Bex
That question Theo asked me the other day echoes in my head no matter how often I try to stop hearing it.
And every time I hear it, an answer pops up, unbidden—one I wish I hadn’t heard.
What else did you do to keep the peace?
I drive past a park and remember how I quit travel soccer because Bronwyn didn’t make the team.
All it took was Jessie’s pursed lips, a night or two of her suggesting that she’d go somewhere else with Bronwyn all summer so I wasn’t “rubbing it in their faces” to make me decide I didn’t care about playing.
What else did you do to keep the peace?
I jog past my school and suddenly remember the annual placement tests. Bronwyn and I both took them in second grade, our first year as a family, and Jessie had a fit when I’d been placed in a higher math group than Bronwyn.
“How’s that supposed to make Bronwyn feel?” she’d said to my dad. “If this situation isn’t good for my daughter, it’s not good for anyone.”
There was a veiled threat there: If Bronwyn is suffering, I will leave. I saw that threat written on her face anytime I got a better grade than Bronwyn, anytime I finished a book first or did something especially well. Bronwyn was happy for me. Jessie was seething, as if I’d done it maliciously.
So I handed over everything I was good at, and when I got in trouble for bad grades or for fighting with someone who’d ridiculed me for those bad grades, it was always followed by a lecture from Jessie, one she’d end with “I’m gonna let this go,” as if I should be grateful she was tolerating me when I’d only given her what she demanded.
I’m not sure how remembering all of this benefits anyone, however. It’s making me hate a woman who’s dead and resent the man who should have stood up to her. It even makes me resent Bronwyn a little, though she had nothing to do with it.
And bearing a grudge against three family members who died tragically makes me feel worse about everything—myself included—than I already do.
· · ·
Just before I begin my journey to Bergen, Lars texts both me and Theo.
Lars: Your flights get in hours apart, so Bex, you’ll just go straight to the house. You’ve got a long trip, so we’ll let you rest and do our first shoot that night.
Me: We’ve got a house?
Lars: Issue with the hotel so we rented houses instead. The men are in one, the women in the other. Katrina will text you both individually with your addresses.
Theo: Surely there’s a decent hotel room in Bergen. I’ll find something.
Lars: We’re already here, and the houses are amazing. Much nicer than a hotel, and after the incident on the last shoot, some cast and crew bonding seemed in order.
Argh.
After a ten-hour overnight flight with a layover in Oslo, I cab to the place the show rented for me, Paula, and Katrina.
It sits just beneath a mountain and has incredible views of the city and lake off its decks.
Inside, it’s all Scandinavian bleached wood and pale furniture and would be incredibly romantic, were I sharing it with Theo.
I fall face-first into bed, and when my alarm goes off at five, I pad groggily into the living area, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Katrina pulls off her headphones and glances up as she shuts her laptop.
“You look like you need another week of sleep,” she says.
I pull my hair back with the ponytail holder on my wrist. “I feel like it too. What are you doing?”
She rolls her eyes. “Watching this nonsense my sister sent and fuming.”
I laugh. Katrina has two stepsisters—a younger one she adores, and an older one who sounds unbearable. “What’s Helena done now?”
“I suggested Paros, but she wants to go to Ibiza so she’s sending one TikTok after another about people who didn’t like Paros.
I knew she’d do this…God gives us siblings so we’re used to dealing with pricks in the real—” She stops herself suddenly, her eyes wide. “God, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
I shake my head. “Bronwyn wasn’t like that,” I say. “She was—” My voice cracks. I press a hand to my throat.
“Are you okay?” Katrina asks.
I swallow. “I just realized I referred to her in the past tense,” I whisper.
Katrina rises from her chair and gives me a hug. “It had to happen eventually.”
I nod, forcing a smile as she steps back.
She still looks worried, but I don’t want to talk about this now.
I can’t—not when I’m about to be on camera.
“Anyway, do you know what the deal is for tonight? I haven’t gotten any kind of schedule, and I’m not sure what I’m doing with all this.
” I gesture to my hair. It’s definitely seen better days.
“This is the part of the trip where we’re bringing some drama in your relationship,” she says. “Lars wants you to look a little less put together. Do your own hair—a ponytail is fine. Tonight, we’re filming you and Theo walking through the downtown and then cooking a meal here.”
“That plan assumes that either Theo or I know how to cook something that isn’t microwaved, which might be an issue.”
She shrugs as she sits back in her chair and picks up her mug. “It’s better TV if you don’t know what you’re doing. You know…another hint at problems to come.”
She’s right, of course. It’s a huge hint of problems to come, but anyone with two eyes would have already seen problems galore.
He’s a thirty-six-year-old running a multinational company, and I’m an unemployed twenty-four-year-old who spends her days watching reality TV.
We don’t even live on the same continent.
On paper, there’s nothing about me and Theo that works, and if it doesn’t work on paper, how could it be expected to work in real life?
“It seems like you two are really getting along lately,” Katrina says with a sly grin.
I fight a smile of my own. “He’s okay. What about you and Lars?”
She chokes on her coffee. “Me and Lars?”
“Come on,” I goad. “There’s something there. You adore him, and it’s pretty clear he adores you right back.”
“Dieu,” she says, walking to the kitchen and grabbing a paper towel, laughing. “That made coffee come out of my nose. But no. No. Please never say that again.”
It’s a far more adamant response than I’d expected. “Why not? He’s a smart, good-looking guy. And he seems nice enough.”
“Stop,” she says, placing a palm over her face. “So many reasons. No.”
I give up, for now, and return to my room to get ready. Mindy has sent jeans and a sweater, thank god, so I at least won’t be expected to pretend Norway is a balmy eighty degrees in summer.
We take a van to a public square in the center of Bergen.
The streets are cobblestone, the architecture is lovely, the light at dusk is perfection.
But I only care about the sight of Theo, standing next to Lars beside an old building that’s been converted into a McDonald’s.
He’s scanning the square for something, and when he sees me… he seems to have found it.
He smiles. He doesn’t look away. I smile. I don’t look away either.
I thought we were bad at pretending to be together.
But we’re even worse at pretending we’re not.
I move toward him and even though Lars is still speaking, Theo is moving in my direction, walking backward to reply.
He turns and then he’s close, and closer, and he keeps right on going until he’s beside me.
“Hey,” he says, his gaze on my mouth.
I try to think of a way to manipulate Paula and Lars into making us kiss but come up empty.
“Hey.” God, I wish we were alone right now. Why didn’t we meet here early? Why didn’t we come here straight from Paris and spend an entire week in a hotel room, not seeing Norway once?
Mics and battery packs are handed to us.
We clip them on ourselves, old pros at this point.
“Tonight, we’re showing you guys exploring Bergen,” Paula says.
“Chronologically, this comes after Amsterdam, so it would be very early fall. This trip will show some more hiccups in the relationship. You’ve just had an uncomfortable conversation about children, and now you’ve got to decide where to live. ”
I glance up at Theo again. I’ve never wanted to do this—the fake conversations, the pretending—but I want it less now than ever. I don’t want to have what is actually a somewhat real talk about how ill-matched we are when we’re just getting started.
LJ gets in front of us. “Rolling.”
We glance at Jon. “Speed.”
“Action,” Lars calls, and we begin walking.
“Have you given any more thought to where we’ll live once I’ve sold the house?” I ask.
Theo squeezes my hand. “I thought we’d already settled on the Maldives.”
I laugh. “I thought you wanted Primrose Hill.”
“What’s halfway between them?” he asks.
“Iraq,” I reply.
He grins. “Then it’s settled. We’ll move to Iraq. I wonder how the school system is.”
“Cut!” Lars calls, stopping us in place. “We’re supposed to be showing the first chinks in the armor. Agreeing to move to Iraq makes you look like you’re head over heels.”
I flush, unable to meet anyone’s eyes…especially Theo’s.
We shoot the walk over again. Theo stiffly insists he wants to remain in London and I stiffly insist I want to remain in New Jersey, and then Theo tries to bribe me by offering to buy me a polo pony and I laugh, and we’ve ruined the scene for a second time.
Eventually, we get it right and after a quick trip through the fish market—where fish is sold alongside moose burgers and reindeer hot dogs—we climb into a van and return to my house…accompanied by the crew, of course.
“Which room is yours?” he asks as they get the cooking shoot ready.
I nod at it and sigh. “I had big plans for tonight. I brought lingerie.”
He groans quietly and runs a hand down his face. “God, don’t tell me that. I’m in hell right now.”