Chapter 30
That evening they made pizza with Dad’s tomato sauce recipe.
“Isn’t it great that the cork took your story to the next step?” Agneta put down her phone (open to Candy Crush, of course) as Bente placed the steaming-hot pizza on the chopping board she’d set atop the table. “It was such fun to see it all happen.”
“Yes, it was definitely a turning point,” Bente replied.
Hanna sat down at the table. Agneta gave her an encouraging look, but Hanna simply smiled and shook her head. What was going on? Now that Bente thought about it, the two of them had been whispering together while the pizza was being made.
Agneta poured them all chilled cola from the big bottle on the table—nobody felt like cocktails or wine today. “Was there a risk that the show might not happen?”
“Well, there would have been a show, but with a more personal approach. A bit more in the line of reality TV, with Didrik and me talking about ourselves and inviting along celebrity guests who would also . . . talk about themselves.”
“Oh dear,” Hanna said.
“Yes—it doesn’t really feel like my thing.”
“You don’t say.”
“Didrik seems lovely,” Agneta said after a moment.
“Yes, he is.” Bente sliced up the pizza and served them. There was no point in denying anything or pretending that nothing had happened; Agneta always knew what was going on, and was well aware that he had stayed the night. “He’s too good,” Bente added.
“Don’t say that—nobody is too good for my daughter.”
“She’s right,” Hanna agreed. “Or for my sister.”
Bente sighed. “It’s just that we’re so different.
He lives in a house. He dreams of a family and wants children, probably enough for a seven-person soccer team.
And me . . . I don’t want that life. I don’t even know if I want kids.
That guy has everything, and he can have anybody he wants.
” It was a relief to put her troublesome feelings of inadequacy into words.
“But he wants you,” Hanna said firmly. She took a bite of her pizza.
“It’s not that simple.”
“He does. I saw the way he looked at you,” Agneta said with a smile.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Hanna went on, after swallowing her pizza.
“Feeling insecure about the other person’s feelings and your own means it’s easier to keep everyone at arm’s length.
I’m the same way. But is it worth it—keeping everyone at a distance?
Shouldn’t we both take more risks? When we’re lying on our deathbeds someday, will we regret the fact that we took a chance? ”
Bente smiled. “Probably not.”
They carried on eating while Hanna talked enthusiastically about her company’s platform launch. Bente’s phone buzzed with an email from the editor on Krissie.
She excused herself in the middle of Hanna’s monologue on the synergy effects of the new operating system, and opened the message.
Could she possibly come on the show tomorrow?
Friday—the show with the highest viewer ratings.
Watching Krissie that day had become a regular ritual for many people: partly a way to mark the end of the workweek, partly a way to wind down on a Friday night.
Bente was smart enough to realize that another guest had probably canceled, since they were asking her to appear at such short notice.
She didn’t actually care that she wasn’t their first choice—she wanted to do it.
She could be their millionth choice and she would still say yes on any evening they cared to invite her.
“I’m going to be on Krissie tomorrow,” she informed her mother and sister.
“How exciting,” Agneta said.
Then it struck Bente. Didrik would be there too.
He had told her last night that he was the guest for Krissie’s Friday profile this week.
The Friday profile guest was always different, but he or she stayed for the whole show—being interviewed, helping the Friday episode’s cook prepare food, chatting about book recommendations, tasting wines.
She would see Didrik tomorrow. They would be on-screen together. They might see each other behind the scenes during the ad breaks.
Shit, she wasn’t ready for this. Still, they had to talk to each other sooner or later. They were going to Bordeaux soon, and then would come the next stage of the show’s filming. Their quarrel couldn’t be left unresolved.
“So when are you sleeping in your apartment for the first time?” Agneta asked.
Bente smiled. “I need to unpack my stuff and organize things first, so maybe at the beginning of next week.”
Agneta nodded as her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you’re leaving us.”
“Mom, we’ll still see each other.” Bente went and sat beside her and gave her a hug, feeling tears rise to her own eyes.
“I know, but it’s been so lovely living with both my girls again. It’s as if we got back those three years we lost.”
A sob escaped before Bente could stop it. Hanna, who was sitting on the other side of their mother, joined in the hug.
“We’ll miss you,” she said, squeezing Bente’s shoulder.
“And I’ll miss both of you.”
“We know, sweetheart.” Agneta stroked Bente’s cheek.
“I’ve really needed this time with you. But now I think I have to move forward.”
“Speaking of moving forward . . .” Agneta swallowed hard as if to pull herself together. She looked at Hanna. “Don’t you think you should tell her now?”
“Okay.” Hanna smiled, rubbed her hands together, and looked at her sister.
“What’s going on? What are you two up to?”
“I’ve made an investment.”
“Great.” Bente took a sip of her cola, put down the glass, and waited for her sister to go on.
“I’ve bought the wine bar. Rendezvous.”
Bente was completely taken aback. “What? You’re the one who’s bought the bar?”
“I am.”
“‘An investment.’” Bente laughed. “I thought you were going to say you’d bought another company offering a cloud-based platform that could revolutionize a client’s current business.
But . . . you don’t know anything about the restaurant industry.
Oh, I know! You can make Ellie the manager.
You’ve met her, she’s amazing, she . . . ”
“Tell her the best bit,” Agneta interrupted.
“The bar is yours.” Hanna’s eyes were twinkling.
“Mine? I don’t understand.”
Hanna placed her hand on Bente’s. “I’ve bought the wine bar for you, so you can make Ellie the manager if you want. As you say, I know nothing about the restaurant industry. I know nothing about wine bars. I’m completely ignorant when it comes to wine, though I do mix an irresistible Manhattan.”
Bente pulled a face at this claim.
“You see—you’re already dismissing the only thing I think I’m good at within the culinary sphere,” Hanna protested. “I can’t run the wine bar. It’s yours.”
“It’s out of the question. I can’t accept it.”
“I told you she’d say that,” Agneta said.
“We knew you’d say that,” Hanna went on. “If you won’t let me give it to you, then I’d like you to run it for me. Then you can buy it from me over time, when you can afford it. But you have to run it for me.”
“I’ve got the TV show to . . .”
“Yes, well, you know what I think about that, but . . .” Hanna sighed. “I can see how passionate you are about this story, and I’m happy for you. I really hope the show turns out well. You can do both, can’t you?” She squeezed Bente’s hand. “Running your own business is your dream, isn’t it?”
Bente didn’t know what to say. She wanted to say yes, but the TV show seemed to be making progress. She could step back into the limelight now, maybe work on more shows. Would she even have time to run a wine bar?
“If you’re not interested, I can convert it into a tech hub,” Hanna continued.
“A kind of tech nursery. Bring in keen young people who can spend all day every day coding, creating, and programming.” She gazed dreamily into space.
“I’m thinking loads of green plants along the walls, table tennis, pinball machines.
Maybe a room with couches and pillows where anyone can go for a little rest.” It sounded more like a day-care facility than a tech hub to Bente.
The very idea gave her palpitations. “The wine cellar would be perfect for the servers; it’s cool down there.
Plenty of space. All the bottles of wine were part of the deal, so we can use them to mix drinks for our after-work gatherings—sangria, Aperol spritz . . .”
“No, you can’t do that.” Bente took a deep breath. “And you can’t use those wines to mix drinks—I selected some of them personally.”
Hanna gave a little smile. Shrugged.
“In that case, you’d better run it for me.”