"

"Let's just say that when Zara came out she had to face up to her church friends and because she didn't cast her daughter into exile she became one of them. I have to hand it to mom, when it comes to family nothing comes between her and us. She switched sides and this last election she even held her nose and voted for Hillary."

"Oh ho," I managed a wry smile, "sounds like quite a woman."

"She is," Annie bent down to lift the desk onto its side and paused while I grabbed the other side of the desk, "on three, one, two, three."

We flipped the desk onto its legs and she grinned.

"There, that wasn't so hard, note to self," she stared past me, "take notice of the pictures first and ignore the writing."

She leaned on the windowsill and studied me for a few moments.

"So, how long have you known you were gay?"

"I suspected it before I got married to Sven but three years of marriage finally convinced me that I was just fooling myself. We broke up over seven years ago but we're still good friends," I ran a hand through my hair, "although it was difficult at first, he blamed himself and then blamed me but in the end we found common ground. He is with someone else now."

"And are you with someone now?"

"I haven't had time for anyone right now," I looked past her for a moment, "I was with someone twelve months ago but that was going nowhere so we broke up."

She said nothing for a minute or two as she stared at the table.

"Coffee?"

"Okay, fika it is."

"I love that word," Annie pushed away from the windowsill.

I heard the story of how Zara and Diana got together over fika. The two had met at a tv studio when Zara was defending her anti LGBT stance and Diana was on the opposing side. It appeared that in this case opposites had definitely attracted each other because they began an online email exchange that lasted for several months. Because they were both writers they agreed to critique their final drafts of manuscripts. In the end they found common ground and not long after that started seeing each other socially but even then it was still a closely guarded secret. Ultimately, it was that need to keep her friendship secret that drove Zara away from the church and into the arms of her newest friend, Diana.

"It's a divisive issue over there," I mused, "but here it's not quite the same although we've had a bit of trouble from right wing family groups trying to affect the political outcomes in Europe. We're lucky here because Sweden tends to be more accepting to gay people."

We moved onto other subjects after that, like our vocations and interests. She was a consultant for a big bank and I was the curator for an art gallery but apart from our jobs we seemed to share a lot in common, music, films, books and when it came to films, she shared the same love as I for the old Hollywood classics. We parted that day with an agreement to meet up again a few days later for fika in town.

Nevertheless, despite our agreement I was in no doubt that she was happily straight even if she was now unhappily single. I've been out with quite a few straight women who never took it any further than coffee and cake. My love life up until then had been somewhat fractured with a lot of false starts and one long term relationship that ended when she accepted a transfer to Germany. Melinda had been on my mind just recently because she still kept in contact even though she was living with someone else. Despite our shared past, Melinda was insistent that we stay friends.

I went to bed that night feeling a little more content and pleased with myself. We Swedes have a reputation for being stand offish, it's not as if we are rude or arrogant, it just takes us more time to open up to new people. I had a few friends I met regularly but just lately I'd felt a little out of place because quite a few had paired off and my natural instinct was to take a step back and let them spend time together. Thus, befriending Annie had come at the right time. She was someone I could go out with even if it was just for fika.

For the next few months Annie became my fika friend, we used to meet up once a week on a Friday but that soon evolved into two and then three times a week. We usually met in town but after a few weeks she used to meet me at her place. However she never met me at my place and it's not as if she didn't know where I lived, she had my address. That was a significant thing for me because it was almost as if she was drawing a line in the sand as they say. Even when I went to her place I was never there for more than ten or fifteen minutes and then we'd head out for fika.

The subject of sex rarely came up and when it did the conversation was more general and almost trivial, it was as if she was deliberately avoiding any deep and meaningful conversations about sex and sexuality, and I respected her privacy. All that changed after three months when Annie told me that her oldest sister, Laura was coming to visit.

"She's finally acknowledged that her asshole husband is a love rat," she peered at me over the top of a clothing fixture in Ahlens.

"Okay," I flicked through the blouses, "so she is coming on her own?"

"Yeah," she lowered her eyes, "she's given him three weeks to clear out his shit and she's taking a three week vacation to see her younger sister."

"And what if he clears out her stuff too?"

"Kinda hard to do when they live across the road from dad and mom," she picked up a white blouse with pussybow ties, "now this would look good on you," she held it against herself, "and me too," she raised an eyebrow, "what do you think?"

"I think it would," I studied her.

"Ah, so she thinks I would look sexy in this?" Annie chuckled.

"Stop it," I smiled crookedly, "people can hear you."

"Förlåt," she used the Swedish word for sorry.

"You are forgiven," I reached over to her side of the fixture and plucked out a garment in my size, "so we will not see each other for three weeks?"

"Say what?" Annie's eyes widened, "don't be stupid, of course you will meet my sister. She wants to meet my gay best friend," she took a step back, "I need to try this on."

Shopping for clothes had become part of our routine a few weeks previously but this night was a little different because when she stepped out of the cubicle to show me, the pussybow wasn't tied correctly and when I gestured at it and told me she looked down at it and said, "so, how should it look?"

It never occurred to me at the time that she might have tied it that way deliberately and I know that sounds silly but as I untied it and then retied it she didn't move a muscle. The result satisfied her and she bought it, I bought one as well and it was only when I was hanging it in my wardrobe that night that I actually thought about my wardrobe adjustment because she had worn something that was similar a few weeks ago and it had been perfectly tied then. Was she flirting or just teasing me? It was a mystery that was finally revealed when Laura flew into Arlanda the following week, and even though I only met her once at a café in town for about half an hour I liked Laura straight away when the subject of politics came up. Trump had just claimed there had been a terror attack in Sweden, which hadn't actually happened but it certainly had people all round the world laughing, at him.

"I didn't vote for him," she scowled.

However, I didn't see anything of Annie for the rest of the week and the weekend. She and Laura went up to Uppsala and across to Gothenburg before returning to Stockholm on the Sunday night. I followed their process on social media of course! When I checked Annie's Facebook there was a selfie of her and Laura outside Stockholm Central Station. They were both holding disposable coffee cups and the hashtag was fika. I commented on that picture.

Agnethe: My favourite word, glad to see you're both back.

I didn't hear the ping when Annie replied because I was in the bathroom but when I came back to the lounge room I saw her reply.

Annie: Fika tomorrow? Laura wants to see the art gallery. If you're too busy we can make it some other day.

Of course I wasn't busy I smiled.

Agnethe: Come around half past four, I'll tell Mariette I'm leaving early.

Looking back at that day I can't say I thought much about Annie, partly because I really was quite busy with phone calls and paperwork and partly because I was starting to feel some sort of pull towards Annie and given the fact that she was straight and I was gay, I was only acting out of instinct and trying to keep things on an even keel. I'd been there before, more than once and it's not a good look to be pining over a straight woman who just won't bend.

Maybe that inspired my rather conservative outfit that day, a white blouse under a black V-necked jumper and black trousers, I even tied my hair up into a bun although that had a lot to do with our heating system which is really efficient. When Annie turned up I noticed she'd had her hair done, she'd had it cut into a bob style and dyed blonde. She wore that white pussybow blouse that she'd bought over a week ago, it was tucked into jeans and matched with a blue overcoat.

"You had your hair cut," I touched my bun.