Page 177 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

We leave the kitchen and go to bed. We look away from each other until I finally fall asleep.

The next day, it’s very late when I wake up. Eleven in the morning.

When I get up, my stomach’s upset, and I curse the relatives of whoever invented vanilla ice cream with macadamia nuts. I’m heavy and feel like I’m idling.

I’m brushing my teeth when I see Eric in his dark suit. He’s so handsome. He comes in and gives me a kiss on the head.

“Get dressed; let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to the office today?”

“No, I have other plans,” he replies.

After I get dressed, I go down to the kitchen and drink a glass of milk. Acidity and heaviness are killing me. We’re alone. Flyn’s at school, and I don’t know where Simona and Norbert are off to. I don’t ask.

When I get in the car, neither of us speaks. We don’t play music either. Eric drives through the streets of Munich and eventually navigates into a parking lot.

After we park, we walk hand in hand. The fresh air helps clear my head, and, eventually, I’m smiling. He doesn’t speak. He’s imposing in his dark suit, and I’m proud to be with him. Suddenly, I realize where we are, and I’m surprised.

“Don’t tell me this is where we’re going.”

Eric nods.

“That’s the bridge you visited months ago, right?”

I nod.

Before us is the Kabelsteg bridge, from which hang hundreds of love locks.

We cross the street, and Eric hugs me.

“I remembered you told me you liked walking here, and that you saw many of these love locks, right?”

If we’re here to do what I think, I’m going to drown him in kisses.

He’s serious, but he can’t fool me: his mouth is cocked.

“Are we going to put a lock on this bridge?”

Surprising me again, Eric pulls a red-and-blue one from his jacket. He shows it to me; our names are engraved on it.

“Where do you want us to put it?”

I put my hand to my lips. I’m so excited. I have a contraction. Oh, that hurt! His expression changes.

“No...no...no...Don’t cry now, darling.”

But the floodgates are open, and I’m inconsolable. The passersby look at us, and Eric leads me to a bench. He quickly takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dries my tears.

“Eh...sweetheart, why are you crying now? Don’t you like the idea of putting our lock on the bridge?”

I try to speak, but I can only babble.

Eric hugs me again. I squeeze him and try to calm down.

“I’m sorry, Eric...I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

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