Somewhere Else

Chapter 5: Versus (vi)

"How was your day?" Aksel asks me when I get home from class. Because my class only ends at eight at night, in a turn of events, he now gets home before I do.

Shrugging, I push past him to head deeper into the apartment. My head hurts. I've just spent the past three hours listening to full-on Finnish... half of which I've had to guess the meaning of. That's the way they're teaching the language, I guess. To plunge you into it, so that you have no choice but to learn.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was, everyone else seemed to have no trouble at all following the lesson.

I'm the weakest link. In that class, I'm the worst student. The stupidest one. It's my first time being in that position. Boastful as it may sound, I've never had to work that hard at school to get good grades. I've never been at the bottom – or anywhere close to the bottom – of a class.

Aksel follows close behind me as I enter the bedroom and drop my bag near the door. "Emilie?" He sounds uncertain. Maybe he thinks I'm about to have another meltdown.

I stop in my tracks and whirl around. He is standing in front of me, brows drawn, eyes fixed on my face. The creases in his eyelids look especially defined, as if even the folds in his skin are frowning at me. "Emilie," he starts to say, "are you–"

I slide my arms around his neck and kiss him, just to shut him up. My hand strokes the back of his neck, delighting in his shiver, then glides up to tangle in his hair on the back of the head. I close my fist around the short, silky strands, pushing myself more deeply into him. I am kissing him hard, sloppily; I can feel his nose pressing into my cheek, feel the quick exhale of his breath against my skin.

Then he pulls back to look into my eyes. "What's wrong?" He looks like he has steeled himself for the worst.

He looks so tired, I suddenly realise. Not only does he have to deal with work, he has to come home to this. To me.

I can't look at him anymore. I wrap my arms around his back and bury my face into the crook of his shoulder. He feels good. Solid, warm. Familiar. His arms come up around me, to rub at my back, and I feel safe. Cocooned. If only I could hide out in his arms forever.

"What is Uude... Uudesta?" I mumble into his neck. The heat radiating off him is comforting. I turn my head and nuzzle my cheek against him.

He tries to pull away to look at me, but I hold on tight. He finally gives up, setting his chin atop my head. "What?"

"Today in class. This girl said she's from Uude... something. Uudesta. Or something. I don't know." A little of the frustration has leaked out, and I try to suck it back in.

Aksel is silent for a moment. "Uudesta Seelannista," he says. "Olen kotoisin Uudesta Seelannista. That's what she said, probably. New Zealand."

"New Zealand," I repeat. Then I snort. It sounds nothing like New Zealand.

"Uusi Seelanti," Aksel tells me. "That's how you say New Zealand in Finnish."

"Okay," I say, no longer really listening. I've just come home from a long Finnish lesson. I don't need another one.

But I am glad I'm not from New Zealand, at least. Imagine having to conjugate that.

"Emilie," Aksel presses. He wants to hear more about my first class.

"I'm tired," I whisper into his neck. "Just hold me... Please?"

I listen to him breathe for a while, feeling his chest rise and fall against my body. Then he speaks again. "How was the class, really? Is it too difficult? Are the other students–"

I sigh. Of course he wants to hear about my first day.

"I guess it's okay," I hedge. "They're friendly. The teacher seems nice, too. But everything is really difficult for me. They teach completely in Finnish and everyone is already so good at it. I feel so... stupid."

A little of the tension goes out of his shoulders, and one of his hands moves up to tangle in my hair. "You're not stupid," he says. "It's the first lesson. It's going to take time to adapt to it. It's good that they teach in Finnish, though – you don't want to be translating things in your mind all the time."

"Yeah, but..." I pull away slightly, frowning a little. He's not getting it, because to him having everything in Finnish isn't a chore. "It would just be easier if they started out bilingual at first. Give me some breathing room instead of just plunging me down into the water."

"Maybe that's a good thing. Sink or swim – you're forced to learn that way."

I pout. "I don't want to be forced. I want to take my time to get used to the environment and the language."

"Don't worry. You'll be fine. It takes time to get used to it. I can help you with your homework, if you want. All you need to do is ask."

"I know." I can't help but squeeze my arms a little tighter around him. Thank you, I want to say, but I don't. Thank you for always thinking of me. For always trying to help. "It's just hard, that's all."

"It will get easier," he promises.

But as I continue to stand in his embrace, I feel like crying.

Because he doesn't understand. I can't tell him that asking him for help with Finnish is the last thing I want to do, that the class already gives me such a huge headache – I don't want to have to be reminded of it during the time I have with him. I can't tell him that the more I learn about his language, his culture, the more I feel the gulf between our respective upbringings. The more I feel that I will never be able to understand him.

And I can't tell him that, even though everyone has been perfectly nice, I already hate the class and want to quit.