The store is closing in ten minutes. We take the elevator down and push our cart through the storage hall, brimming with cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes. We finally find the correct shelf, but to our dismay, it’s empty.
We run to find help. The saleswoman tells me they will have to deliver the bed to me tomorrow. I sigh and give her my address. Erik and I pay for our stuff separately and go back to the car.
We drive home silently, and the dreaded moment comes. Once we enter the apartment, he looks at me, deep in thought. My heart is racing and my palms are sweaty. What do I expect he’ll do?
It’s in his hands now. Letting me sleep on the floor or...
“You can have my bed if you want,” he offers casually, like it’s not something he avoided saying at all costs. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Erik, I don’t want to disturb you. I can just—”
“Relax, Sol.” When he passes by, he taps my shoulder, and I feel so weird about this whole situation, I stand at the entrance for a few seconds, processing it all.
He is not a jerk after all.
Well, a little bit. But not too much. I guess.
I put on my pajamas—a set of pink silky shorts and a matching top, and it’s only then that I realize my sleepwear is a bit on the sexy side. I don’t own a set with long sleeves and pants. It’s been on my shopping list, but it isn’t winter yet, and my duvet is quite warm.
Besides, I thought that when I finally slept in a Danish man’s bedroom, I wouldn’t be trying to hide from him.
The last time I was in a guy’s bed was almost a year ago, in Brazil. I synced up with my cousin Luana to pretend I was sleeping at her place so I could avoid my parents’ questions.
It wasn’t as if my mom didn’t want me to find someone—quite the opposite. While Dad was a hound protecting his little girl, Mom would embarrass me with unsolicited advice. She was always introducing me to the church men, the ones she’d call “the good catches.” The two I ended up dating were far from godly—and not in the way you’d want them to be.
I came here promising myself I’d be an adult woman at last, with an active and healthy sexual life. As I prepare to go to my sexy roommate’s bed, however, the only “active” thing in my life is my unhealthy decisions.
I carry my duvet and pillow with me as I move toward Erik’s room, and he makes space for me as he holds the door open. I try not to look at him so this doesn’t become more awkward than it already is, but I feel his gaze on my body. Is he looking at my butt? My legs are quite exposed...
The bed is ready for me, his blankets and pillows lying on the couch. I lie down carefully, feeling odd and uncomfortable, and cover myself up to my neck. When Erik goes to the bathroom, I look around the dimly lit space. It’s cozy in a way I won’t be able to make mine, at least for a while.
He has many vintage travel posters on the walls, most of them including beautiful tropical beaches. I find Rio, and that makes me smile. A piece of home in a foreign place...even though Rio is over six hundred miles away from where I grew up.
I’m six thousand miles away from home now.
When I think about that, I feel small, happy, and a little lonely at the same time. But when I talk with my family and friends like I did today, the distance feels like an illusion.
Like how I can be in Erik’s room, in his bed, and yet be so far away from him.
Six
The night is a mess.
I can’t fall asleep, and I sense the same is true for Erik. His couch has a beautiful design, but it’s probably not the most comfortable place to lie down, especially for someone as big as him.
The curtains are flimsy, allowing the streetlamp to cast a dim light inside the room, outlining Erik’s silhouette. He shuffles several times, and there is occasionally a leg or arm poking out of his duvet, or dangling over the edge of the couch, until he shifts position again. And again.
I feel bad about it, but I’m not supposed to be the gentleman here. Or am I?
I could of course suggest he lie on the other side of the bed—there is plenty of space for both of us—but I know better than to make such an indecent proposal to Erik Storm.
The smell of his citrusy cologne is everywhere, impregnated in the fitted sheet, and when I close my eyes, it’s easy to imagine he is lying by my side. Yet, there is no weight on the mattress to balance mine, no source of heat, and there is regular breathing echoing on the silent walls a few feet away.
The breathing of someone who is wide awake.
When I’m coming back from the toilet for the second time, my eyes are drawn to the glow of a phone screen illuminating Erik’s face. He’s given up.
“You should take your bed back,” I say. “I can’t sleep anyway.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
I ignore that. “I can be in my room and get some work done.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, and he can’t look at me unless he turns his head, which he does. “It’s three in the morning, Sol.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve rested enough. And you can’t sleep.”
He sits up, looking at me through the semidarkness. “It’s not because of the bed. It’s just...” He hesitates. “It’s how all my nights have been lately.”
He rubs his face and leans his head back to stare at the ceiling. I stay still for a moment, not knowing what to do.
“Do you have to go to work in the morning?”
He shakes his head. “I’m unemployed.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
I’m very curious now, so curious my body drives me to the couch. I move the end of his duvet aside and sit down, leaving one seat between us. I’m glad it’s dark—or, well, almost dark. It somehow makes it easier to interact with him. Especially when he is wearing nothing but a tank top and underwear—yes, he sleeps in boxer briefs, regardless of my presence.
