The “I Do” Joker: Or Why You Should Never Marry a Washing Machine
Part 5: The Buttercream Inquisition
My move into Mia’s room took exactly four minutes. Mainly because all my worldly possessions fit into three IKEA bags and a gaming chair that faintly smelled of cheese nachos. “The chair stays outside,” Mia decreed immediately. She stood in the doorway of her room, which was so tidy you could probably perform open-heart surgery in it. “If my grandma sees that ‘throne of social isolation’, she’ll know instantly that no loving husband lives here, but an unwashed troll.”
Lukas shuffled down the hallway and hung our “engagement photo” from the park directly above Mia’s desk. “There. Visual proof. And Finn, put on a T-shirt that doesn’t have burn holes from pizza leftovers. Grandma Hildegard will be here in ten minutes.”
Grandma Hildegard (74, former senior customs officer) didn’t simply arrive. She infiltrated the building. We heard the rhythmic clicking of her heels in the stairwell – a sound that reminded me of the drums in *The Lord of the Rings*. When Lukas opened the door, she ignored him completely. She brushed past him, stopped in the hallway, and sniffed. “It smells of desperation,” she stated. “And cheap cleaning product.”
Then she fixed her gaze on me. “Finn,” she said. It wasn’t a greeting; it was the identification of a minor offence. Mia rushed forward to hug her – it looked about as natural as a bad yoghurt commercial. “That’ll do, Mia,” Hildegard said, placing a huge cool box on the table. “We have work to do. The cake. And the interrogation.”
We sat down at the sticky kitchen table. Hildegard took out three slices of cake: marzipan, lemon, and chocolate chilli. “Choose wisely. A cake says a lot about the character of a marriage.” Before I could reach for the chocolate, she fired the first projectile. “Finn, back then in the supermarket – who touched the last pack of Maultaschen first?”
My brain went into standby mode. Maultaschen? Oh right, Lukas’s legend! “I did!” I said at the same time as Mia said, “She did!” “I mean,” I corrected myself hastily, “I already had them in my hand, but Mia fixed me with such a look that I voluntarily let go. It was intimidation at first sight.” “Love,” Lukas corrected from the doorway. “He means love.”
Hildegard narrowed her eyes and put a piece of lemon cake into her mouth. “And which Scandinavian crime series did you watch last Sunday? The one with the one-legged detective, or the one where it’s always raining?” I started sweating. “The one where it rains! It always rains there. Totally depressing. Just like… our love… uh, I mean, deep!” Mia kicked me under the table. “We’re watching *The Fjord Murderer*,” she saved the situation.
Suddenly, Hildegard stood up and headed for Mia’s room. My heart dropped into my holey socks. She pushed the door open and immediately spotted my mechanical gaming keyboard next to the law textbooks, glowing in bright pink and neon green. “What is this?” she asked, lifting the blinking object. “An… orthopaedic light therapy device!” Lukas improvised on the spot. “For Mia’s wrists. Finn bought it for her. Out of pure concern.”
Hildegard looked from the flashing keyboard to me. A tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested that either we’d won – or she was already looking for handcuffs. “Lemon is too sour for a wedding,” she decided suddenly. “We’ll go with chocolate. It covers the bitter aftertaste. And Finn? If I find one more of your socks in the hallway, I’ll pull your ears. We’ll see each other tomorrow for the venue check.”
When she closed the door behind her, we all collapsed onto the floor at the same time. “She knows,” I whispered. “She definitely knows.” “Nonsense!” Lukas clapped his hands. “Tomorrow we’re off to the warehouse. We need fifty people and a miracle.”