“He thinks we’re lying.”
Erik turns his head so abruptly that boiling water splashes outside the colander, and he yells, “Ouch!” I hurry to help him, taking the pasta away and pulling his hands closer to examine them as he keeps complaining. His thumb is a bit red, but it doesn’t look like a bad burn.
And then I’m holding his hands in mine.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s fine, only stings a little.”
I turn the cold tap and put his fingers under the running water. He groans, sounding uncomfortable and relieved at the same time.
“What did Martin say?” Erik insists, turning his eyes to me.
We are too close to each other now, my heart racing from the shock of his cry of pain—and perhaps a little because of my unplanned proximity...
“Martin suspects we might not be together for real because he thinks it’s unlikely you’d commit the same mistake again,” I say, suddenly very nervous. “You know, so shortly after what happened between you and Lena.”
His blue eyes become as wide as saucers, and he turns away, tensing up. A reddish tone spreads across his face, starting with his ears. I retreat a few steps, letting him handle the pasta, which is now the most important task in the world for Erik.
I understand now why Erik had to come up with another version of the story about how we met. He knew Martin could provoke him about it, and he did. So Erik’s improvised version was supposed to free him from the shame of admitting he got involved with a roommate a second time. Like he’d learned nothing. But that version, including Cinder, was still not enough to fully convince Martin.
“He said it was tough when she left you,” I continue, but Erik gives me a condemning look.
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
I face him. “We have to, Erik.”
His forehead creases. “So that Lars can keep believing your lie?”
“I’m on your side.” He serves the food on two plates, ignoring me to avoid a fight, I guess. But I can’t let this go. “I can’t defend you if I don’t know the truth.”
He turns his back to the stove, giving me his full attention. At first, his face is tense, angry, but then he sighs and looks down, saying, “Martin loved her.”
“What?” My mouth drops open. Holy shiitake mushrooms. “Martin loved Lena?” I’m still processing the information. Martin’s jealous tone earlier makes total sense now...
Erik nods. “I didn’t know.” He pulls his hair back, looking unsettled, and ties it in a new quick bun. “She came from Poland to study. Martin had classes with her. He was the one who insisted I give her the room when I was looking for someone to share rent and she needed a place to live.” He takes a breath. “I had found this apartment thanks to a friend of my dad’s, but I couldn’t afford it alone.”
I nod to show that I’m listening. I know how big this is for him, and I’m glad he’s finally opening up.
Erik looks down with a distant gaze. “I was too stupid to notice, too self-absorbed. Too selfish...”
“He is to blame for not telling you how he felt about her.” I defend Erik. “Did she like Martin back?”
He shrugs. “They were good friends. The three of us were. Later—too late—I realized Martin wanted her to live here because he would have an excuse to see her often. He was always coming over. We were already working together on the project.” Erik turns to grind salt and pepper onto his food. “But Lena never showed signs of liking him more than as a friend. It was me she went after.”
Erik stops with his palms on the counter, absorbed in his memories.
“I grew fond of her, and we became best friends. Things got...confusing.” He seems embarrassed for talking about this with me, but he continues. “She made a move, and I went for it. Headfirst.”
I lean my back against the fridge, watching him, bracing myself. This explains it all. His uneasiness when near me. The fear that he’ll go through everything all over again.
“She didn’t want to tell Martin about us. Whenever he was near, she went away. He noticed something was wrong, and I realized she knew—or suspected—that he had feelings for her.”
“Oh my, Erik... I’m so sorry you went through all this,” I say, meaning it. I can’t blame him for never wanting to go through anything similar again.
There is no third wheel now though. No one else but us.
I frown at myself. Why am I having these thoughts? Would I ever want to be with Erik for real? Physical attraction is one thing—it’s another to want to dive into a relationship that would quickly become what he described: confusing.
Besides, he carries too much baggage. I don’t want to be Lena 2.0. I don’t want him to think of another girl whenever he sees me. A girl he isn’t over yet. A girl who lived in my room. Who probably stood here in this kitchen cooking with him.
I hug myself as if a strong wind just blew, freezing me inside.
“This mess,” he continues, “it was affecting the three of us. And I did what I usually do—I escaped into my work.” He takes two forks and knives from the drawer like he is not even aware of what he’s doing. “I worked hard on the project. Alone. All the time. It helped me cope with the things I couldn’t cope with. But instead of bringing me relief, it only made things worse, to an unrepairable level, because I...wasn’t giving her the attention she deserved.”
“Oh, Erik...” I want to come closer and comfort him, but I’m stuck in place, something in my mind telling my body not to move.
“My relationship with Lena deteriorated, and my partnership with Martin ended. We had been working on different things. Apart. Not communicating. Then one day we had a big fight. He showed me the version of the app he had been working on, but his vision wasn’t mine, and he said he wanted to leave and asked for permission to keep working on his version alone. I said he couldn’t, that it was my company, my idea, but he argued it was just as much his, and, well, it got ugly.” Erik laughs darkly. “He brought up Lena. You can imagine how that went.”
I nod, my brows knitted. “And then he stopped talking to you and got a job at Scorpio, the company you left?”
“Yes. Three months after our fight.”
Ouch. That’s heavy.
“And what about Lena?” I ask, almost whispering, afraid my words will open up his wounds.
Erik stares down at the surface of the counter, his back to me.
