Miss Denmark

to go or not to go

Back in my flat I threw my heels on the floor and called Dad, even though it was a bit late in Denmark.

He answered on the second ring.

"It's Dad," he said, in Danish.

I sat down with a sigh on my couch. "Hi Dad," I said and looked out the window. There was a skyscraper outside my window.

"How are you?" he asked. "I see you're taking night classes now?"

"Yeah," I said. I'd written an email. "I am attending classes and I'm talking to someone from those classes outside of the classes which began Tuesday." I'd missed Dad's voice.

"A new friend?" Dad asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Dad, I have a problem." I confessed.

"A problem?" Dad asked, concerned.

"Not a problem that big," I said quietly. "That building I'm working in is owned by a man, Alexander Greene. And you've seen the pictures," I muttered. "He wants me to attend an event with him again this Saturday."

"Which event?" dad asked.

"Some charity something," I said and removed a speck of dust from my pants.

"And what is your problem?" Dad asked.

"That I don't know why I should do it. I mean, go with him." I said. "He gets something out of it, from me attending. He appears less cold and cynical, and because I had bruises the first time we were photographed together, he wants to ensure there won't be any speculations that he is violent towards me. And I get that, but I just don't know what I get out of it by attending with him."

"You got the clothes last time." Dad reminded me.

"But is it worth going for a dress and a pair of shoes I'll never use again?" I asked.

Dad didn't say anything for a while.

"I've said I won't answer until tomorrow," I said and glanced back out the window.

"What do you think you'll answer?" Dad asked.

"Yes," I said. "I've seen how others look at him. As if he'll bite if they get too close. And no, we haven't talked, and no, I'm not crushing on him or anything," I added quickly. He was still Dad, and he would turn the knife a bit if he got the chance.

"Is he gruff?" Dad asked.

I smiled. "We haven't really spoken," I said. "He seems reserved and withdrawn, and he said today that he's a very private person." I said.

"Not everyone is easy to read." Dad said.

"I know," I said and stretched my legs before me. "He wanted me to sleep in one of his guest bedrooms the last time, but I declined."

"The guest bedroom isn't the worst, is it?" Dad asked. "Does he make you feel uncomfortable?"

"No," I said. "He's nice and quiet, and he has a security guard," I remarked dryly.

"Then what is the problem?" Dad asked. "You've said so yourself that you want a social life outside of those you went to college with."

I hesitated for a moment. A long moment. "I know I want friends," I said. "But I have that, a little at work. I don't know," I said. "I end up saying yes, I just don't want to trick myself."

"I'll just google him," Dad said and tapped on his keyboard. "Oh," he said. "I've heard about this guy before," Dad said. "try, you can always say you broke up."

"Thanks, Dad," I said, relived.

Dad smiled. "Take care, beautiful."

"You too, Dad," I said. I was the one who wanted to get far away, and I still loved being here, but he was still Dad.

"I have to go," he said. "Early meeting tomorrow morning. When can we talk again?"

"Next week?" I suggested. "When I'm over that charity event."

Dad laughed. "Okay, we'll talk later."

"Goodnight," I said.

We hung up and I stood. Dinner didn't cook itself, so someone had to do it.

I had a feeling I sometimes cooked very different food compared to what most people ate in America. Fried eggs on rye bread. I had tracked down a recipe on rye bread. When I was home on break from college, I perfected it so I could have rye bread. It wasn't because I ate it every day, but sometimes rye bread was the one thing that got me through specifically rough days.

Today was that kind of day.

After my dinner I studied for Thursday, and watched TV before going early to bed.