6. Anika
ANIKA
D odging pink and yellow balloons that brush against my face, I squeeze between chattering couples at my friend Ivy’s baby shower. Their apartment in Bern feels cramped with all these people, most of whom seem to be sporting matching rings and baby bumps.
Ivy’s British husband James hovers nearby, refilling everyone’s champagne glasses (except Ivy’s, of course) as everyone makes an effort to speak English for his benefit.
“Have you picked names yet?” Maja asks, adjusting the pink “It’s a Girl!” banner hanging crookedly on the wall.
“We’re thinking Sophia.” Ivy beams, rubbing her belly. “Or maybe Lucy.”
I’m the only one here without a ring on my finger. Even wild-child Heidi got married last spring in a barefoot ceremony on some beach in Thailand.
“The nursery is almost ready,” Ivy says, rubbing her swollen belly. “We went with a woodland theme.”
Maja chimes in from across the room. “Oh, you must see what we did with Luna’s room! The unicorn wallpaper is so cute.”
Lisa and Sarah compare notes on their recent promotions at their banking firms. Beside them, Eva cradles her six-month-old while discussing sleep training methods with Alessia, who’s due any day now.
I sit down on the sofa and take a sip of my champagne, trying to focus on the bubbles dancing on my tongue instead of the growing hollow feeling in my chest. These women used to share my adventures. Backpacking, spontaneous road trips, late nights singing and dancing.
The conversation swirls around me like I’m watching a movie.
Career women discussing their latest promotions and upcoming business trips.
Mothers swapping stories about first steps and preschool applications.
And me, somehow belonging to neither world, stuck in a limbo I never noticed creeping up on me.
When did I become the outsider in my own friend group?
“How’s the pub doing?” Lisa asks between bites of carrot cake. “I keep telling Gustav we should drive down there for a weekend.”
“Great!” I force a smile, the lie tasting bitter. “Really great. Busy season’s coming up with winter tourism.”
Eva nods, bouncing her baby on her knee. “That’s wonderful. Though I can’t believe you’ve never remodeled.
“The tourists love it,” I say, which isn’t exactly untrue. The few tourists who wander in seem charmed by the vintage vibe. But charm doesn’t pay the bills.
Truth is, most of them head to that new place, Alpenglow, with its Instagram-worthy craft cocktails and LED light displays. Meanwhile, I’m lucky to fill half my tables on weekends. Last month, I had to dip into my savings just to keep the lights on.
Ivy claps her hands. “Your father would be so proud.”
My chest tightens at the mention of Papa. He poured his heart into S’Holzfass for thirty years. He knew every regular by name, remembered their drink orders, their stories. The pub was more than just a business to him. It was home.
But maybe that’s the problem. I’m trying to preserve something that doesn’t fit in this world anymore. Like my vintage records and ancient cash register, I’m stuck in a time that’s passed.
Ivy waddles over with a plate of mini quiches. “Remember when we used to spend every weekend at S’Holzfass? Dancing on the bar?”
“Now we’re lucky if we can stay awake past nine,” Maja laughs.
The feeling of being adrift hasn’t subsided even as conversations shift toward everyone’s new lives.
“How’s Zürich treating you?” Lisa asks Maja, who launches into a detailed account of her family’s move from Basel.
“The commute is worth it for the schools,” she explains. “And Daniel’s firm has been so accommodating with my flexible schedule.”
“Same with Geneva,” Sarah adds. “The banking sector there offers much better maternity benefits than I had in Lausanne.”
I nod and smile at appropriate intervals, amazed at how scattered we’ve become across Switzerland, yet they’ve all maintained this shared rhythm of life…
marriages, mortgages, babies. Everyone seems to have built these sophisticated lives in bigger cities, while I’ve stayed rooted in our little alpine village, running Papa’s pub.
Ivy and James start opening presents, exclaiming over tiny clothes, toys, and practical items like a breast pump that makes James blush furiously. Ivy unwraps another pastel-colored onesie to exclamations of delight.
I’d spent hours picking out a handcrafted wooden music box from an artisan in my village. Ivy seems genuinely touched when she opens it.
“Oh, Anika, it’s beautiful!” She runs her fingers over the carved forest animals. “This is so special.”
“I’m glad you like it,” I say, relieved in some way. I wanted to give the baby something unique that will last for years. Maybe even pass it down as an heirloom.
The games start next. I try to look engaged during “Guess the Baby Food” and “Measure Mama’s Belly,” but my smile feels increasingly stiff. I manage to win the “Baby Word Scramble” and receive a scented candle as my prize.
By four o’clock, people begin checking watches and mentioning drive times.
“We should hit the road before it gets dark,” Maja announces, gathering her designer handbag. “It’s a long drive back to Geneva.”
“We should go too,” Heidi says, kissing Ivy’s cheek. “This one gets cranky in the car.” She nods toward her husband, who playfully rolls his eyes.
One by one, they gather diaper bags and purses, exchanging promises to meet up again soon, though we all know it might be months before schedules align. I remain behind, stacking plates and gathering champagne flutes as the apartment empties.
“You don’t have to clean up, Anika,” Ivy protests, but looks relieved when I insist.
With just the three of us left, the apartment feels spacious again. James collects torn wrapping paper while I gather stray napkins and deflate balloons, grateful for something to do with my hands.
We work quietly for a few minutes, the soft clink of dishes and rustle of garbage bags the only sounds until the apartment looks presentable again.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ivy asks, sinking onto the sofa with a sigh of relief, hands resting on her belly.
“It was lovely,” I say, sitting across from her on a soft armchair. “Everyone seems to be doing so well.”
James emerges from the kitchen with three mugs of tea. “They all talk so bloody fast. I caught maybe half of what everyone was saying.”
“You’re getting better,” I assure him, accepting the steaming mug. “At least you’ve mastered ‘ Grüezi ’ without sounding like a complete tourist.”
Speaking of tourists, a flash of that Canadian hockey player’s face comes into my mind’s eye. I immediately push that way down.
We settle into a comfortable silence, the kind only possible with old friends. Ivy kicks off her shoes and props her swollen feet on the coffee table.
Then Ivy and James exchange one of those married-couple glances, the kind that contains an entire conversation.
“So, Anika,” Ivy begins, with an attempted casualness that immediately puts me on alert. “We’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
James sits beside Ivy, their shoulders touching. “My colleague Thomas is moving to Switzerland next month,” he says. “British bloke, about our age, very nice.”
“Very handsome,” Ivy adds with a significant look.
“Oh no.” I set my mug down carefully. “I know where this is going.”
“He’s brilliant,” Ivy adds eagerly. “He’s a landscape architect, loves hiking and skiing. Totally your type.”
“And he doesn’t know a soul here except me,” James adds. “It would be a friendly gesture, really.”
“We were thinking dinner here, very casual,” Ivy says. “No pressure, just…meeting someone new.”
I stare at my oldest friend, trying to process how we arrived at this moment. Her feeling she needs to rescue me from my singlehood.
Oh the shame!
“I’m not looking for anyone right now,” I say finally, the words coming out more defensive than intended. “The pub keeps me busy enough.”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair as Ivy and James exchange another one of those married-people looks. I hate those looks.
“It’s just dinner,” Ivy presses, leaning forward. “If you don’t like him, no harm done.”
“He really is a nice guy,” James adds. “Loves the outdoors, very down-to-earth. Nothing like those finance bros Maja’s always trying to set you up with.”
I take another sip of tea to buy myself time. How do I explain this without sounding like a complete failure at life? I’m twenty-five years old, and I’ve never been on a proper date. Not one.
“I’m just…not good at that sort of thing,” I finally mutter, staring into my mug.
“What sort of thing?” Ivy asks, genuinely confused.
“Dating.” The word feels foreign in my mouth. “I wouldn’t know what to do or say. It would be a disaster.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I can feel their surprise without looking up.
“Wait,” Ivy says slowly. “When was your last date? I don’t think you’ve mentioned anyone since…Actually, have you dated anyone since my wedding?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly as in…?” James prompts.
“As in never,” I blurt out. “I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I just…never got around to it.”
Ivy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Never? But what about that ski instructor? The one from St. Moritz?”
“We had drinks with a group after lessons. It wasn’t a date.”
“And the bartender from Zürich ? The one with the tattoos?”
“We exchanged numbers, but I never called him.” I twist my fingers in my lap. “The pub needed new plumbing that month, and by the time things settled down, it felt too late.”
Ivy and James exchange glances again.
“It’s not that weird,” I say defensively. “Some people focus on other things.”
Ivy sets her tea down. “Oh, Anika.”
“Don’t ‘oh Anika’ me,” I say, suddenly irritated. “Not everyone’s life follows the same timeline. I run a business. I own property. I’m doing fine.”
“Of course you are,” James says quickly. “But don’t you get…lonely?”