drholmstrom

[drholmstrom]

there  was  a  warmth  to  windsor  bay.  søren  was  so  used  to  the  cold  and,  especially  back  in  denmark,  he  had  started  to  believe  the  frost  had  transferred  to  the  people.  almost  as  though  it  was  a  disease.  he  had  always  fought  to  cling  to  his  warmth  ;  being  a  doctor,  it  didn’t  help  if  his  words  were  clinical  or  clipped  or  detached.  being  a  father  helped,  having  to  manage  his  tone  and  show  genuine  empathy  whenever  signe  brought  him  a  worm  with  an  ‘  ouchie  ‘  that  he  needed  to  make  better.  it  meant  that  he  was  a  soft  man,  a  sweet  man,  and  with  the  addition  of  age  it  made  it  easy  for  him  to  fall  into  the  background.  he  was  grateful  for  the  company,  for  the  younger  woman  who  seemed  as  though  she  had  so  much  more  to  say  if  only  someone  gave  her  the  chance.  “are  you  not  one  of  those  people ?  constantly  glued  to  their  phone ?  i  think  it’s  not  hard  to  be,  these  days.  my  daughter  was  born  at  a  really  great  moment  where  she  didn’t  grow  up  with  phones  everywhere.  i  couldn’t  imagine  trying  to  raise  a  child  with  ipads  and  —  ”  he  waved  his  hand  in  the  air,  “all  those  other  things.”  the  internet  was  useful  to  keep  up  to  date  with  medicine,  and  søren  knew  how  to  navigate  it  simply  enough,  but  when  things  started  to  get  too  complicated  it  broke  him  out  in  a  cold  sweat.  kindly,  and  with  a  gentle  shimmer  in  his  dark  blue  eyes,  he  replied,  “i  think  you  make  perfect  sense.  the  world  is  confusing.  sometimes  our  brains  just  need  a  little  extra  time  to  catch  up,  don’t  they ? ”  he  knew  the  feeling  well,  when  the  mind  scrambled  like  scrawled  out  notes  on  a  page.  søren  was  only  just  beginning  to  claw  himself  back  from  it.  “i’m  actually  writing  up  my  notes  from  work.  you’re  welcome  to  keep  me  company  though  and  help  me  with  those  small,  pesky  keys.  it’s  nice  to  have  someone  to  talk  to.  keeps  me  from  completely  losing  my  marbles.”

rue laughs — not the brittle, camera-ready kind she used to pull out on talk shows, but a quiet, real one that settles in her chest like warmth instead of weight. " i think the striped horses will survive another day, " she teases gently, settling into the chair across from him, tucking her legs up the way she always does when she’s finally comfortable. " maybe the next draft is just ... emotionally about zebras. " the wind brushes faintly through the open window behind them, carrying salt and silence. rue breathes it in like medicine. then, shakes her head at the mans words, " you’re not invisible. not by a long shot. you’re just … out of sync with the noise, " she says after a beat. Her eyes lift to meet his — steady, unhurried. " there’s a difference. one feels like a curse, the other feels kind of like peace. at least, that's what i hope. i also think most people have their noses so deep in their iphones that they don't really realize others around them. " her smile is soft now, not bright. she taps her temple lightly, echoing his earlier words. " but you? invisible? nah. " " three languages in your brain sounds like a superpower to me. mine just has one, and it still scrambles everything when i’m tired or sad or thinking too loud. " a pause. she pulls the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, a quiet fidget; rue felt like she's said too much in just a quick sentence. " windsor bay’s lucky to have you. most people who come here either never unpack ... or they vanish altogether. " then rue glances at the open laptop screen again, lips twitching faintly. " need a co-writer? i’m good with metaphors. especially the sad kind. "

[drholmstrom]

those  slow,  intimate  mornings  and  soft  moments  reminded  søren  exactly  why  him  and  sigrid  were  meant  to  be.  some  nights  they  just  laid  together,  listening  to  the  gentle  sounds  of  the  other’s  breathing  or  dialing  in  to  the  irregular  thumping  of  their  hearts.  søren  loved  sigrid  down  to  her  bones,  and  for  those  that  knew  them  it  was  clear  why  —  the  pair  had  been  dragged  through  hell  and  back  and  yet,  twenty - four  years  after  they  had  met  in  that  little  malmö  café,  they  woke  up  every  morning  and  chose  each  other.  it  didn’t  matter  if  the  choice  was  easy.  all  that  mattered  was  the  choice  was  made.  “i  only  have  one.  you  should  be  grateful  it’s  moving  at  all.”  lazily  he  wrapped  his  arm  around  her,  muscular  and  firm  despite  the  fact  he  hadn’t  stepped  foot  in  a  gym  since  his  wedding  preparations.  for  a  moment  they  were  quiet  again.  “i  think  …  ”  he  sighed,  stroking  sigrid’s  back,  running  the  pads  of  his  fingers  up  and  down  to  be  reminded  of  her  warmth,  “  …  i  think  i  should  at  least  meet  with  the  team.  see  what  my  options  are.  if  i  need  to  leave,  i  can  do  my  admin  somewhere  else.”

             sigrid   smiled   softly   at   the   confirmation   ,   letting   the   tension   in   her   shoulders   fade   and   ease.   it   was   normal   for   the   two   of   them   ,   for   søren   to   wake   up   in   a   cold   sweat   and   sigrid   to   wrap   her   arms   around   him   ;   a   steady   anchor   in   the   night.   they'd   made   a   system   out   of   whispered   reassurances   and   firm   touches   ,   making   sure   that   they   were   both   safe   and   sound   in   bed   together.   sigrid   knew   that   søren   felt   guilty   ,   that   he   tried   to   push   down   every   sign   of   him   not   doing   well.   what   he   always   failed   to   realise   was   that   sigrid   knew   her   husband   better   than   she   knew   herself.   "you're   always   so   charming   in   the   morning   ,"   she   replied   ,   eyes   a   mixture   of   fond   and   exasperated.   "i   only   get   grabby   because   your   leg   is   like   a   windmill.   it   keeps   going   all   over   the   place."   she   leaned   forward   and   kissed   his   shoulder   ,   rested   her   head   against   his   chest.   "how   are   you   feeling   about   work   today   ?"

[drholmstrom]

the  sentiment  was  there,  but  whether  søren  gave  good  news  was  something  that  was  up  for  debate.  in  the  weeks  before  he  stepped  away  from  some  of  his  clinical  duties,  the  horrors  seemed  never  ending  ;  more  emergency  surgeries  than  he  could  count,  talks  of  permanent  nerve  paint  or  amputations  …  even  saying  the  word  out  loud  made  his  spine  grow  cold.  time  had  passed,  but  he  wondered  whether  it  had  done  much  healing.  “i  try  my  hardest,”  and  his  accented  words  came  with  a  solemnity  that  he  was  sure  the  other  wasn’t  expecting.  “but  some  things  are  beyond  fixing,  no  matter  how  hard  you  try.  sometimes  bodies  are  just  too  broken  to  stitch  back  together  again.”  his  wife  had  seen  it  all,  those  nights  where  søren  came  home  after  long  shifts  and  immediately  poured  himself  a  tall  glass  of  wine.  it  didn’t  numb  as  much  as  morphine,  but  it  helped  blur  his  mind  enough  for  him  to  get  some  rest.  it  was  only  when  pointed  out  to  him  that  søren  remembered  that  he  sounded  different.  “i’m  not,  no.  me,  my  wife  and  my  daughter  came  here  ten  years  ago  from  sweden.  i  like  to  think  we’ve  settled  in  nicely.  are  you ? ”  he  paused  for  a  moment,  before  asking,  “from  windsor  bay,  or  somewhere  close  by ? ”  it  seemed  like  the  woman  liked  mysteries.  the  one  in  her  hand  wasn't  enough,  and  so  she  was  searching  off  the  page  —  søren  had  fallen  straight  beneath  her  microscope.  part  of  him  wanted  to  keep  her  guessing,  to  let  her  try  and  unravel  the  complexities  of  a  scandinavian  import  on  the  wrong  side  of  fifty,  but  søren  had  never  been  one  to  keep  his  doors  closed  ;  it  was  almost  impossible  for  him  not  to  speak  about  his  wife,  daughter,  or  home  country  in  a  sentence,  despite  its  relation  to  them.  “it’s  quiet  here,  and  it’s  peaceful,  and  it  gives  my  head  some  space  to  unwind  …  allows  me  to  breathe.  it’s  hard,  being  a  doctor  in  a  field  that  is  so  close  to  your  heart  …  ”  maybe  he’d  allow  her  that  mystery.  he  smiled  at  the  other,  something  closed - lipped  and  almost  sad.  “and  the  tech  support  is  unmatched,  as  you  know.”

“Orthopedic surgery?” she echoed, nose scrunching like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “Doc, I barely trust the human skeleton to keep itself together on a normal day, let alone slice it open and fix it.” She said it with a smirk, but the truth lingered behind the words — she knew a thing or two about patching up bruises, just not the kind that needed a scalpel. She glanced down at the flickering screen again and then back to him, caught somewhere between amused and intrigued. “You really are a doctor,” she said, softer this time. The kind of realization that carried weight — not because it intimidated her, but because it didn’t. “And not the kind that gives people bad news over the phone, huh? No— you’re the one who tries to fix things.” Her tone warmed at the edges like a whiskey glass in her hand. She stretched out in the chair, legs crossed at the ankle, her boot tapping lightly against the leg of the table. “You’re not keeping me from anything important,” she said with a shrug, then held up the book she’d abandoned. The Midnight Whistler — cheap paperback, maybe a fourth reread. “Just unraveling a plot twist I figured out five pages in. Mystery section’s mostly just background noise for my brain, anyway.” Her gaze flicked to him again, curious. “You’re not from around here, are you? Not just the accent — the way you talk. Like you’re trying to be careful with every word, like it means something. People here don’t really do that.” There was no malice in it — if anything, it sounded like a compliment. She leaned forward, elbow on the table now, chin resting in her hand. “So, doc,” she said, deliberate with the pronunciation, letting the nickname roll around in her mouth like a foreign flavor, “you’ve got clumsy fingers, no glasses, and a keyboard from hell, but still came to a bookstore instead of your office or some soulless café.” She paused, a smirk curling at the corners of her lips again. “What’s the real story there?” Because Bex? Bex never bought the first answer. And right now, this quiet surgeon with the old laptop and mismatched energy? He was the most interesting plot twist she’d come across all week.

[drholmstrom]

I’m happy. I’m happy that you’re happy. I’m happy that you’ll finally have to climb for it.

[drholmstrom]

“you  have ? ”  he  tilted  his  head.  although  her  words  came  as  a  surprise,  he  could  understand  why  — america  didn’t  have  the  same  charm,  but  it  still  had  its  promises.  the  country  of  dreams  and  opportunity,  a  place  where  his  daughter  could  let  her  own  roots  spread.  wasn’t  that  what  everything  had  been  for  ?  to  give  her  a  chance,  to  give  her  everything  ?  “if   you  get  the  chance  to  go  back,  you  absolutely  should.  it’s  a  wonderful  place.  a  beautiful  place.”  ten  years  had  passed  like  a  flash.  signe  had  turned  from  a  toddler  to  a  grown  woman,  and  søren  was  sure  that  he  had  only  blinked.  for  the  first  time,  søren  hesitated.  usually  he  was  so  sure,  especially  when  it  came  to  speaking  about  his  family.  his  home,  his  wife  and  his  daughter  came  so  easily  ;  work  had  been  a  sore  point  for  a  few  weeks,  ever  since  he  had  thinned  out  his  duties  at  the  hospital  and  dropped  as  many  days  as  he  could  get  away  with.  a  well  earned  break,  but  one  that  he  didn’t  always  feel  as  though  he  deserved.  “i  work  in  orthopaedics,”  he  finally  replied,  “trained  as  a  surgeon.  now  i’m  more  …  doing  this  sort  of  thing.  it  takes  it  out  of  you.”  especially  when  he  knew,  first  hand,  what  it  was  like  to  lose  a  part  of  himself,  to  be  separated  from  his  own  flesh  and  bone.  “and  you ? ”  he  wondered  whether  the  other  had  sensed  their  shared  background,  their  qualifications,  their  desire  to  help  people,  and  that  was  one  of  the  reasons  that  she  had  approached.  outside  of  his  pathetic  request  for  help,  of  course.  most  of  the  doctors  he  came  across  those  days  were  fresh - faced  and  excited,  ready  to  take  on  the  world  …  as  much  as  he  loved  stitching  people  back  together  again,  søren  would  be  lying  if  he  said  the  emotional  side  hadn’t  taken  its  toll.  lives  lost,  families  shattered  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  day,  he  was  always  able  to  walk  away  and  be  comforted  by  the  arms  of  his  wife. increasing  the  font  …  now,  if  his  daughter  was  there,  she  would  have  been  able  to  do  it  in  a  few  clicks  — and  then  explain  it  to  søren  in  a  way  that  he  understood.  instead,  he  stared  blankly  at  the  keys,  then  hopelessly  back  up  at  his  new  friend.  “and  if  i  wanted  to  increase  the  font  size  …  ”  he  breathed  a  laugh,  aware  that  it  probably  sounded  ridiculous,  “where  would  i  go  to  do  that ? ”  a  friend.  a  real,  human  friend  that  didn’t  share  his  surname  or  his  workplace.  søren  decided  that  he  was  probably  overdue  a  break  —  a  moment  away  from  the  screen,  a  few  minutes  of  respite  for  his  eyes  —  and  so  he  relaxed  back  in  the  seat.  “i’m  søren,”  he  realised  he  hadn’t  introduced  himself,  “danish  spelling.  swedish  pronunciation.  it  sounds  less  like  i’m  coughing  up  a  hairball  that  way,”  and  he  had  become  so  used  to  the  swedish  intonations  that  it  seemed  strange  reverting  to  his  father   tongue.  “i’m  actually  fifty  four,  so  it’s  even  worse  …  and  yes,”  he  laughed  again.  a  humorless  bark.  “yes,  i  do  know  …  ” but  they  had  only  just  met.  was  he  really  going  to  tell  a  near  stranger  his  life  story,  subject  her  to  a  tale  of  loss  and  disappointment  ? 

Something Eliana knew all about was how life could throw curveballs into any plans you might've set out for yourself. Which was why, after years of coming up against it, the redheaded leaned into the chaos as the natural order. One thing that had always been certain about living and evolution was mutation. Her only wish now was that she hadn't fought against it so much when she had been in her twenties. It would've saved her so much energy and her sanity at times.

"Wonderfully Scandinavian," she commented with a smile, "I've actually always felt more aligned with your culture than the American that I am." A chuckle, then Ellie tacked on, "in theory at least." The first trip she'd ever taken outside of the United States as a reward for her bachelor's degree was to Norway. To this day she still thinks of it fondly and often.

It stirred something inside of her when he mentioned the hospital. After she'd earned her MD, that was where she had done her residency. "Ten years... must be a good fit if you've spent a decade there now. I spent about four years there until my residency was complete and I went into private practice. What's your specialty?"

Curiosity bloomed and it was nice to get acquainted with someone within the realm as a medical professional. "I feel like you've settled in a good place. Oregon and even Washington likely help you feel not too far away from home... the landscapes can feel familiar." And the people were much nicer than just about anywhere else, just a bit more social.

A laugh easily came at the mention of having spare glasses spread throughout town, in case of need at his favorite spots. Not a half bad idea if he could get everyone on board. "You should try making the font bigger," the redhead suggested, "it was one of the more humbling experiences I've had to date when it came to being confronted with getting older but it's definitely saved me a lot of headaches and wrinkles from squinting."

With her books in hand, Eliana took the offered seat when Søren cleared the space and invited her to join him. She set them down on the table and then her shoulder bag in the chair next to her. "Ooof that's so brave of you," she joked, "taking a flight of stairs up to the loft without an oxygen tank." There was a wide grin on her face, she was happy to find some solidarity in this. Sometimes her patients in the seat across from her would fold themselves into odd positions and it frustrated her because she'd need Tylenol after such a thing. "But that's really kind of you, thank you, and for the record... I never would've guessed you were fifty. You don't look a day over forty." And she meant that. "I think it's more so just feeling older than I look. I've had at least a few lives by now, you know?"

[drholmstrom]

「  ✱  」  STATUS ﹕ closed  . 

「  ✱  」  LOCATION ﹕ the holmström home  . 

「  ✱  」  WITH ﹕ @signeholmstrom .

every  day  was  mother’s  day  in  the  holmström  household.  it  almost  seemed  redundant  when  the  actual  occasion  came  around,  close  to  an  insult  in  soren’s  mind  —  he  couldn’t  think  of  any  reality  where  somebody  didn’t  celebrate  the  mother  of  their  children,  their  wife,  year - round.  their  love  was  everlasting,  like  a  flower  that  had  never  ceased  its  blooming  ;  for  twenty - four  years  soren  and  sigrid  had  barely  had  an  argument.  even  then,  their  disagreements  lacked  raised  voices  or  mean - spirited  words  ;  they  were  more  like  lawful  trials  and  often  ended  with  a  handshake,  a  kiss,  and  a  glass  of  wine  as  a  truce.  he  wished  for  signe  to  find  such  a  love.  she  was  old  enough  now  to  spread  her  wings,  to  create  her  own  life,  to  grow  her  own  roots  …  and  he  had  been  waiting  to  think  of  the  right  time  to  ask  about  charlie  ever  since  his  daughter  had  arrived  at  the  home  they  used  to  share. but  they  had  other  priorities.  soren  secured  an  apron  around  his  waist  and  clumsily  pinned  open  a  cookbook  that  he  had  been  given  by  his  mother.  everything,  of  course,  was  in  swedish  —  he  pushed  his  glasses  up  his  nose  and  squinted  to  read  the  small  print.  “your  mother  is  going  to  love  this,”  he  said,  “coming  home  to  something  sweet.  you  always  used  to  love  baking.  although,  when  you  were  younger,  i  can’t  say  you  were  all  that  much  help.  you  were  just  the  resident  bowl - cleaner.”  a  finger  around  the  rim  to  sample  the  batter  as  her  father  slaved  over  the  dishes.  it  was  one  of  their  favorite  ways  to  bond,  something  he  was  thankful  to  still  hold  dear  now  that  signe  was  older.  “do  have  all  the  ingredients  ready ?  are  we  missing  anything ? ”

[drholmstrom]

he  wondered  whether  young  women  would  ever  not  remind  him  of  his  daughter.  it  was  his  closest  point  of  reference,  and  he  could  so  clearly  see  signe  in  her  teenage  years  in  a  leather  jacket  of  her  own  —  one  that  she  had  constructed  herself  out  of  scraps  —  doing  her  typical  runway  walk  through  the  narrow  hallway  from  the  kitchen  to  the  dining  room.  it  had  been  a  constant  when  she  was  growing  up,  these  miniature  celebrations  ;  the  holmströms  were  nothing  if  not  encouraging.  søren’s  favourite  tie  was  his  daughter’s  creation.  she  had  stitched  it  back  when  being  a  designer  had  been  merely  a  dream,  sewing  together  offcuts  from  bargain  bins  from  the  craftshop.  the  linework  was  a  little  wonky  and,  yes,  he  could  see  where  the  threads  had  snagged  over  the  years,  but  whenever  he  needed  to  attend  an  important  meeting  it  was  secured  firmly  around  his  neck.  his  own  personal  good  luck  charm.  that  was  all  søren  was,  really  —  a  father  —  and  he  was  comfortable  in  the  position.  it  was  like  he  had  been  made  for  the  role,  as  though  he  had  been  the  one  that  wrote  the  handbook. “ah,”  søren  exclaimed,  confidently  pressing  down  the  S  key  as  though  it  would  run  away  from  him  if  he  gave  it  a  softer  deal,  “it  all  makes  sense  now.”  he  offered  a  warm  smile  to  his  newfound  company.  usually,  on  his  admin  days,  he  spoke  to  very  few  human  beings  ;  his  wife  and,  if  he  was  lucky,  the  barista  at  their  local  coffee  joint  or  a  particularly  friendly  dog  walker.  the  assessment  wasn’t  entirely  off  the  mark.  he  sat  for  a  moment,  mulling  it  over,  offering  the  other  a  raised  brow  and  a  tilted  chin  before  replying,  “you’re  half  correct.  i  am  a  doctor.  what  gave  that  away ?  although,  the  tech  thing  is  a  little  harsh  …  ”  søren  frowned,  his  attention  being  stolen  by  the  screen  turning  black.  hesitantly  he  pressed  the  S  key  again,  and  the  laptop  whirred  back  to  life  from  its  inactivity  snooze.  “i  used  to  always  do  my  own  notes,  and  usually  i  can  do  them  just  fine  …  even  if  i  am  a  little  slow.  i  left  my  glasses  at  home  and,  as  you  can  probably  tell,  i’m  pretty  useless  without  them.”  the  irregular  yet  soft  cadence,  the  accented  edges  to  his  words,  told  the  stranger  that  he  wasn’t  from  windsor  bay  stock.  “plus  everything  is  harder  when  i  have  to  transfer  each  word  in  my  brain  from  english  to  danish  and  then  back  again.  we  have  all  sorts  of  letters  that  you  don’t.  my  name  has  a  little  o  with  a  strike  through  it.”  he  made  a  circle  with  his  index  finger  and  thumb,  struck  his  other  index  finger  on  top  of  it.  as  though  it  was  the  universal  sign.  “they’re  my  clinical  notes.  i  don’t  suppose  you  know  anything  about  orthopedic  surgery ? ”  a  few  more  clumsy,  unnecessarily  firm  presses  of  the  keys,  “i  appreciate  the  help.  i’m  not  keeping  you  from  anything ?”

She looked up from the stack of mystery novels she'd been thumbing through — something dog-eared and forgotten with a cover that screamed guilty pleasure — when he spoke. At first, she thought he was talking to someone else. He had that polished, soft-accented professor vibe, like someone who probably sipped espresso while reading biographies for fun. Definitely not the type she expected to interrupt her at The Book Nook with an alphabet emergency. But sure enough, that hand was raised like he was flagging down a server in some old French film, and when she followed his gaze down to the keyboard in question, she couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. Not mean. Just amused. Warm. Like he’d somehow managed to surprise her in the best way. She crossed the short distance with that slow, confident strut she carried everywhere — all black jeans and leather jacket even in a bookstore, like the fiction section might pick a fight with her. Leaning down just enough to hover over his shoulder, she squinted at the screen, then pointed. “That’s an S,” she said, tapping the key lightly with her nail. “Z’s over here, doing its own thing like the rebel it is.” She straightened again, arms loosely crossed, one brow raised. “You always flag down strangers for letter help, or am I just the lucky one today?” There was a teasing edge to her voice, but not unfriendly. She didn’t mind being pulled out of her book for this. Honestly, she was curious. He didn’t look like the type to get flustered by keyboards — or anything, really. “Let me guess,” she said, head tilted, studying him like a puzzle she’d half-solved, “You’re a doctor or a professor or some other breed of overachiever who never learned how to use tech ‘cause someone else always did it for you. But now you’re stuck with this antique of a laptop and the pressing question of the day is... S versus Z?” She smiled — not mockingly, but with interest. She was already grabbing the chair next to his, plopping down with the kind of energy that said you’ve got my attention, so now you’re stuck with it. “So what are we typing, Mr. Hunt-and-Peck? A love letter? A grocery list? An epic tell-all about how bookstores are actually the last safe place in a burning world?” Her eyes sparkled just enough to suggest she’d believe any of the above.

[drholmstrom]

“ah,  my  book  about  striped  horses  is  ruined ! ”  søren  joked,  his  smile  bright  and  wide  like  the  shimmering  malmö  waters.  he  missed  it  —  their  home  in  sweden  —  but  windsor  bay  had  been  where  they  had  laid  their  roots,  and  the  holmströms  had  watched  them  grow  and  spread  for  close  to  a  decade.  maybe  it  had  been  the  best  choice  for  them,  now  that  he  was  firmly  on  the  wrong  side  of  fifty,  with  quickly  failing  eyesight  and  a  brain  that  felt  —  sometimes  —  like  it  was  on  fire.  a  slow  life  by  the  bay  forced  him  to  live  gracefully.  “please  —  take  a  seat.  and  thank  you  for  helping  an  old  man.  honestly,  i  feel  like  once  you  hit  fifty  you  become  invisible  to  everyone  you  pass.  not  to  scare  you ! ”  the  doctor  was  certain  his  newfound  company  had  ample  time  yet  before  she  was  anywhere  close  to  his  age.  “i  left  my  glasses  at  home,  and  when  your  brain  is  full  of  three  languages  fighting  for  dominance  it  isn’t  always  easy  to  know  which  letter  goes  where.”

rue looks up from the poetry anthology she’s been pretending to read — a worn, salt-edged copy of adrienne rich that smells like someone else’s memory. the book nook is one of the only places in windsor bay that still feels untouched, like it doesn’t care who she used to be. the quiet here is generous. it lets her vanish without comment. — but then a man sitting to one side of her speaks, so gently, so sincerely, and she’s pulled back in. she glances at the laptop screen, tilting her head slightly. " that’s an s, " she says, voice low, soft-edged like beach glass. she smiles faintly. " unless you’re trying to write ‘ zebra, ’ in which case ... we’re both in trouble. " there’s something comforting about him — a little old-school, a little out-of-time, like the kind of person who still uses handkerchiefs and says “ pardon ” ; rue finds herself relaxing in his presence without meaning to.

[drholmstrom]

windsor  bay  hadn’t  always  been  the  plan,  but  when  did  life  ever  respect  the  path  that  had  been  meticulously  laid  out ?  the  holmströms  had  meant  to  stay  in  sweden  —  to  raise  their  daughter,  to  watch  her  bloom  and  maybe,  one  day,  bring  them  some  grandchildren  to  dote  on  just  as  much  as  they  doted  on  her.  instead,  america  had  called  them  —  and  although  the  adjustment  had  been  harsh,  they  knew  that  it  had  been  the  right  decision.  for  everyone. flourishing  careers  for  himself  and  his  wife.  a  childhood  for  signe  where  opportunities  were  almost  thrown  in  her  direction.  parenting  was  all  about  sacrifice,  and  although  the  summers  required  soren  to  douse  himself  in  factor  50  sunscreen  it  was  a  small  price  to  pay.  his  little  girl  was  all  grown  up.  his  little  girl  had  the  world  at  her  feet,  if  she  wanted  to  take  it. “ah,  you  caught  me,”  soren  smirked  and  raised  both  hands  as  if  he’d  been  caught  stealing,  “it’s  complicated.  my  father  is  swedish,  my  mother  is  danish  …  i  have  a  danish  first  name  and  a  swedish  last  name  which  confuses  everyone  when  i  try  and  fill  in  forms.  we  settled  in  malmö,”  with  its  beautiful  steel - blue  waters,  “much  bigger  than  here.  i  got  an  offer  to  work  at  the  hospital here  a  decade  ago  and  i  suppose  we  never  really  looked  back.” he  could  speak  about  his  family  and  home  until  he  ran  out  of  breath.  it  was  a  running  joke  between  his  wife  and  daughter  —  to  see  how  long  it  took  soren  to  mention  sigrid,  signe,  denmark  or  sweden  in  a  sentence.  he  rarely  lasted  more  than  a  minute.  “spare  glasses,”  he  tapped  the  side  of  his  nose  knowingly,  “i’ll  remember  that  one.  i  think  i’ll  need  at  least  five  pairs  dotted  around  windsor  bay  so  that  i  don’t  lose  them.  i  forget  how  bad  my  eyesight  really  is,  then  i  try  and  look  this  screen  and  …  well  …  it’s  just  blur.”  he  chuckled  and  moved  his  laptop  bag  off  of  the  seat  opposite  him,  gesturing  for  the  other  to  sit.  “i  don’t  believe  that  you’re  even  close  to  the  wrong  side  of  fifty.  i  think  you’re  being  very  harsh  on  that  one.  but  you’re  right,  middle  age  is  a  whirlwind.  i  miss  the  days  where  i  could  go  up  into  the  loft  and  not  need  three  days  to  recover  afterwards.”

The more she heard him speak the clearer she heard his accent, and Eliana was rather proud of herself for thinking Scandinavian just before he'd mentioned thinking in Swedish. She ran the risk right there of completely tuning him out as she wondered what had brought him from such a lovely place all the way to this small town.

Sometimes... when Ellie thought back to her family's escape from Washington, she wished they had gone a lot further. Maybe to a place like Sweden.

"I have a pair, well, two pairs of glasses as well. One in each office... my office downtown and my home office. I generally only need them when my eyes get tired." A little frown briefly crumpled her brow, but she soon offered a soft smile. It wasn't regrettable that she'd made it to this point in life. Sometimes she'd found herself amazed she'd kept it together this long. "Which is something that's happening more and more the older I get. Or maybe it's the growth of technology..." And how there was no real way to separate from it anymore.

"So, yeah..." Eliana bounced a thoughtful finger in his direction, a smile forming on her lips. "I thought I'd detected an accent. I'm always curious what draws foreigners to small towns rather than the big cities. Are you from a small town in Sweden?"

A moment later, still working on not getting lost in her own thoughts, she waved off his gratitude in a friendly manner. "Please... I don't think you're much older than me. We need to support each other. Middle age isn't for the week apparently. I never thought I would've had to be careful about falling asleep on the couch and yet... here we are. Sore back."

[drholmstrom]

“no  bad  dreams.”  it  was  something  that  they  had  grown  accustomed  to  over  the  years,  that  was  as  normal  as  getting  bills  through  the  post  or  separating  the  washing  from  whites  and  colors.  søren’s  nightmares  were  a  third  party  in  their  marriage  ;  sometimes  absent,  sometimes  burning  and  alive  in  his  brain.  they  could  have  weeks  where  søren  was  untouched  by  the  fire,  and  some  where  he  was  doused  in  flame.  regardless,  for  twenty - four  years  they  had  stuck  by  each  other  and,  every  morning,  had  woken  up  choosing  to  stay.  “i  slept  well.  better  than  i  have  for  a  long  time.  i  think  it  had  something  to  do  with  the  beautiful  woman  next  to  me  …  although  she  can  get  a  bit  grabby  with  the  covers  during  the  night.”  a  low,  sleep - darkened  chuckle  rumbled  from  his  body.  he  pulled  sigrid  gently  closer  to  rest  her  head  on  his  bare  chest. 

             sigrid   came   to   at   a   slow   and   gentle   pace.   it   was   very   unlike   the   normal   routine   they   had   for   themselves   ,   with   the   first   cup   of   coffee   already   finished   and   in   the   sink.   when   sigrid   looked   through   her   lashes   the   sun   was   already   peeking   through   the   blinds   ,   painting   their   room   in   a   sweet   yellows.   she   could   feel   her   husband   shift   beside   her   ,   and   sigrid   immediately   turned   her   body   toward   him.   "good   morning,   älskling   ,"   she   replied   ,   smiling   into   the   early   morning   kiss.   søren   had   been   taking   it   easier   in   the   past   few   weeks   ,   and   this   new   routine   was   one   of   her   favourites.   falling   asleep   and   waking   up   together   truly   made   her   quality   of   life   so   much   richer.   "i   slept   like   a   baby.   i   think   all   these   last   minutes   papers   i   have   to   grade   is   really   taking   it   out   of   me."   she   squinted   her   eyes   to   take   in   søren's   face   ,   "you   look   well   -   rested."   without   hesitation   sigrid   reached   up   to   stroke   a   few   stray   hairs   out   of   his   eyes.   "no   bad   dreams   ?"

[drholmstrom]

søren’s  dark - blue  eyes  stared  up  at  juno  pleadingly.  his  wife  was  always  right  —  about  everything  —  but  he  would  make  a  point  of  telling  sigrid  that,  yes,  he  needed  a  chain  for  his  glasses,  or  at  the  very  least  one  of  those  new - fangled  apple  tags  that  could  locate  the  things  whenever  he  left  them  someplace  obscure.  it  was  made  more  difficult  by  his  brain  being  a  mess  of  swirling  letters,  of  three  languages  that  had  a  tendency  to  all  merge  into  one  if  he  was  tired,  or  stressed,  or  maybe  even  a  bit  of  both.  with  a  slow  and  precise  tap  of  the  keys,  he  selected  the  S  —  or  what  he  thought  was  the  S,  it  could’ve  been  a  D.  “i’m  knee  deep  in  paperwork,”  søren  replied  (  there’s  probably  a  joke  in  there  somewhere  )  when  he  lifted  his  gaze  back  to  juno,  “but  other  than  that,  i’m  well.  a  little  time  off  has  done  me  good.  and  how  are  you  doing ?  any  new  pieces  that  a  certain  somebody  might  like ? ”

             juno   bounced   into   the   book   nook   with   determination.   they   had   heard   that   a   new   book   from   her   favourite   series   had   dropped   the   week   before   and   now   was   as   good   a   time   as   any   to   see   if   that   were   true.   she   peered   around   the   aisles   and   shelves   ,   ready   to   fight   for   what   was   rightfully   hers.   the   intense   search   was   momentarily   halted   ,   however   ,   as   she   saw   the   one   and   only   søren   holmström   tap   away   at   his   keyboard.   juno   took   a   good   look   at   the   handsome   doctor   before   they   took   few   steps   forward   ,   smiling   awkwardly   at   at   him   as   he   seemed   to   assume   that   she   would   be   accepting   the   nobel   price   in   writing.   "uh   ,   that   should   probably   be   an   s   ,"   she   replied   tentatively.   "how   are   you   doing  ��dr   holmström   ?"

[drholmstrom]

「  ✱  」  STATUS ﹕ closed  . 

「  ✱  」  LOCATION ﹕ the holmström home  . 

「  ✱  」  WITH ﹕ @holmstroms

it  was  one  of  those  slow  mornings  that  they  hadn’t  enjoyed  for  a  long  time.  early  morning  surgeries  meant  that,  for  years,  søren  was  awake  before  the  birdsong,  kissing  his  wife  on  the  head  and  pulling  the  front  door  delicately  closed  as  not  to  disturb  her.  now,  though,  they  could  wake  up  slowly  beside  one  another.  they  could  enjoy  a  weekend  how  normal  couples  enjoyed  their  weekends  —  gently,  gradually,  blinking  awake  in  each  other’s  arms.  the  sun  peeked  through  the  blinds  and  illuminated  their  sleeping  bodies  in  stripes  of  yellow - gold.  søren’s  eyes  opened,  and  effortlessly  their  bodies  intertwined.  “morning,  ängel,”  his  voice  still  had  the  rasp  of  sleep. he kissed  sigrid  despite  having  not  yet  brushed  his  teeth.  “how  did  you  sleep ? ”  it  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,  waking  up  and  feeling  the  heaviness  of  someone  beside  him.  the  warmth  of  the  woman  he  had  loved  for  twenty  years. 

[drholmstrom]

there  were  many  parts  to  getting  older  that  søren  cherished.  two  decades  ago,  he  wasn’t  sure  whether  he  would  ever  make  it  long  enough  to  see  grey  hairs  on  his  head,  to  watch  his  daughter  grow  up.  it  was  a  privilege  to  still  be  as  deeply  in  love  as  he  was,  to  be  able  to  spend  his  later  years  in  paradise  beside  his  wife  …  but  just  like  a  child,  he  was  back  to  needing  support  just  to  handle  the  simplest  things  ;  asking  his  daughter  to  set  up  an  instagram,  and  relying  on  strangers  for  his  medical  write - ups. “i  have  a  few  more  pages,”  sighed  the  doctor  as  he  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  settled  his  gaze  on  the  other.  “my  wife  always  tells  me  not  to  leave  my  glasses  at  home,  and  what  do  i  go  and  do ?  i  know  exactly  where  they  are,  too.”  on  the  bedside  table,  right  where  he  always  left  them.  a  place  he  had  specifically  chosen  so  that  he  wouldn’t  leave  them  behind. “but  it’s  never  all  that  easy  when  your  head  thinks  in  swedish  but  your  hands  are  typing  in  english.”  he  was  fluent  in  both  —  and  danish,  and  poor  conversational  mandarin  that  he  had  attempted  to  learn  on  multiple  occasions.  he  was  only  just  starting  to  understand  his  wife’s  exasperated  mutterings.  “ten  years  in  america.  you’d  think  i  would  have  got  the  hang  of  it  by  now ! ”  but  in  his  family’s  little  scandinavian echo chamber  it  was  all  too  easy  to  forget  how  many  miles  from  home  they  truly  were.  søren  still  missed  those  bitter  winters,  the  snow  whipping  his  cheeks  and  turning  them  a  sore  pink.  most  of  all,  he  missed  the  promise  of  a  slow  life  now  that  he  was  entering  into  the  later  chapter  of  his  own.  “thank  you  for  taking  some  time  to  help  an  old  man  in  need.  not  everyone  would.”

With a massive to be read pile at home judging her for even browsing the store, Eliana certainly didn't need to be here. Keeping abreast with latest releases wasn't her thing either, she didn't necessarily have the time, but she couldn't resist when she wanted to pass a little time.

Beautiful, intriguing covers always nabbed her attention. And then if the plot intrigued her enough it was collected into her arm for purchase. Likely only to be forgotten once it was at home and with it's new very neglected mates.

By the sounds of the typing he was a hunt and peck method, and Ellie had no judgements, not everyone was technologically inclined. She was truly trying to mind her own business when his gentle interruption broke the bookstore quiet, and the raise of his hand curled her lips into a smile. Something instinctual almost pointed at him like a teacher but thankfully Ellie harnessed that before she made an asshole of herself.

When she walked over and peered slightly over his shoulder at where he was pointing, "oh, that's a Z. If you're wanting the S go one row up." Her finger pointed to indicate. "Do you have a lot to type up? Might want to give your eyes a break. I know mine give me trouble if I'm looking at a screen for too long."

[drholmstrom]

“ah.”  sometimes  søren  resented  getting  older.  his  eyesight  was  failing,  and  despite  having  multiple  medical  qualifications  and  being  at  the  top  of  his  profession  he  still  needed  help  with  close  reading  whenever  he  forgot  his  glasses.  and  that  was  more  often  than  he  cared  to  admit.  his  wife  constantly  nagged  him,  telling  søren  that  he’d  fall  down  an  open  manhole  one  day  if  he  wasn’t  looking  where  he  was  going  —  he  was  sure  the  only  way  he  would  stop  forgetting  is  if  his  lenses  became  surgically attached to  his  head.  “cherish  your  eyesight  for  as  long  as  you  can.  one  day  you’re  fine,  the  next  day  you’re  spreading  marmalade  on  your  toast  instead  of  jam  because  you  can’t  read  the  labels.”

Asher had a little bit of extra time on his lunch break, which was what prompted the spontaneous visit to The Book Nook. There was a book he had been wanting to read that was currently checked out at the library. While his eyes were glazing across various titles to see if any jumped out or sounded familiar, he was pulled out of his trance by a nearby voice. "Hm?" Asher asked in confusion as he turned around to spot the source. Once spotted, the corners of his lips turned upwards in a friendly manner. He glanced down at the keyboard to see which key the man was referring to. "They are very close on the keyboard. But the S key is in the middle row, while the Z is on the bottom."

[drholmstrom]

             [      ✱      ]             is  that  nikolaj  coster - waldau   ?  no,  that’s  søren  holmström,  a fifty4  year  old  living in the suburbs  who  uses he / him  pronouns.  he  currently  works  as  an orthopedic specialist at elite wellness collective   and  has  been  in  windsor bay  for  ten  years.  he  loves  dad rock, his wife and table tennis  and  the  character  he  identifies  with  most  is  gomez addams  from  the addams family.

full  name   :   soren  nils  holmstrom  . nickname(s)   :   älskling ( sigrid )  . hometown   :   copenhagen,   denmark  . languages :  swedish, danish, english, mandarin ( badly ) .         gender   :   cis - man .

relationships.

orientation   :   heterosexual . relationship status   :   married to sigrid holmström family members in play   :   signe holmström ( daughter ) . family members ( npcs )   :   none !

søren  holmström  was  born  from  nothing  less  than  fairytale  love.  his  mother  was  from  denmark,  but  every  sunday  a  handsome  man  from  sweden  stopped  by  her  flower  shop  in  copenhagen  and  stayed  just  a  little  bit  too  long.  they  quickly  married,  and  the  news  of  a  new  arrival  came  soon  afterwards  —  søren  came  into  the  world  like  a  burst  of  light  and  has  illuminated  the  dark  corners  in  people's  lives  ever  since.  his  father  moved  to  denmark,  and  they  lived  as  a  comfortable  family  unit  through  his  childhood.

an  intelligent  and  driven  young  boy,  søren  always  knew  that  he  wanted  to  help  people.  it  sounded  cliché  whenever  anyone  asked  —  and  family  members  would  talk  amongst  themselves  about  how  the  holmström  boy  wanted  to  make  the  big  bucks  —  but  he  wanted  to  take  away  pain  and  stitch  lives  back  together  again.  a  love  of  anatomy  books  followed  him  through  school  and  all  the  way  to  college.  after  an  exhausting  placement,  he  took  a  fellowship  and  commuted  to  malmö  every  morning  for  the  next  step  in  his  career.

he  supposed  that  it  was  fate  when  he  saw  her.  the  face  of  a  woman  straight  out  of  a  magazine.  when  he  saw  her,  søren  almost  fell  to  his  knees  —  a  goddess  walking,  a  beautiful  thing  that  almost  glowed.  how  could  he  have  ever  walked  away  ?  for  the  next  few  months,  søren  brought  bouquets  from  his  mother’s  shop  to  the  café  where  sigrid  worked.  once  the  annoyance  faded,  sigrid  had  no  other  option  but  to  agree  to  a  date.

and  when  she  folded,  things  moved  quickly.  she  got  pregnant  fast,  and  there  was  only  ever  one  option  for  søren  when  he  saw  those  two  lines  on  the  test.  his  fellowship  at  the  hospital  came  to  an  end  and  immediately  he  hung  up  the  stethoscope  to  support  his  girlfriend.  his  intention  had  always  been  to  help  people.  he  still  was,  but  instead  of  people  it  was  his  own  family.  supporting  sigrid  and  marrying  her  was  the  second  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  the  first  ?  well,  he  found  out  the  moment  his  daughter  came  along.

but  joy  could  never  exist  without  sorrow.  it  was  a  dark  drive  back  from  the  hospital  when  it  happened  — maybe  it  was  a  pothole  or  something  left  out  in  the  road,  but  whatever  his  car  hit  sent  søren  twisting  down  an  embankment  off  the  side  of  the  highway.  no  one  else  was  hurt,  but  he  was  ;  a  crushed  right  leg  that  his  wife  had  to  make  the  devastating  decision  to  amputate.  in  that  moment,  he  thought  that  his  world  was  over.  how  could  he  ever  be  a  father  if  he  was  half  a  man?  that  was  one  of  many  moments  where  sigrid  proved  herself  as  his  guardian  angel.  she  pulled  him  together,  kept  him  whole,  and  assured  søren  that  they  were  a  family  —  her,  their  growing  girl,  and  him,  regardless  of  the  state  he  was  in.

fatherhood  became  his  everything.  for  the  first  few  years  søren  stayed  home  to  allow  sigrid  to  study,  taking  awkward  ad - hoc  shifts  at  the  hospital  to  fund  their  living  costs.  when  signe  started  school,  he  applied  and  gained  an  orthopedic  consultancy.  the  next  ten  years  moved  by  easily  —  the  scandinavian  dream  —  until  a  letter  arrived.  they  wanted  dr  holmström  in  windsor bay.  guilt  ate  him  alive,  and  the  invitation  stayed  on  the  mantlepiece  until  sigrid  found  it.  she  paid  back  the  favour.  it  was  his  chance  to  want  something,  his  chance  to  grip  life  by  the  horns.

a  decade  on,  and  søren  spends  most  of  his  time  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  taking  walks  along  the  promenade,  and  working  in  his  home  study.  now  that  signe  has  flown  the  nest,  there's  a  hole  where  his  daughter  had  once  been  —  a  pit  that  he  isn't  quite  sure  how  to  fill.  but  he  tries  anyway.

[drholmstrom]

「  ✱  」  STATUS ﹕ open  . 

「  ✱  」  LOCATION ﹕ the book nook  . 

「  ✱  」  WITH ﹕ open ( @windsorbaystarters )

it  was  a  peaceful  place  to  work  when  his  own  study  grew  stale.  one  of  the  comfortable  little  reading  chairs  in  the  back   corner  of  the   book nook  was  søren’s  office  for  the  afternoon,  tapping  slowly  on  the  laptop  that  he  had  never  quite  learned  how  to  properly  use.  it  blew  his  mind  listening  to  his  daughter  type  sometimes,  her  fingers  dancing  across  the  keys  at  rocket  speed,  when  he  needed  to  squint  to  properly  discern  which  keys  corresponded  to   which  letters.  it  made  writing  up  his  clinic  letters  all  the  more  difficult.  “excuse  me,”  he  offered  a  kind  smile  to  the  person  closest  to  him,  raising  his  hand  as  though  asking for  the  cheque  in  a  restaurant,  “can  you  just  …  this  might  sound  ridiculous  …  is  this  an  S  or  a  Z  ?  ”

[drholmstrom]

I’m happy. I’m happy that you’re happy. I’m happy that you’ll finally have to climb for it.