Chapter Text
The drive to the airport had been uneventful. Ingrid had been too caught up in her thoughts, rehearsing polite small talk and preparing herself for any subtle but cutting comments her parents might make about something. She had gone over everything in her head, their plans, the restaurants she had picked out, the polite ways to steer conversations away from anything too tense.
But as she pulled into the arrivals area and saw her parents and Anders standing by the curb, waving at her, her stomach plummeted.
Because that was the exact moment she noticed the child seat in the back of her car.
She froze, her grip tightening around the steering wheel as her pulse kicked up.
Oh, shit.
She had forgotten to mention Elisa.
She had told them about Mapi. She had spent weeks preparing herself for their reactions, for their skepticism, for whatever quiet judgment would come – even if she knew they’d probably be okay with it. But she had never once thought to bring up the fact that Mapi was raising a child.
Ingrid’s mind spun, heart thudding against her ribs. Would they assume? No, no, that was stupid. Obviously, she hadn’t suddenly had a secret child. Right?
Before she could do anything about it – throw the child seat into the trunk, drape a jacket over it, something – her mother was already opening the passenger door, her father and Anders loading the luggage into the back.
“Hei, kjære,” her mother said, smiling warmly as she leaned in to kiss Ingrid’s cheek.
“Hi, Mamma,” Ingrid croaked, her voice coming out an octave too high.
She could feel it coming. The moment of realization. The question.
And there it was.
Her mother barely had time to adjust the air vent before she turned and…
Stopped.
“Ingrid,” she started, voice slower now, carefully measured. “Why is there a child seat in your car?”
Ingrid’s stomach clenched.
Shit. Shit.
In the back, her father and Anders were settling into their seats. But at her mother’s question, they both looked.
And there it was again. The pause.
Anders frowned.
“Uh… What?”
“Are you babysitting?” Her father’s voice followed, puzzled but light.
A sharp breath lodged in Ingrid’s throat. She could feel the panic crawling up her spine like a cold hand.
What was she supposed to say? She hadn’t prepared for this.
She had been so focused on everything else that she had completely overlooked the part where her parents would inevitably see signs of Elisa’s existence and start asking questions.
They would inevitably see Elisa too.
“I… Uh,” Ingrid started, voice cracking slightly. She gripped the steering wheel harder, as if it could somehow save her.
“Ingrid?” Anders raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
She was.
Ingrid’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out. And Anders, clearly enjoying her suffering, leaned forward between the seats, smirking.
“Wait. Ingrid… Do you… Do you have a kid?” Their father tried.
She choked immediately.
“No!” She yelped, her voice embarrassingly high. “What? No! Oh my god, Pappa, no.”
Her mother wasn’t smirking, though. She was still looking at the car seat. Thinking.
And Ingrid saw the moment her mother’s brain caught up to what that could mean.
“Ingrid,” her mother said again, carefully now. “Does Mapi have a child?”
Ingrid made a sound. It was supposed to be words. It wasn’t.
Anders, still grinning, sat back.
“Okay, now I’m actually curious.”
“Can you just explain?” Her father sighed.
Ingrid could feel every inch of her body heating up. She was sweating.
She had to say something.
“Mapi has a niece,” Ingrid blurted out in a rush, barely stopping to breathe. “Elisa. She lives with her. I, uh, I forgot to mention it.”
She risked a glance at her parents.
“You… Forgot?” Her mother was blinking at her, completely caught off guard.
“I… Yeah?” Ingrid’s voice cracked. “I mean, I didn’t forget forget. I just…”
“You never thought this was important to bring up?” Ørjan asked, voice tight.
“It’s not a big deal!” Ingrid said quickly, throwing a hand up before they could say anything else. “It’s… She’s not mine! She’s Mapi’s niece. It’s just…”
“How old is she?” Her mother turned fully in her seat, eyebrows still raised.
“Three.”
Another pause.
“And why does she live with Mapi?” Her father was frowning now.
And that? That was the question Ingrid had been dreading.
Because it wasn’t her story to tell – like Alexia had told her a hundred and fifty times before she and Mapi started dating.
But her parents were staring at her, expecting an answer.
“It’s… Complicated,” she said finally, carefully. “But Mapi takes care of her now,” she scrambled.
That was the best answer she had. She wasn’t about to sit them down in an airport parking lot and explain Mapi’s family history, the tragedy of Elisa’s parents, or how Mapi had taken Elisa in because there was no one else.
Her mother, thankfully, seemed to sense that pushing further wouldn’t get her anywhere. She sighed, turning back around in her seat.
“So, does that mean Mapi is…?”
“A parent?” Anders supplied his father from the back seat, making Ingrid want to slam her forehead against the steering wheel.
“She’s a guardian,” Ingrid corrected quickly. “Not… Not a parent, really. She’s just… Taking care of her.”
“That sounds a lot like parenting,” her father looked – and sounded – skeptical.
“Well,” her mother said. “I assume that means we’ll be meeting her.”
“Yeah,” Ingrid nodded, still feeling like her pulse was trying to escape her body. “Pretty probably.”
“Do we get to see you interact with a kid?” Anders was grinning again. “Because I honestly can’t imagine it.”
“Shut up, Anders,” Ingrid groaned, throwing the car into drive.
He only laughed as they pulled away from the terminal, but Ingrid barely heard him.
She was too busy trying to figure out how she was going to explain all of this to Mapi.
The car ride was suffocatingly silent for exactly forty-five seconds.
That was how long Ingrid lasted before she cracked the windows, pretending she just needed fresh air and not an escape from the weight of her parents’ judgment settling over her like a storm cloud.
Her mother still looked vaguely stunned, staring out the window like she was processing an entirely new reality. Her father had settled into a sort of cautious contemplation, while Anders…
Anders was still looking far too pleased with himself.
“So,” he drawled, stretching out his legs under Ingrid’s seat. “Is she cute?”
“What?!” Ingrid nearly drove into a traffic cone.
“Elisa,” Anders said, clearly enjoying himself. “Is she cute?”
“She’s three, Anders,” she gritted her teeth.
“I meant in a ‘charming little kid’ way, not a ‘hot girl at a bar’ way. Jesus. What is going to take you to remember that I’m just as gay as you are?”
“Yes, she’s cute,” Ingrid sank lower in her seat. “She’s adorable. She’s also smart, stubborn, and has a mean left foot, so be careful if she ever gets a ball near your shins.”
“Huh. Like Mapi, then?” He let out a low whistle.
That startled Ingrid into a small laugh.
“Yeah. Exactly like Mapi.”
“And Mapi is… Happy? Raising her?” Her mother finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual.
Ingrid hesitated.
That was the thing about Mapi. She had never complained about taking Elisa in. She had never once hesitated to step up, to wake up at ungodly hours to make breakfast when Elisa got up earlier, to fall asleep in a little bed whenever the kid had nightmares and refused to go back to sleep alone and they didn’t feel like letting her climb into their bed. But Ingrid had seen it, the exhaustion, the grief that curled around Mapi’s edges when she thought no one was looking. The fear she carried every time Elisa got too quiet, the panic that crept in when she worried she wasn’t enough.
But she was also the one who made Elisa’s snacks. Who braided her hair before school. Who sat with her on the floor to play even when she was hurting from practice.
“She loves her,” Ingrid finally said, voice softer now. “She’d do anything for her.”
Her mother hummed again, looking thoughtful.
“That’s… A lot of responsibility.”
“Yeah,” Ingrid admitted. “It is.”
The silence stretched again, but this time, it was different, not quite heavy, but not entirely comfortable either.
Then, after a beat…
“So,” Anders said, grinning again. “Does this mean you’re basically a stepmom now?”
Ingrid groaned.
Anders laughed.
Their father sighed.
Their mother just rubbed her temples.
“God help us all,” Ingrid muttered.
~
When they arrived at Ingrid’s apartment complex, her parents were still eyeing the child seat like it was some kind of puzzle they couldn’t solve.
Ingrid quickly grabbed a couple of bags from the trunk, hoping to keep them too busy to dwell on it any further.
They took the elevator up, and Ingrid could have warned Mapi. Could have sent a text, given her a heads-up.
She didn’t.
Maybe because a part of her hoped, irrationally, that her parents would suddenly forget about the whole thing the moment they stepped inside.
Spoiler: they did not.
The moment Ingrid opened the door to her apartment, she barely had time to register anything before…
“INGI!”
And just like that, Ingrid forgot about everything else.
Elisa threw herself into the Norwegian, clinging to her like she was afraid Ingrid might disappear again.
She barely had time to brace herself, but she caught the little girl easily, lifting her up slightly as Elisa buried her face in her shoulder.
She was so small. And warm. And clinging to the woman with everything she had.
Ingrid felt her heart clench.
“Oh, hey, søtnos,” she murmured as she ran a hand through Elisa’s light curls, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head “I missed you too.”
“You gone forever,” the kid huffed against her shoulder.
“Four days isn’t forever. And I went to see you yesterday, but you were already sleeping.”
“Yes, it is,” Elisa pulled back just enough to look up at her, her big hazel eyes accusing as she nodded seriously, like she had just won an argument.
And Ingrid, completely oblivious to anything else, smiled.
And then…
Someone cleared their throat.
Oh. Right.
Her parents were here.
Slowly, Ingrid turned her head.
Her mother and father were watching.
Carefully. Curiously.
Anders looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
Shit.
Ingrid felt Elisa tense in her arms.
The little girl turned her head, noticing the strangers for the first time.
And immediately, she froze.
Ingrid felt it happen. The way Elisa’s body went stiff, the way her fingers gripped Ingrid’s jacket again.
Her eyes, so wide just a second ago, darkened with wariness.
She ducked her head, pressing her face back against Ingrid’s shoulder.
Oh. Yeah. She forgot.
Elisa was shy.
Ingrid had forgotten how she got around new people.
“Elisa,” Ingrid murmured gently, rubbing circles into her back. “It’s okay, baby. These are my parents. And my brother.”
Elisa didn’t move.
Ingrid could practically feel her holding her breath.
“Do you want to say hi?” Ingrid tried softly.
Elisa shook her head.
Very decisively.
Anders, amused, crossed his arms.
“Well, that’s fair.”
Ingrid shot him a warning look.
Her mother, to her credit, softened immediately.
“That’s okay,” she said gently. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Elisa stayed pressed against her shoulder, and the Norwegian could feel her tiny hands clutching at her jacket, like letting go would be too much.
And Ingrid, well, Ingrid understood.
So she just squeezed Elisa tighter, whispering softly.
“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”
And slowly, Elisa nodded.
But she still didn’t look up.
“Where is Mapi, Eli?” Ingrid whispered to the kid as she kicked off her shoes.
The child kept her face hidden half on Ingrid’s neck, half on her jacket, so whatever she murmured wasn’t exactly understandable. But Ingrid was already making her way to the living room, and she heard water running down from somewhere past the hallway.
“So, are we meeting Mapi before or after the child decides we’re not serial killers?”
Ingrid shot him a flat look.
“Before,” she muttered, shifting Elisa higher on her hip. “Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be right back,” she said to her family as she padded to the bedroom, catching Mapi just as the door of the ensuite bathroom opened.
“Hey!” Mapi smiled, leaning in to peck at Ingrid’s lips, not even noticing how Elisa was tense on the woman’s arms. “How is it going?”
“I forgot to tell my parents about Elisa.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah,” she winced. “They found out when they saw the car seat.”
Mapi stared. Then, slowly, her lips twitched.
“You’re telling me,” she said, voice way too amused, fingertips brushing against Ingrid’s hip. “That you remembered to clean your apartment, make the guest bed, and even buy Norwegian groceries, but you forgot to mention Elisa?”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Ingrid groaned.
“You must have panicked.”
Ingrid gave her a flat look.
“Thanks for the support.”
“I mean, I would have loved to see your mom’s face.”
“Oh, she was very confused.”
“Bet Anders was a menace.”
“Of course he was.”
Mapi laughed softly, then reached out, brushing a hand over Elisa’s back. That was when, finally, the kid peeked up at her.
And then she smiled, because she had both her favorite humans back together.
“You missed Ingi, didn’t you, bebé?” Mapi teased, poking the kid’s side, earning a small chuckle.
“Sí,” she murmured, hands gripping tightly the back of Ingrid’s neck.
“I missed you too, kid,” Ingrid kissed the girl’s temple just before Elisa sighed, sinking deeper into the embrace.
But as much as all of them wanted to stay there, in their little bubble, forever, both women knew they had to go to the living room, where Ingrid’s family was getting settled.
Ingrid could hear her parents’ voices now, though the tone was lighter than it had been when they first walked in. Anders was speaking, his usual teasing lilt evident, and Ingrid figured he must be the one easing the tension, as usual.
So they walked back there together, Mapi quietly trailing behind Ingrid and Elisa, trying to take a few deep breaths. As much as Ingrid had reassured her that her parents were nice, that Anders was an easy one, she was still nervous.
When they stepped back into the living room, Ingrid felt Elisa’s small hands tighten around her again. Her family was sitting on the couch, trying to act casual, but she could tell they were still processing.
Anders, of course, wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement. He had his arms stretched over the back of the couch, watching the three of them like he was taking mental notes for future blackmail material.
Her mother, however, looked… Different. As if she was really trying to decipher their dynamic.
And her father? Well, he still had his serious face on.
Mapi, standing beside Ingrid, didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and gave Ingrid’s parents a small, polite nod as she shook their hands.
“It’s nice to meet you,” her voice was steady, confident, but there was some casualty in it.
Ingrid felt her chest warm.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mapi,” Gudrun smiled slightly, and Ingrid could feel the tension in her body loosening.
“Likewise,” her father gave a small nod.
But their eyes kept drifting to Elisa.
Because of course, they did.
A second ago, she had run to Ingrid as her life depended on it. And now, she was hiding against her like she wanted to disappear.
Then, of course, Anders stepped up.
“Hei,” he grinned, offering Mapi a fist bump instead. “I hear you’ve been stealing all my sister’s free time.”
“That depends. Do you want her back?” Mapi didn’t even hesitate before bumping her fist against his.
“Nah, you can keep her,” he laughed, deciding to go easy on the woman for a while.
Ingrid felt Elisa's small body slowly relaxing in her arms.
Her mother and father still looked thoughtful, clearly absorbing the fact that their daughter had not only forgotten to tell them about Elisa’s existence but was also so deeply involved in her life.
But before any of them could say something else, Anders was one step ahead.
“So, are you going to tell us how you ended up as a part-time mom?”
“Anders.”
Mapi, standing beside her, chuckled, and Elisa, however, finally lifted her head.
She turned, just slightly, to look at Anders, her small brows furrowed.
“She’s not my mom,” her voice was small but firm.
“No?” Anders blinked, quite surprised.
Elisa shook her head, her grip on Ingrid’s shirt still tight.
“She is Ingi. And Ma is Ma.”
Silence settled over the room.
Elisa seemed too sure of what she was saying, as if seven words explained everything.
For Ingrid and Mapi, they sure did, but the looks from Ingrid’s family indicated that, maybe, just maybe, they needed more.
But they weren’t going to get that now, so Ingrid settled on the armchair with Elisa still in her arms while Mapi sat on the armrest, content to just stay close.
Anders, to his credit, didn’t push. He just tilted his head slightly, like he was considering her answer.
Then he grinned.
“Fair enough,” he admitted, but, of course, ruined it almost immediately. “So,” he said, grinning again. “When do I get to babysit?”
Ingrid groaned.
Mapi smirked.
“Never,” Elisa mumbled, hazel eyes running all over his figure.
Anders burst out laughing.
Like, full-bodied, head-thrown-back kind of laughing.
“I like her,” he declared, pointing at Elisa like she was some kind of undisputed champion. “She’s got standards.”
Elisa simply shrugged, completely unbothered.
And Ingrid, for the hundredth time since the entire nightmare had started, felt the overwhelming urge to just… Stay down. Maybe lay down. Maybe just cease to exist for a moment.
Instead, she sighed and rubbed her temples.
“Can we not do this right now?”
Mapi, who had been watching the whole scene with a look of pure amusement, leaned slightly closer to her girlfriend.
“I don’t know, I think it’s going well.”
“Oh, do you?” Ingrid gave her a flat look.
Mapi smirked.
Elisa watched Anders for another moment, as if making sure he truly understood, before she turned back into Ingrid’s embrace, seemingly content with how things had played out.
Ingrid let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.
But she didn’t think it was possible for her to suffocate in a room full of people she loved, and that’s exactly what happened.
“Elisa, tell me,” Anders decided to try again. “Do you always tackle Ingi like you did or was it a special occasion?”
The kid barely moved.
“...Special occasion,” she whispered, her tiny voice barely hearable.
Her mother was still gazing at Elisa, though now with a more gentle expression, clearly warming up to the little girl. Her father was slowly but surely getting comfortable with the new dynamic, though the fact that he was keeping a careful eye on Mapi didn't go unnoticed. Anders, of course, was still thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.
But Ingrid? She was a mess. A nervous wreck.
She knew it had to be difficult for her parents to adjust to this new version of her life. It was a lot to take in all at once. And she hadn’t planned for any of this.
Her mother finally turned away from Elisa, glancing back at Mapi.
“So, how long have you two… Known each other?”
Ingrid felt the blood drain from her face.
Not now. Not this.
Her mother raised an eyebrow, as if sensing the tension in Ingrid’s stiff shoulders. She didn’t push immediately, but her curiosity was obvious.
“We’ve been together for about seven months now,” Mapi said, her voice calm, matter-of-fact. “We’ve known each other longer, but we’ve been together, together, for that long.”
Ingrid couldn’t breathe.
Her mother blinked a few times.
“Seven months…” Gudun glanced at her husband, who simply nodded, as though filing the information away. “So… I take it you’re serious about this.”
“Yes,” Mapi said, her gaze never wavering from Ingrid’s mother’s. “I’m very serious about it.”
Her mother studied her for a moment longer, then nodded.
“Good. I just wanted to be sure.”
“Of course,” Mapi smiled, and Ingrid was silently thanking her for keeping such a tranquil posture in that situation.
Just as they were trying to find something else to talk about, the Spaniard’s phone rang on the coffee table, and Elisa knew exactly what that noise meant.
So, quietly, she wiggled herself out of Ingrid’s embrace just as Mapi reached to turn the alarm off, the kid rubbing her fists against her eyes.
“This one has to get her vaccines now, so we should get going,” Mapi stretched her hand to Elisa to grab, which she promptly did, gripping it tightly.
“Oh, right, I forgot about that,” Ingrid muttered under her breath, eyes wide.
“Don’t worry,” the Spaniard whispered as she leaned to kiss Ingrid’s temple, her fingers being slightly crunched by Elisa’s tiny ones.
“You’ll be back for dinner, I assume?” Øerjan asked after a beat.
“I think so, yeah. Might take her home for a quick shower or something, but we can come back, of course,” she explained, and that was when Ingrid realized the kid was still wearing her school uniform, baby hairs coming out of her now messy ponytail.
“Then we’ll see you later, Mapi,” Ingrid’s mother smiled, her sight back on the kid for a moment. “It was really good meeting you, Elisa.”
She only gave them a tiny, almost imperceptible wave back before pulling Mapi to the door, whispering-asking if they could get ice cream after it.
As the door closed behind them, Ingrid let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. The room was silent for a few moments, just the distant sound of the elevator doors closing echoing back.
Anders, of course, was the first to break it.
“So,” he started, his voice dragging out the single syllable. Ingrid didn’t even have time to brace herself before he grinned. “You hate kids,” he said, voice dripping with mock bewilderment. “Like, passionately. I distinctly remember you threatening to never talk to her again when Malin ever so much as mentioned you babysitting Oscar.”
“I don’t hate kids, Anders,” Ingrid groaned.
“That’s not what you used to say,” her mother hummed.
“You called them ‘germs with legs,’” her father added dryly.
“I was eighteen,” Ingrid sighed.
“Twenty-two, actually. Which was just two years ago.”
“And very vocal about it,” Anders said, grinning as he leaned forward on his elbows.
She groaned, already regretting everything.
“You really changed, didn't you?” Her mother tilted her head slightly. “I remember how much you used to complain when you had to babysit your cousins.”
“It’s different,” Ingrid groaned again, rubbing her temple.
“Oh, I can see that,” Anders laughed, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch. “You look like a whole different person with her.”
Gudun smiled, clearly intrigued.
“She seems very attached to you.”
Ingrid chewed the inside of her cheek, still a bit flustered from the way everyone was looking at her like she was some strange new creature.
“Yeah.”
Her father, silent for most of this conversation, simply tilted his head.
“And you, Ingrid?”
Her stomach twisted slightly.
She hesitated for a moment, unsure how to explain it in a way that would make sense to them.
“I… Yeah. I am too.”
“So you, the same sister who told me that kids are loud and sticky and take up too much space, is now walking around with a tiny human permanently attached to you like some kind of koala?” Anders raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with something teasing but not unkind.
“Oh my god.”
“You are such a liar, Ingrid. All this time, you’ve been telling us you don’t like children…” Gudrun chuckled, shaking her head in something that looked suspiciously like fondness.
“Because I don’t,” she huffed.
“Right,” Anders snorted. “And yet, I literally just saw that child hanging off of you like she’s never known another person in her life.”
“She’s different.”
“Oh, of course. She’s ‘Ingi’s kid,’” Anders said, putting air quotes around the words.
“She’s not my kid.”
“She’s not my mom,” Anders mimicked Elisa’s tiny voice in a ridiculously high pitch.
Ingrid grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at him, but he just caught it with a laugh.
Their father sighed, rubbing his temples as if bracing himself for a long night of nonsense, but there was no real irritation in his expression.
“Alright, let’s give your sister some peace.”
“Fine. But I just want to say, I think it’s kind of cute,” Anders grinned but let it drop.
That made Ingrid’s head snap up.
“You do?”
“You’re, like, a terrifying robot most of the time, but that kid has you wrapped around her tiny little pinky finger,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “It’s kind of hilarious.”
“That’s not…” Ingrid started, but then her mother joined in.
“It is quite sweet,” Gudun admitted. “She obviously loves you very much.”
“She’s three,” Ingrid pointed out. “She loves people who give her snacks.”
“Maybe. But I think it’s more than that.”
That made Ingrid pause. She thought of how Elisa had clung to her in the hallway, how she had whispered “she’s Ingi” so certainly, as if those words alone explained everything.
Maybe they did. Maybe, to Elisa, Ingrid wasn’t just some person who gave her snacks and carried her when she got sleepy. Maybe to her, Ingrid wasn’t an obligation or just Mapi’s girlfriend.
Maybe she was home.
And that thought settled deep in her chest, warm and terrifying all at once.
Anders broke the silence.
“Still. I’m going to tell Malin about this. Just so you know. Just so she can kill you when you refuse to have Oscar for an hour.”
“You’re a child,” Ingrid muttered.
“A loud, sticky one,” he only grinned.
Their mother sighed, but she was smiling too, something in her shoulders finally easing.
And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Ingrid let herself smile too.
~
By the time Mapi and Elisa returned, the apartment smelled of warm food, the scent of freshly baked cookies mixing with something Ingrid couldn’t quite place. It was comforting, like home, and she knew her mother had taken over the kitchen while she was caught up in Anders’ relentless teasing.
Elisa clung to Mapi as they stepped inside, her fingers curling around the hem of the women's hoodie, one that Ingrid was fairly sure it was hers just a few months before. The little girl’s school uniform was gone, replaced by soft, comfortable clothes, her hair freshly combed, though a few strands were already falling out of place. Her stuffed penguin was also safely tucked under her arm.
Ingrid could tell the vaccines had drained some of Elisa’s energy. Her usually curious eyes were drooping slightly, and she stuck close to Mapi’s side as they moved toward the living room.
“Everything went okay?” Ingrid asked, stepping closer.
“Like a champ,” Mapi grinned, ruffling Elisa’s hair gently. “Didn’t even cry.”
“It was okay,” Elisa only blinked up at Ingrid, nodding solemnly.
“You were very brave, I assume,” the Norwegian’s lips twitched at the overly serious tone.
The little girl nodded again, this time more assuredly.
“She got a lollipop for later and a bite of ice cream,” Mapi added, nudging Elisa playfully. “So it wasn’t all bad.”
Elisa’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of Mapi’s hoodie, but she nodded once more.
“She’s been very polite all afternoon,” she murmured as she pressed a quick kiss to Ingrid’s cheek, before letting Elisa guide her toward the dining area.
Dinner was already set up. Gudrun had clearly gone out of her way to make things welcoming, though Ingrid had no doubt it was also an excuse to busy herself and avoid too many awkward conversations. There were plates of warm bread, a stew of some kind, and even a few traditional Norwegian dishes that Ingrid hadn’t expected. She gave her mother a curious glance, but Gudrun only raised an eyebrow, as if daring her to comment.
Elisa hesitated near the table, looking between the adults. She had been quiet since they got back, which wasn’t unusual, but Ingrid could tell she was feeling a little overwhelmed.
Anders was the first to address her.
“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice gentle but still carrying that teasing lilt. “Did Mapi take you for ice cream after the doctor?”
Elisa’s small fingers curled tighter around Mapi’s hoodie. She hesitated, but after a moment, she nodded.
“Sí.”
“Good deal. I think I’d only survive vaccines if I got ice cream after too,” Anders grinned.
Elisa glanced at him, considering, before she nodded again.
“It helps.”
Ingrid bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
“Do you like ice cream, Elisa?” The older man cleared his throat.
Again, she hesitated, clearly unsure of how much she was expected to say. But eventually, she nodded.
“Sí, sir.”
Øerjan blinked, clearly surprised by the formal response.
“You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ sweetheart.”
“But… Polite,” Elisa frowned slightly.
Anders smothered a laugh into his sleeve, and Ingrid shot him a warning look.
“That it is,” he conceded, glancing at Ingrid as if to say what do I do with this tiny, extremely proper child? “But you can just call me Øerjan.”
Elisa nodded seriously, but it was clear she wasn’t entirely convinced.
Just before they could say something else, dinner was apparently ready, so Mapi went with the kid to the restroom to wash their hands, the little stool helping Elisa grow taller so she could wash her own basically by herself.
It wasn’t that Ingrid’s place was full of meant-for-kids things. It was just that… Sometimes Elisa liked to go to the Norwegian’s. And Ingrid made sure she got everything she could possibly need there too.
It was just that.
When they were back in the dining room, everyone was already seated. Elisa quietly climbed to her chair, the one with the booster seat, right next to Mapi’s.
And after her plate was ready and her food cut into smaller pieces, they all started eating too.
Elisa stayed mostly quiet. Ingrid’s mother tried once or twice to engage her, asking things like, “do you like school?” or “what’s your favorite food?”, and she answered each question politely, her voice barely above a whisper, but she never elaborated.
It wasn’t rudeness. She was just shy.
And Ingrid could tell her parents weren’t sure how to handle it.
They weren’t used to quiet children.
They were used to Malin and Ingrid and Anders, who had been loud, stubborn, always ready with an opinion – and to fight each other.
Elisa was different.
And her silence was making them carefully, painfully aware that they were still strangers to her.
At one point, Anders, clearly trying to lighten the mood, leaned forward and grinned.
“So, Elisa,” he said, his voice playful. “Do you think Ingrid is the coolest person ever, or just the second coolest, after me?”
For the first time all night, Elisa lifted her gaze fully.
And then, without hesitation, reached for her little cup and drank all of her juice, not bothering to actually answer but keeping eye contact with him.
Anders blinked.
Mapi choked on her drink.
Ingrid nearly burst out laughing.
Her mother pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding a small smile.
And her father? Actually smirked.
Anders sighed, shaking his head.
“She hates me,” he muttered. “This is devastating.”
Mapi, still coughing from laughing too hard, waved him off.
“She doesn’t hate you,” she assured him.
“She just loves me more,” Ingrid added, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.
“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy this while it lasts,” Anders shot her a look.
Elisa, still gripping her cup, peeked out just slightly.
And in the softest, smallest voice, she whispered.
“… Ingi the coolest.”
“Okay. Now she actually hates me,” Anders groaned, dropping his napkin.
This time, Ingrid couldn’t help it, she actually laughed.
By the time dessert was served, the tension had eased somewhat. The scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the air, and Ingrid caught the way Elisa’s eyes lit up, just barely, at the sight of Ørjan bringing the tray filled with Norwegian cookies to the table, her tiny fingers twitching slightly in anticipation, though she waited patiently as plates were passed around.
“Galletas,” the little girl murmured, almost to herself, as Mapi helped her sit up properly again.
“Ingrid said you liked them,” Gudrun said gently, setting a plate down for them. “I hope they’re good.”
Elisa looked up at her, clearly considering something. Then, after a beat, she nodded solemnly.
“Thank you.”
Gudrun smiled, a little softer now, before handing her one.
It didn’t take long for Elisa to carefully pick up the cookie, holding it delicately between her small hands before taking a tiny, cautious bite. She chewed thoughtfully, her expression unreadable for a moment.
“Good,” she said with the shiest smile ever before taking another small bite.
“High praise coming from her,” Mapi murmured, ruffling Elisa’s hair.
Elisa leaned into the touch just slightly, her small fingers still carefully holding the cookie as if it were something precious.
“Would you like some more, sweetheart?” Gudrun watched her for a moment before speaking again, her voice warm but measured.
The kid hesitated, her gaze flickering toward Mapi, almost as if she were asking Mapi’s opinion too, but the Spaniard only smiled, tapping a gentle finger against Elisa’s stuffed penguin.
“You can have as many as you want, peque.”
That was all the encouragement Elisa needed. She nodded once more, this time with more certainty, and Gudrun placed another cookie on her plate.
Around the table, the conversation resumed, more relaxed now. They talked lightly, mostly about their lives back in Norway or about Ingrid’s and Mapi’s ones in Spain.
And Elisa, content with her cookies, listened quietly.
It wasn’t until the plates were nearly empty that she shifted slightly in her seat, glancing up at Mapi again before turning to Ingrid.
“Can I color?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “While you talk?”
Ingrid shared a glance with Mapi, who gave a slight nod.
“Of course,” Ingrid said. “You know where your things are.”
Elisa didn’t need to be told twice. She carefully slid off her seat, her penguin still clutched in one arm, and padded toward the living room, reaching for her coloring book and her pack of crayons that she had left there once and they just settled on leaving it there for whenever she felt like drawing while they were at Ingrid’s place.
She quietly got her things from a basket under the TV rack, settling everything on the coffee table. The penguin stayed on her lap while she flipped through the pages, trying to find one she felt like coloring before the room was filled with the sound of crayons scraping against paper.
From the dining table, Mapi’s gaze lingered on the little girl for a moment, watching as she hunched over her coloring book, completely absorbed in her task.
“She’s always this quiet?” Ørjan asked, his voice softer than before, as if careful not to disturb her.
“No, not really,” Mapi replied, stirring the last of her tea. “She’s pretty chatty, but new people aren’t her favorite.”
“She’s just careful,” Ingrid added, echoing Mapi’s earlier words.
“I get it. I mean, meeting new people can be a lot. And we’re a lot,” Anders smirked as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms with a sigh. “Especially me.”
“That’s the truest thing you’ve ever said,” the dark-haired Norwegian muttered, taking a sip of her drink.
Mapi chuckled, shaking her head.
Gudrun, however, remained quiet, watching Elisa with a contemplative expression.
“She’s very sweet,” she said after a moment. “Very polite.”
“She is,” Mapi agreed, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips.
Gudrun hesitated before continuing, choosing her words carefully.
“She seems… Attached to you.”
“She is,” Mapi’s fingers curled slightly around her mug, but there was no hesitation in her voice.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick with unspoken things.
Then, Ørjan cleared his throat.
“How long has she been with you?”
Mapi’s grip on her cup tightened again, and Ingrid could tell she was weighing how much to say. Eventually, the Spaniard exhaled slowly.
“Around two years and a half,” she said, simply. “She started living with me when she was one.”
“She’s cool. I like her,” Anders chuckled.
“Good,” Mapi said, very surely. “Because she’s not going anywhere.”
That seemed to reignite the tension in the room.
Because, of course, that was the real question hanging in the air, wasn’t it?
It wasn’t just about who Elisa was. It was about what this meant. About how serious things were between Ingrid and Mapi if this was the reality Ingrid was stepping into. Ingrid knew her parents were thinking about it.
And sure enough, her father cleared his throat, shifting his gaze from Elisa to Mapi.
“That’s… A lot of responsibility for someone so young.”
There it was.
Mapi, however, didn’t even flinch.
“It is.”
Silence.
“And You’re… What, twenty-eight?” Her father frowned slightly.
“Twenty-seven, yeah,” she nodded.
“That’s…” He exhaled slowly, glancing at Ingrid before looking back at Mapi. “A lot to take on at your age.”
“Maybe. But it wasn’t really a choice. Elisa’s my family. That’s all there is to it.”
Something about the calm certainty in her voice made Ingrid’s chest tighten while Gudrun nodded slowly, taking that in.
“And her parents?”
Something flickered across Mapi’s face, brief but unmistakable, and Ingrid, knowing where this was headed, instinctively reached under the table, her fingers brushing against Mapi’s knee in silent reassurance.
“Both dead.”
Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. It wasn’t just the words themselves, it was the way Mapi said them. Direct. Final. Like she had spoken this truth so many times it no longer surprised her, but it still cut deep every time.
Ingrid felt Mapi’s muscles tense beneath her touch. She didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. She just let her fingers rest against Mapi’s knee, a quiet reassurance. I’m here.
Gudrun exhaled softly, nodding as if she understood more than she was willing to say. Ørjan, on the other hand, shifted in his seat. He looked toward Elisa, still coloring in the living room, her small frame hunched over the coffee table. The soft sound of crayons dragging across paper was the only thing breaking the silence.
“That must have been difficult. For both of you,” Ørjan spoke again, voice careful.
“It was,” Mapi admitted, her voice quieter now. “Still is, sometimes.”
A few beats of quiet. Then Anders, never one to sit too long in uncomfortable silences, cleared his throat.
“Well, she’s lucky to have you.”
“She’s not lucky,” Mapi corrected, shaking her head slightly, though her tone wasn’t accusing or mad. “She lost her mom before she was one year old. Her dad was abusive. There’s nothing lucky about that.”
Ingrid watched as her father pressed his lips together, as if holding back a response. Mapi was right, of course, but she also knew Anders had only meant well.
“She is loved, though,” Ingrid said, glancing toward the living room. Elisa had switched crayons, reaching for a bright yellow one, her small fingers smudged with color. “That matters.”
Mapi finally looked at Ingrid then. Just a flicker of warmth in her eyes, there and gone again in an instant.
Before anyone could speak again, soft footsteps padded toward them.
Elisa.
She was clutching her stuffed penguin against her chest with one arm, the other reaching up to rub at one of her sleepy eyes. But she didn’t head straight for Mapi like she usually did. Instead, she hesitated a few feet away from the table, gaze darting between the adults.
Her expression was small. Careful.
Ingrid’s chest tightened. She had felt it. The shift in the air, the way the conversation had changed.
Children always did.
“Can I have more?” Elisa asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course, Eli. Come here,” Mapi was already pushing her chair back.
But the kid didn’t move at first. Her small fingers fidgeted against the soft fabric of her penguin.
Then she glanced at Ingrid.
Ingrid felt the weight of that look in her bones. It wasn’t just a question of cookies. It was something deeper. Is everything okay?
“I asked my mom to make these just for you. They were my favorite when I was your age,” Ingrid forced a smile, warm and reassuring.
It was all the encouragement Elisa needed. She finally stepped forward, letting Mapi lift her onto her lap.
But even as Mapi passed her another cookie, even as Elisa took a small, careful bite, Ingrid could still feel the tension lingering.
And she knew Elisa could too.
She chewed her cookie slowly, her small fingers curled tightly around the edge of Mapi’s sleeve. She wasn’t clinging exactly, but Ingrid knew her well enough to recognize the subtle way she was grounding herself.
She felt it. The way the room had changed. The way the voices had softened but carried something unspoken beneath them.
She always did.
Mapi pressed a kiss to the top of Elisa’s head, her fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against her back. It was a quiet gesture, one that usually soothed the little girl without a word.
But tonight, it didn’t seem to be enough.
Elisa took another small bite, then shifted slightly in Mapi’s lap, her gaze flickering toward Ingrid’s parents. She was studying them, cautious in a way Ingrid hadn’t seen before.
“Are you sad?”
The question was directed at Mapi, barely louder than a whisper, but it made the entire table still.
Mapi’s fingers paused against Elisa’s back.
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she exhaled slowly, carefully. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady.
“No, bebé.” She smoothed a hand over Elisa’s hair. “I’m okay.”
She didn’t seem fully convinced, though. She glanced at Ingrid again, then at Ørjan and Gudrun, then at Anders, her grip on her penguin tightening just slightly as she looked back at Ingrid.
“Is Ma lying?”
Her heart clenched.
“No,” she answered, just as steady as Mapi. “She’s not lying.”
Elisa’s lips pressed together, as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed them. Then, slowly, she reached for another cookie, but she didn’t eat it.
She just held it.
Gudrun, who had been silent for a long moment, finally spoke. Her voice was gentle.
“We were just talking, little one. That’s all.”
Elisa studied her for a long beat before finally nodding. Then, just as quickly, she turned her attention back to her cookie, nibbling at the edge.
The table stayed quiet for a little while longer.
Then, Anders leaned forward, breaking the silence, arms crossed over his chest.
“Okay, well, I think we’ve all been way too serious for a family dinner. Who wants to hear about the time Ingrid fell into a frozen lake?”
“Ingi fell in a lake?” Elisa’s head snapped up, eyes widening.
The energy in the room shifted, just slightly. Mapi chuckled, and Ingrid groaned, already regretting whatever childhood memory Anders was about to expose.
And just like that, the tension started to ease.
Elisa, however, stayed curled up against Mapi’s chest, listening. And even as she giggled softly at the story, her fingers never let go of Mapi’s sleeve.
Anders kept no details to himself. He told everything, how Ingrid really thought the ice would be thick enough so she could play football on top of it, even if it was freezing, even if playing football on slippery ice was probably the worst idea twelve-year-old Ingrid had probably ever had.
“Alright, enough about my near-death experiences,” Ingrid muttered, shaking her head as Anders cackled as he told her how funny it was to watch his middle sister freezing all the way back home.
“You’re just mad because you know I’ll tease you about it,” Mapi smirked, nudging her gently.
Elisa, still nestled in Mapi’s lap, looked between them, her small fingers resting on the cookie she had barely eaten. Then, as if deciding the tension had passed after the story was told, she straightened slightly.
“Can I color again?”
Mapi glanced down, taking in the way Elisa had settled more comfortably against her, as if she wasn’t entirely ready to let go just yet. But she nodded.
“Of course, yeah.”
Elisa hesitated, her grip tightening around Mapi’s sleeve before she carefully slid off her lap. But instead of making her way back to the coffee table, she walked to the small hallway that led the way to the kitchen.
Quietly, she opened one of the low cabinets, picking a red small bowl before closing the door – being extra careful to not get hurt her tiny fingers – and walking back near the table. Then, without saying a word, she climbed back to Mapi’s lap, reaching the plate filled with cookies and picking just three before quietly slipping back down to finally get a seat in the living room, back to her coloring.
No one stopped her.
She set the bowl next to her crayons, the penguin back on her lap. She flipped through the pages until she found the one she had been working on before selecting a brown crayon with the same careful thought.
“Let’s move to the living room,” Ingrid suggested, giving Mapi a small nudge. “Might as well get comfortable.”
Mapi gave a nod, grabbing her tea as they stood.
Elisa had already settled herself on the floor, the cookies next to her coloring book, completely back to her own little world, tiny legs crossed under the coffee table.
Every now and then, she would reach for one of the cookies in her bowl, nibbling on it absentmindedly before returning to her work.
As Anders took the armchair and Ingrid’s parents settled on the couch, Mapi sank into the corner of it, stretching her arms slightly over the cushions, and Ingrid took the spot beside her without hesitation. The closeness was instinctive, comfortable. She didn’t even realize how natural it had become until she caught the way her mother’s eyes lingered on the space between them – or the lack of it.
She held Gudrun’s gaze for a brief moment, but before anything could be said, Ørjan spoke up.
“Is this the coldest it gets here?”
“It depends,” Ingrid huffed a quiet laugh, grateful for the change in topic. “But yeah, compared to Norway, it’s never really cold.”
“Elisa complained the one time it dropped below ten degrees,” Mapi hummed in agreement.
“That’s not cold,” Anders scoffed, shaking his head.
Elisa, hearing her name, looked up briefly from her drawing.
“It was cold,” she insisted before immediately returning to her colors.
“She’s dramatic when there’s climate involved,” the Spaniard smiled, playfully nudging Elisa’s hip with her foot.
“I wonder where she gets that from,” Ingrid teased, bumping Mapi’s knee lightly with her own.
And just like that, the conversation flowed naturally again.
“What are you coloring?” Ingrid asked softly, glancing at the page Elisa had been working on.
The little girl turned it toward her, showing a picture of a bear with a tiny bird perched on its back, both figures surrounded by soft green trees. She had colored most of it in already, but the sky remained blank, as if she hadn’t quite decided what color it should be yet.
“Nice choice, peque.”
Elisa nodded, then looked between the two of them, thoughtful.
“Do you think the sky should be blue or pink?”
“Blue.”
“Pink.”
Elisa blinked a few times, her hazel eyes flickering between both of them before deciding.
“Both,” Elisa answered. “Sunset,” she argued, reaching for a crayon from the pack on the table.
The living room settled into a quiet rhythm again, with Elisa coloring, Mapi leaning into the couch with a comfortable sigh, Ingrid leaning into her, and Ingrid’s parents watching everything unfold with an unreadable expression.
“Hey, Elisa,” Anders tried, but the kid didn’t even acknowledge him. “I heard you like fútbol?”
That actually got a reaction.
Elisa’s head tilted the slightest bit.
“I bet you could kick my ass at it,” he grinned.
A beat.
Then, so softly Ingrid almost missed it…
“… Maybe.”
“Yeah? Okay, cool,” Anders lit up. “I’ll let you destroy me in a game later.”
Elisa blinked. And then – barely, barely – a tiny smile appeared.
They all took that as a win, especially as Elisa moved to the other side of the coffee table just so she could rest her back against the couch, pulling the book to her lap and resting her head on the side of Ingrid’s leg.
It was a small gesture. Maybe even unconscious.
But Ingrid saw the way her mother noticed it. The way her father’s expression shifted just slightly as he took in the sight of the little girl fitting so seamlessly into their space.
Yeah.
If Ingrid ever really said she hated kids, Elisa had definitely changed that.