Chapter Nine

Nine

T he sun is shining on the lakes, and despite the cold breeze, it's a nice morning. When you live in Denmark, you learn to appreciate even the shiest sunrays.

Erik and I had breakfast together while studying trivia cards from the quiz games he owns. I wanted to prepare for tonight, but we realized we could be using our time better—questioning each other about ourselves , for instance, since we'll be pretending to be a couple—so we decided to go for a walk.

I stop at the fence separating our building from the bike lane parallel to the sidewalk bordering the lakes. Closing my eyes for a second, I turn my face up to enjoy the modest heat on my skin. Erik touches my shoulder and chuckles, for once not in a scornful way. I turn my head to see his smile.

"You're becoming a Dane already," he says.

"No... I'm just a Brazilian who desperately misses the sun."

He laughs and puts a hand on my back, urging me onward. We wait for bikes to pass before crossing, then we climb down the little steps to the paved way surrounding S?erne —three artificial rectangular lakes next to each other housing ducks and swans.

"So, how did we meet?" he asks, and I look at him, puzzled. "In our fake story," he clarifies.

"Oh. Eh... Okay." I straighten up, ready with an answer. "We matched on Cinder. Let's use as much of the truth as possible to keep it simple." I give him an uncertain smile, and as he doesn't say anything, I continue, "But we can say it was two months after I arrived, so we've been dating for four months, which is not a long time but better than only a few weeks."

Erik keeps walking without comment.

"There is, of course, the fact that we live together, and maybe we shouldn't hide that." I scratch my head, thinking. Four months is way too little time to move in with a boyfriend. I probably wouldn't do that even after a year. "Would a long-distance relationship make sense?" I say. "Then we could have met before, when—"

"Met through Cinder four months ago is fine," he cuts me off, practical as usual. "Also fine that you moved in with me when my previous roommate left."

"Who was your previous roommate? Did they leave recently?"

Erik doesn't answer. I'm so curious, so I press him. "Come on, I need to know your history."

"My cousin had been living with me for a few months. He moved in with his girlfriend two weeks before you took the room."

His gaze lingers on my face, as if he is overanalyzing my features under the sunlight. Yes, overanalyzing —not appreciating them like I am appreciating his. It's Erik, after all.

"And who lived in my room before your cousin?"

"Why does it matter?" He diverts his eyes, getting defensive.

"We need to know about each other's lives. If people ask—"

"We don't need to answer everything people ask, Sol."

His words are not necessarily unkind, but they are clearly dismissive. It's too early to dig into Erik's personal affairs. Especially when I suspect this has something to do with an ex. Perhaps he will never tell me about it, whether we have a fake relationship or not.

"Wait, didn't you get my number from someone who works at Scorpio?" Erik remembers, facing me with a worried look.

"Yes. Mark, a programmer."

"Shit. We need to change our story then."

"Why?" I try to read in his eyes the reason for his concern, and then I realize the problem. "Oh. Mark knows I only just met you because he is the reason why I got your number and heard about the apartment."

"Exactly." He looks at me as if I'm too slow in processing the facts.

"But Mark is not in Group Lars."

"So what? He knows it. People will talk when they hear about us."

I bite my lower lip. I told nearly everyone in the office that I was looking for an apartment.

Erik stops and gazes at me, serious. "Sol. If you want this to work, you need to think about the holes in your story. Either we fill them properly or we don't go ahead with this."

I take a deep breath. "What about just saying we met when I called you about the apartment? That's what we need to work with, I guess. The truth, or part of it."

Erik doesn't say anything, but his forehead creases. I'm also not a fan of this. Telling the truth—or that part, at least—means I've only known Erik for a few weeks and we are already together. It's a fragile relationship. It doesn't give me the look of roots and stability. It will make me seem impulsive and naive for moving in with someone so quickly.

But better that than no boyfriend.

"We tell them we started texting each other when I got your number," I say. "We met at that pub to talk about the apartment. We had a lot in common. We talked all night and, well..." Shucks, it's embarrassing to make up this story about someone far from fictional who is standing right in front of me. I turn my face to the water, feeling my cheeks heat. "We fell for each other and decided to go ahead with moving in because you needed someone to help you pay the rent and I needed a room, so it was the perfect deal. No one needs to know any details. Just that we are in love and it's all going great."

I glance at him. His forehead is still wrinkled, but he nods.

"Good. That's decided then," I conclude, feeling calmer. We resume walking. "Oh, and I guess we should tell each other some facts about ourselves in case we're asked about each other's favorite food, drink, sport, TV show, game, flower, color, and so on. I'll start," I say, professional and objective. If this is business, let's treat it as such.

"Beans, a Brazilian soda made of guarana, volleyball, Gilmore Girls , The Sims , violets and cactuses, light blue."

I stop and stare at him, wide-eyed. "What? How do you know all that?"

Erik looks at me with an expression of This is so obvious I shouldn't even explain .

"You have so many cans of black beans stocked in the pantry, one might think we're preparing for the apocalypse." I laugh. He goes on. "There's always a can or two of this foreign green soda in the fridge—where do you find that, by the way?"

"They sell it here, can you believe it?" I tell him with excitement. Gee, I was happy to find my good old Guaraná.

"You have a signed volleyball in your room that looks like it's special to you," he continues. "You often watch Gilmore Girls or play The Sims on your computer while eating at the dining table. You have violets and cactuses at your windowsill and a lot of your clothes and accessories are light blue."

My jaw is on the pavement. He actually pays attention to me. I'm not just some ghost roaming around the place.

"So, I'm not a mind reader," he says with a shrug and a carefree smile. "I simply have eyes."

"It seems like we're more prepared than I thought." I smile back, and we turn a corner when we reach the end of the lake to continue walking by the water.

"Well, not really, when you still don't know about my favorite things," he says.

"I know that your favorite food is oatmeal."

He laughs. Erik's breakfast is always a bowl of pure, dry oats that he soaks with milk and gobbles down with pleasure as if it's as tasty as Frosted Flakes. Oatmeal is often his night snack too, and he sometimes eats it as a porridge.

"I eat that a lot, yes, but to say it's my favorite food is a bit of a stretch."

"Then what's your favorite food?"

"Sushi."

"Duly noted." I nod and glance back at him. "You're a tea person. Green tea."

"Yep."

"I don't know what sports and TV shows you like," I say, maintaining eye contact.

"I love playing hockey and watching American football. God of War is my favorite game, and I'm a sitcom binge-watcher. Name any sitcom, and I've probably watched it. Friends is my all-time favorite, by the way."

"You like laughing?" I tease him. "I thought it was all doom and gloom with you."

Erik laughs louder than I've ever heard. He sounds really... nice when he laughs. Now I want to watch sitcoms with him.

"I'm always up for the ‘doom and gloom' too," he replies. "The blood, the gore... I love all Tarantino movies."

I shake my head, pretending to shiver. "That doesn't interest me."

"I'll get you to watch them one day," he says with amusement and a confidence that seduces me a bit, but I'm sure that was not his intention.

"You forgot to mention your favorite flowers. And color."

"My favorite flowers are in the lavender fields in Provence," he says with the dreamy tone of someone who remembers a lovely vacation. "And I like them there, where they belong."

I smile. I like that answer.

"Your color is black," I say. There's no way I'm wrong about that.

He grins at me, causing a mild disturbance to my insides.

There are many people out today basking in the sun, going for lazy walks, feeding the ducks, and resting on the benches while eating ice cream. The cafés facing the lakes are full of customers sitting outside, enjoying the view. It's nice walking around here with Erik.

"Hygge," I say out of nowhere, and Erik looks at me, confused, as if I woke him up from a daydream. "I want you to tell me more about hygge. It's what Scandinavians are famous for, right? If it's the base of this culture, I want to learn it. Feel it."

"You are experiencing it right now, hopefully." The corners of his mouth tug up. "Or, well, at least a lot of people around us are."

"It means feeling cozy, right?"

He shakes his head in a sort of motion.

"Cozy and coziness are translations people attempt, but they don't fully convey the meaning of hygge. It describes a state of being." He keeps his eyes on mine as we walk. "It's a feeling of satisfaction and well-being you experience when you're at peace with yourself and the world at that moment." He smiles at the reflection of the sun on the water. "And it usually happens when you're with people you like or love."

He looks down now, as if embarrassed. What for? Implying that we can have hygge together?

"But you can also feel hygge alone," Erik continues. "And you can feel it all over the world. We just invented an expression for this special feeling, and achieving it often is part of our culture. Mostly, we love to tell people that it's nice to be with them by saying, ‘This is hyggeligt.'"

"So you don't necessarily need candles and hot chocolate?" I ask, smiling.

"No, no... Although certain elements, like coffee, cake, blankets, pleasant smells, laughter...help you be present in a time and place where your usual concerns don't bother you."

I've experienced hygge—or I think I have—a few times since I arrived in Copenhagen. But this moment, right here and now, is the one I'm sure is hygge.

We continue our walk for a little longer, until I say, "I want you to help me become more Danish."

"So that you can impress Lars?" There goes his judgmental tone again. It doesn't bother me this time. Nothing does on this beautiful day.

"I'm trying to belong here." I shrug. I want Cristina's life. A life of independence, success, love, safety, and plenty of time for the little pleasures. I want to learn how to properly enjoy the beauty of this country and be part of its culture of trust, respect, and social coziness.

"All right, give me your notepad and a pen."

I look in my purse and pass them to Erik. He sits on the nearest bench and starts scribbling on the first blank page he finds.

I sit by his side. "What are you doing?"

"Making a list for you. You can't consider yourself a true Copenhagener until you've completed these items."

He puts a loose strand of hair behind his ear, taking a break to think about what to write. I look over his shoulder to see what he wrote, the wind carrying his citrusy scent in my direction, confusing my thoughts for a second.

1. Eat pastries from the best bakeries in the city

2. Bike all around, everywhere

3. Visit the parks, castles, and museums

4. Have a picnic on the grass

5. Eat sm?rrebr?d for lunch (open rye bread sandwiches with a generous layer of traditional toppings)

6. Shop in the Str?get

7. Go to Tivoli (the second oldest amusement park in the world)

8. Have a beer and fast food at a street food market

9. Discover Freetown Christiania (an independent community in the middle of the city)

"What about the Little Mermaid statue?" I ask him.

"That's a touristy thing. Overrated."

"A lot of the other things are also tourist attractions," I say, although I agree the statue site was a bit less exciting than I imagined. "I might be able to cross some items off the list already."

"What have you completed?"

I try to recall. "Hmm... I saw Amalienborg, the residence of the royal family, of course. I went to the National Museum, Christiansborg Palace... Botanical Garden... Oh, and I've shopped at Str?get many times."

"Good. I would have found it strange if you hadn't. Crossing number six off then." He strikes it through. "I guess you have also done item three to some extent." He draws a line over Visit parks, castles, and museums . "Anything else?"

"I've brought chips to eat while tanning on the grass in a park near my old place during the summer. Does that count as a picnic?"

"I wouldn't say so." Erik clicks the pen, seeming like he isn't done with the list yet. "I missed one thing."

He writes down number ten, and when I see what it is, I laugh in disbelief.

"Winter bathing? Like, getting in the ocean when it's freezing cold?"

"Yes, that's the idea."

I shake my head, laughing. "You people are crazy."

"And yet you want to be like us, so you better join the madness."

I keep laughing and say, "No way."

He throws me the notepad with a mischievous grin. "Too bad. You'll never be a real Copenhagener then."

I shrug. "I'll never be anyway."

"Only if you don't want to."

We keep gazing at each other, and our smiles fade at the same time. A chilly gust of wind shakes our hair, and I press my jacket against my body.

"Trivia night starts at seven," Erik says, checking his watch. "We have a few hours to try some of the things on the list."

I look at him, surprised. Did Erik just say what I thought he said? Is he suggesting we hang out for the rest of the day?

I better not discourage him. I really want the company.

The reason why I explored so little of the city in my six months here was that doing all those things on my own felt strange. Empty. The times I felt hygge alone were at home, wearing my cozy socks, drinking hot chocolate, and watching a romantic movie under my blankets.

Out there, in a beautiful but strange city, I felt like an ant lost from her colony. All I wanted was to be in those wonderful places with someone I liked.

My main motivation to explore was to take pictures or make calls with my family and my best friend and show them what I'd seen and done.

Every time I was out somewhere, observing others, I hoped someone would sit by my side on a bench and start chatting, or that a coworker would cross my path. But it never happened. I made no actual friends.

"Sol?" Erik calls, snatching me out of my thoughts. I look at him, and he smiles. "Let's cross off some items."