Alright. Here we go. I was surprisingly uninspired by this one, possibly because work has sucked out my brain and my soul this week.***
“He’s adorable!” said Siv, relieved to find that it wasn’t even a lie. So many toddlers were shockingly unappealing, but, luckily, her little nephew’s golden curls, bright smile, and chubby little limbs made him look rather precious, like an exquisite little marzipan confection. “And he certainly does have your hair, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, yes,” said Helga, in that languorous way of hers, before setting Emil down on the carpet. His huge eyes followed her as she made her way towards the drinks cabinet. “Entertain him, please, while I fix us all some cocktails.”
“Cocktails?” Torbjörn asked, looking down at the child with uncertainty. “Shouldn’t we… Wouldn’t it be better to wait for Torolf?”
“Oh, he won’t be home until very late. He never ever is.”
Siv joined her husband in watching Emil watch his mother take out a few decanters. “The gifts!” she suggested.
“Oh, right!” Torbjörn clapped his hands, and stepped out into the corridor, returning with the toys and handing Siv her choice before crouching down in front of his nephew, his own purchase in his hands. “Look, Emil! A teddy bear! It’s an antique, very expensive.”
Emil did look, but his expression was more perplexed than delighted.
Siv rolled her eyes a little, and crouched down as well, holding out the fluffy bunny she had selected. “How about this one, sweety? I used to have one very much like it when I was your age.”
Emil’s head swiveled towards the new toy, but his expression did not change. His eyes darted from one gift to the other, his little forehead scrunching up in increasing confusion.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you bothered,” said Helga, closing her cocktail-shaker. “He has piles of toys already.”
“Never too early to teach him good taste,” said Torbjörn, shaking his teddy bear encouraginly. “Look, he likes it!”
It was certainly true that Emil’s face had suddenly cleared into an expression of pure delight, but Siv did not think he was looking at the bear. Or even at the bunny. No, he appeared to be looking at the gap between her and her husband, as if fascinated by something behind them both.
Siv glanced over her shoulder, but all she could see was the wall, with its antique fireplace.
“Oh no,” said Helga. “Not again. Stop him, will you?”
“Stop him? What do you mean?” asked Torbjörn, staring up at her quizzically and completely failing to see little Emil launch himself towards the flames.
Luckily, Siv, always faster at spotting potential disasters, caught him just in time.
***
Incidentally, this story holds a very deep metaphor. Emil represents me, and the various things he pays attention to represent various things I would, or would not, be interested in seeing in the epilogue.
