How Did I End Up with Norbi?

I'm sitting at the table. It is late at night.

The lonely silence is broken only by the ticking of the dusty green-and-yellow clock on the kitchen wall.

I ordered dinner again today even though I actually felt like cooking.

As an ambulance passes somewhere in the distance, I wonder why I still haven't replaced that clock my ex put on the wall years ago.

I never liked it.

But he was so attached to it.

Maybe because of the brand — but green and yellow in a red-and-black kitchen?

The delivery guy was nice, but not my type.

They have sent him three times now.

Maybe I should order at a different hour and see whether the selection of men improves.

Fanni curls up beside my feet — my dog, who, to put it somewhat ironically, became my child instead of the child I had imagined.

It is April 2021.

Now that I think about it, that clock has been on the wall for five years.

In December 2019, sitting right here at this table, Feri told me that engagement or no engagement, he had realised he still wanted to live.

I still don't understand it.

Are marriage and children death?

Looking more closely, I notice the clock is hanging slightly crooked.

I carefully stand on a chair so I do not wake my oversized four-legged companion.

I love it when she sleeps with one paw resting on my foot.

The happiness I feel in those moments is almost euphoric.

Tomorrow I turn thirty-nine.

I was born at 2:07 in the morning.

Last year was the first time I stayed awake through the night alone.

I like staying up on my birthday and, at the exact moment I was born, raising a glass with the people I love.

Last year, the only partner for my glass was Fanni's dog bowl.

I had waited in vain for Feri, hoping that after four months of wandering he might suddenly appear and toast with me.

I really believed he might.

We had celebrated that way together for thirteen years.

It had become our little ritual.

The glass I had prepared for him stayed on the table for days.

Eventually Fanni put an end to its overly long life by pulling down the tablecloth.

That clock still isn't straight.

My empty glass is in front of me.

A Messenger notification lights up on my phone.

It is almost midnight, and Liza — my best friend, truly the best — has written a poem of her own to commemorate the fact that I am entering my fourth decade.

I know, I know.

I look through the dim apartment toward the far end, where Fanni now lives.

Three years ago, that room was supposed to become our child's room.

For four months and seven days, perhaps it almost was.

Never mind.

Instead, I am a senior executive at a company I sometimes like, I earn well, and I have a dog.

Is this what I wanted?

Of course not.

I wanted to become a mother.

I wanted it already at twenty-five.

By now, I imagined I would be discussing life's great questions with children entering adolescence.

Feri cannot handle failure.

Years ago he was more flexible.

I look at the clock.

Half past twelve.

What if I order something now?

Maybe somebody is still delivering.

Whoever brings it, I don't care who — perhaps they would raise a glass with me.

I pick up my phone.

Four messages from Liza and an attached link.

Ugh.

Too much to read right now.

Later.

Quarter to one.

I cannot find a single company still open.

For the first time in my life I feel I was born at the wrong time of day.

I read Liza's messages.

She wanted to come over despite the curfew, but her youngest child still breastfeeds at night.

Since all five of my closest female friends became mothers, I hardly ever see them.

They are also a little afraid I might be ill and pass something on to them.

Although if I live alone, walk only the dog and spend all my time between four walls, I have no idea where I am supposed to catch anything.

But whatever.

I think about taking that clock down.

I'll put something else there.

Fanni's paw feels so warm on my foot.

I keep scrolling through the flood of messages from my friend and click the attached link.

A personal message appears.

And a video.

It is probably long.

I would rather not start it yet.

I keep reading the text.

Then I look at the clock.

The moment is getting close.

“A professional portfolio and dating-profile photo shoot is your gift. Book an appointment here for a personal consultation.”

At the bottom of the page are the names of my five friends.

A photo shoot?

Dating?

For me?

I don't think I want to see what this pandemic has done after throwing a year and a half of my life into the bin.

And then it hits me.

A year and a half.

My body has aged by that much.

I have fallen that much further behind.

Although, if I think honestly about it, perhaps the eleven years I spent with Feri brought me here.

And yet I still do not experience those years as wasted.

I probably should.

---

I really should.

And I still don't understand why I am waiting for him to knock one day with a remorseful face so our life can simply continue.

2:07 a.m.

I start the video message.

While it plays, I stare at the round white patch high on the wall where the clock used to be and think that perhaps I should repaint the entire kitchen.

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