Love in Theory and Practice: Chapters 1-13

Venice, Italy

Ville and I have just arrived in Venice and immediately we want to do two different things. After getting our things to the hotel room, Ville wants to explore but all I want to do was nap. We fight for a few moments before smiling and starting to laugh.

“We would start our honeymoon this way, wouldn’t we?” He asks, chuckling. His face looks tired from the traveling but his eyes are bright and clear.

“Yes, but you know what this means?” I say with a smirk. He looks at me, puzzled. “We just fought…and made up…so?” I say, trying to get him to take the hint.

“Ah,” he says, understanding dawning on his features. He grins at me but gently shakes his head.

“Ah,” I reply with an exaggerated wink.

“You really don’t want to leave the hotel room, do you?” he asks, bridging the gap between us. He places one hand on the side of my face and the other rests gently on my hip.

“Not yet,” I murmur, running my hand under the collar of his shirt, along his collarbone. “Besides, I’ve heard Venice is prettier at night.”

A few hours later, we get dressed and head out to explore Venice. Even though I have a complete itinerary of the places we’re going to see and the things we’re going to do, I’ve allotted one afternoon/night in each city to just wander without purpose.

Yes, I am the kind of woman who plans and schedules my vacations.

As we wander around the streets, vendors call out to us, there are billboards on the sides of buildings advertise events and directions to all the important landmarks of Venice. Luckily I speak Italian or Ville would be completely lost.

We get dinner in small outdoor café and take a cliché ride on a gondola; we swore we’d do one cliché activity and one out of the ordinary one in each city we’re visiting.

Ville narrates a little story for me while we ride through the canals.

“And then the gondola man lived happily ever after.” He says with a goofy smile; he’s laughing more at himself than at his story. I’m laughing so hard there are tears in my eyes. He’d made up an entire life and story for our gondola guide.

The city passes by both quietly and lively. There are pockets of silence followed by the sounds of the nightlife.

Even thought I’ve been studying art for nearly 6 years, I have never taken a real vacation to Italy to see it in person. All of my trips have been to see pieces on auction. So I’m really blown away by just how beautiful Venice is even without seeing art. And to be here with Ville is even more wonderful.

The lights of Venice at night make his skin look warm and smooth. His eyes sparkle and pick up the points of light along the sides of the canal.

I lean closer into his arms and he instinctively wraps me tighter in his arms. I watch his face as he watches the city pass. He looks deep in thought but suddenly he turns to me with urgency in his eyes.

He begins patting down his pockets, both in his jeans and in his jacket, but looks disappointed when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. I dig through my purse and pull out a pad of paper and a pen and hand it to him.

He winks and smiles gratefully when he takes them.

It’s moments like this that I love him so purely it’s hard to believe. He’s so tuned into what he loves doing that it strikes at random moments and doesn’t let go. He scribbles in the notebook for about 20 minutes before sitting back and closing it.

I’ve never met anyone who has their profession truly engrained in their personality.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“For what, my love?” I ask with a smile.

“For my inability to remain focused on you.” He says with that chuckle I love so much.

“Oh well, I’d hate for us to go on a perfect honeymoon.” I say with a shrug.

Once we’re done with the gondola ride, we wander a little bit longer before returning to the hotel. We’re both tired from traveling and want nothing more than to get good night’s sleep so we can spend tomorrow looking at the sights.

We’re lying side by side on our backs. We’re both staring at the ceiling and I can tell by his breathing that he’s still awake.

“Elin,” he says in almost a whisper.

“Yes, Ville,” I reply.

“Will you tell me about your mother? What was she like?” he asks. I can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s scared to ask but that he’s wanted to know.

“I can do that.” I say and take a deep breath. I rummage around on the floor beside the bed, searching for my purse. When I find it, I dig out my wallet then remove the small snap shot of the first Elin Märta Blix.

I look almost identical to her. But because of her age, she had more freckles, a few more wrinkles and her blonde hair wasn’t as lustrous as mine is now.

“You look like her.” He says softly.

“Yup.” I say with a sigh. “My dad always joked that he’d received two of the same women just in two different bodies. Now he just says that sometimes I haunt him with memories of my mom.”

Ville rolls to face me, the photograph still in his hands. So I roll to face him as well.

“I really am almost exactly like her except her temper was worse. She was like a volcano; she’d built and built then suddenly just blow up. I used to be a bit like that but when I started taking Xanax, I had fewer of those incidents.” I say with a slight smile.

“Should I expect those to start happening?” he asks with a sweet smile.

“No, you don’t have to expect those. We have pretty healthy communication. My mom and Dad didn’t because Mamma wouldn’t talk. But she was caring and good. She took care of everyone. I think that’s where Lisbeth gets it. Lisbeth just wants to baby everyone and be the planner, the decision maker, just like mom used to be.” I sigh.

“Is it too hard to talk about?” he asks.

“It’s not that it’s hard, I just haven’t talked about her in a while. It’s almost like I’ve lost the vocabulary. She liked art and music. She would have liked you, I’m sure of it. She always liked men who seemed like ‘starving artists,’ as she called them.” I say with a laugh. He just laughs as well.

“She was funny but in a really sarcastic way. She didn’t need much to make her happy. Most of the time all she wanted was nice weather. But something just wasn’t right, as she got older. She just wasn’t happy anymore.” I say sadly. “The things that used to make her smile didn’t anymore. It’s like a part of her was gone. We never found out what changed.”

Ville wraps me in his arms and holds me close to his chest. I can feel the warmth of his skin and I can hear his heart beating in his chest.

“But she built me into who I am both through her life and her death.” I murmur against his skin. “I never would have gone to LA if she’d still been alive. I probably would’ve married Nils and continued to live in Sweden.”

“Well I’m glad you didn’t marry Nils.” He says. I can tell that he wants to laugh at the idea of me married to Nils but he’s kept it back.

“Me too,” I say. “I think I found someone better. Besides, you and I will have prettier children.”

“Oh, you don’t think blonde, blue-eyed and tan is pretty?” he asks and I can hear his voice and laughter through his chest.

“It’s not that I don’t, I just think that green eyes, curly hair and a certain Finnish man’s nose are prettier.” I say and poke his nose with my finger.

“I wish I could have met your mother.” He says and pokes my nose in return.

“I wish you could have met her as well. But in a way, through meeting all of her kids, you’ve met her.”