He kneels on the kitchen floor and leans his head back, blond hair falling over his shoulders like a golden cascade. I ask him where the elastic is, and he points at the counter. I retrieve it, loop it around my wrist, and start gathering his soft hair in my hands. The butterflies in my stomach wake up from their twenty-three-day slumber, and I enjoy this with every cell of my body. I slide my fingers along his scalp, brushing his smooth hair. An almost inaudible groan of pleasure escapes his lips, and he pretends it never happened.
“Ponytail or bun?” I ask, wondering if my voice sounds as choked as my throat is feeling.
“You choose.”
I gather the lower half of his hair and “accidentally” caress his neck in the process. He moves as if tickled. I sense the shivers down his spine. I feel them too. The pancakes are slowly burning, but neither of us reacts.
“I think you should change your shampoo,” I say. It smells masculine, like a man for whom I would skip work to spend all day in bed.
“Is it distracting?”
“No... It gives you split ends.”
He laughs. It’s a glorious sound, so contagious it gets me laughing too. I twist his hair up and tie it back. By now, the pancakes are screaming for help. Erik thanks me and hurries back to their rescue.
The pancakes are ready, but I unfortunately don’t have time to sit and eat calmly. I gobble two down, thank Erik, and hurry to work.
Chiara isn’t well. It’s like we switched moods. Or maybe she has been down for a while and I didn’t notice, too absorbed in my sadness over Erik’s absence.
I didn’t want anyone to notice I was having problems in my personal life, but I know she noticed. And perhaps those times she asked if I was okay, she expected me to ask her back, but I didn’t. I couldn’t see her pain. Now it’s clear in her red eyes.
“Hey, Chiara. Are you okay?” I ask when we meet in the bathroom, not so much by chance. I went in to wash my hands and reapply lipstick when she left her desk and was gone for almost twenty minutes.
She walks out of a stall and washes her hands next to me. “Anika and I broke up,” she tells her reflection.
I turn to look at her, in shock.
“What? No! I mean, oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. You guys were... I mean, I’m sorry.” I have no idea what to say. They were so good together, looked so in love. “What happened?”
Chiara sniffs. She’s keeping her cool. Pretending her world isn’t falling apart. But I know very well what she is going through.
“She got a job in Sweden.”
“That’s good, right? Sweden is just a bridge away.”
Chiara shakes her head.
“That’s Malmö. She’s moving to Stockholm. Eight hours away by car or bus.”
“That must be just an hour away by plane, then?” I need to make her see the light. It can’t be that impossible.
“I can’t do this, Sol.” She looks at me, defeated but with resolve in her eyes. She has obviously thought a lot about her decision.
“Long-distance relationships work for a lot of people,” I say.
Chiara snorts. “Not for us.”
“What about you moving there? You left Italy to come to Copenhagen. Why not go a bit farther north for her?”
Chiara gives me a humorless smile. “You make it sound so easy... What about my job? All I’ve built here?”
“She got her dream job?” I ask. “Will she work with jewelry design?” I remember what Anika told us in Tivoli.
Chiara nods. “I don’t blame her for going. I know how much she wanted this, and things weren’t working out for her here.”
“And is this your dream job?”
She is silent for a moment. I’ve cornered her. We are at Scorpio Games, talking about her job not being her ideal.
“I don’t want a QA career path,” she whispers as if the walls have ears. We both look behind us, and there is no one in the stalls.
A lot of people enter the game industry through quality assurance jobs, but most have other ambitions. I can’t judge Chiara, since I’m also aiming for another role. She is probably holding on to the possibilities of the post–Fun Season internal hiring as much as I am.
“Apply for jobs in Stockholm then,” I whisper back.
“I’m doing that, but it will probably be too late when I get an offer there...if ever.”
I frown. “You think she won’t wait for you?”
“We broke up, Sol. It’s not fair of me to ask her to halt her life there and wait for something that might never happen.”
I hold her by the shoulders. “Chiara. Please think this through. You’re unhappy here,” I whisper even lower. “If she’s the love of your life, take a chance.”
Her face looks sculpted in stone. “I’m not unhappy here. I’m safe.”
I hug her. I don’t want her to be angry at me. All I want is to help. “Sorry if I’m being harsh,” I say over her shoulder. “I understand you so well...”
“Is Erik back? Is that why you look happier today?”
