You Belong With Me

On The Way to Asgard

Johan

Johan used to live for the weekends. Not that weeknights were exceptions. As long as work permitted, there was always some place to go, people to hang out with. But weekends were free of the burden of juggling hours in multiple clinics and procedure schedules, and he always made them count.

He didn't even have to go far. He used to be terrified of the city when he'd first arrived, a wide-eyed, little punk of 13. It didn't take long for him to fall in love with the grids and the chaos. Living in St. Tropez Court, he'd easily have a run around the neighborhood and play soccer with strangers, and at nights sample the trendy bars with his buddies. He'd wander the malls or jump into the condo pool, racing laps with whoever would take him on.

Lindsay used to hate it. He tried getting her into the things he liked but she'd been more successful in turning him over to the dark side of staying in.

Weekends are for not functioning, she'd said. And in the year since she'd gone, Johan finally understood what she meant.

This weekend though, a Saturday, he was separated from his bed, on his way to Asgard.

"What's this thing we're going to again?" he asked, stealing a glance at Mira in his passenger seat.

She had showered and dressed after their morning tea, coming out of his room in a pale-colored knit thing that showed off shoulders and collarbones and pants that hugged her in all the best places. His room was going to permanently smell like her, and he'd been debating with himself if this was a problem.

"First birthday party of my goddaughter," Mira said. "I missed her baptism because I was in Dubai and since I'm here now her mother told me, in no uncertain terms, that I better show up or else."

"What is the 'or else'?"

"She supplies my Christmas wine every year."

"You can get yourself any wine you want."

"Yes, but there is satisfaction in getting it for free."

"You are correct." Johan tapped on the steering wheel. "A party full of screaming kids, here we come."

He caught her smile from his periphery, leaning her head back against the seat.

"Look at you having a free day," she said. "Aren't you always busy?"

"I don't have clinics on weekends."

"But graduate school?"

"Finished last year, remember? It's your brother who has a few more terms to go because he kept delaying. The man can perform cataract surgery with his eyes closed, but make him write a business case and he caves. I don't know how he plans to go on with that PhD he won't shut up about."

"Sounds like my kuya. But you." Mira poked his side. "Don't you always have some party to crash?"

"Firstly—" He paused for giggles. It tickled. "I'm always invited. Secondly, I left that behind in my 20s."

She found that funny. Too funny. The woman was cackling.

"What does 35-year-old Johan Antonio like to do in his spare time?" she managed when she caught her breath.

Johan glared at her for a second, hoping it looked cute.

"There's this hole-in-the-wall not two blocks away from the condo. It has those big, sturdy, leather couches that smell like libraries and rows and rows of ludicrously expensive bottles of whiskey behind the bar."