You stood looking up at the building for a long while, as if psyching yourself up to meet whoever was inside. You raised your finger to the panel of doorbells on the side wall, and it hovered there a while. I couldn’t tell from where I stood whether you’d actually pressed one, and if so, which one. You glanced down the street in my direction, but wouldn’t have been able to pick me out; I stood partially hidden in a wide doorway opposite the Peak Performance shop. Your face had changed, and you looked troubled and nervous. Suddenly you seemed to change your mind and came walking back down the street toward me, drawing your parka tight, burying the lower part of your face in the faux-fur hood. You walked straight past me and into the throng of shoppers and people taking an early Friday, heading home from work downtown. I let you out of sight and remained in the doorway for a long while. Then I headed back down in the direction we’d come, until I arrived back at Kaffebrenneriet.

The line was longer now, but I didn’t mind waiting. My head was spinning with what I’d done and seen. It had been exhilarating seeing you out of the therapy room, and I knew even that first day, that I’d do it again. I couldn’t have known then what I would find and what processes the slow discovery of Kristina Moss would bring about. Back then, you were still perfect to me, the way I wanted you to be. I wish I’d stopped there and then so you could have remained a shiny, flawless hologram. If I had, I wouldn’t be writing these words. But equally, it is the imperfect, real Kristina I came to discover that has brought true empathy and a deep desire to be there for you like you’ve been there for me.

A double tall white Americano, I said when it was my turn to order, flashing the same barista who’d taken your order a quick smile.

31

Kristina