Your Perfect Year(2)
It had been a carefree life without any responsibilities. Grief & Son Books—the publishing house Jonathan had taken over from his father, Wolfgang—was excellently run by a CEO, so all he had to do was put in the occasional appearance as figurehead and make his presence felt at the launches of the more prestigious publications. Jonathan and Tina had enjoyed the most expensive vacations in the most exclusive places, and they’d been sought-after guests at every worthwhile society event in Hamburg, all without the worry that their private lives could fall victim to the popular press.
Tina had fully enjoyed her life with Jonathan, had suggested ever more exotic travel destinations, worn ever more elegant designer clothes, and regularly redecorated every room in their villa.
On occasion he had wondered whether she might be getting a little bored—especially with material things. She constantly repeated the same old refrain: for a long time, she had been looking for “something more,” a something she was unable to put her finger on, to express, at least to Jonathan. She had tried running groups (at his recommendation) and also language courses, guitar lessons, qigong, tennis, and a range of other activities, without keeping any of them up for long. He had gone so far as to tackle the subject of children more emphatically (not only in word, but also in deed), despite Tina’s protestations that things were perfect for them as a couple.
And then she had seen a therapist.
Even now, Jonathan had no idea what they discussed at her weekly sessions, since she had not deemed it necessary to tell him about it. But whatever it was, clearly Tina had finally found her indefinable “something more” with Thomas, whom Jonathan had known since their school days and who was responsible for marketing at Grief & Son Books.
Had been responsible. After their separation, Thomas had chosen to give his notice, send Tina back to her job at the agency, and set up home with her in a three-room apartment in that hipsters’ paradise, the Schanze quarter.
Thinking about the two of them now, Jonathan shook his head in disbelief, his eyes fixed on his neon-yellow Nike sneakers. Wrecking their lives like that in the name of love! And now Tina, of all people, was wishing him “a happy and successful new year”? Oh, the irony!
Jonathan snorted loudly, sending breath from his mouth in a steaming cloud. He was successful, and he was also—damn it—happy!
He quickened his pace again, so that by the time he approached the dog park, he almost stumbled and only just managed to avoid one of the little parcels left behind by the unruly mutts unleashed on the unsuspecting population by their nice masters and mistresses.
He stopped, gasping for breath, and rummaged in his sports armband which, alongside his iPhone and key, also held a supply of rustling plastic bags. He took one out, slid it over his hand, gingerly picked up a dog turd, and carried it at arm’s length to the nearest garbage can. Not his favorite occupation, but someone had to do it.
Yet another of the myriad concerns that plagued Jonathan Grief on a daily basis. All those “animal lovers” who kept a mastiff or a trendy Weimaraner in the most undignified conditions in their chic old-town apartments, but who couldn’t even be bothered to clean up the little heaps of shit left behind when the poor critters were dragged around the district for their obligatory five minutes.
He was already composing another email in his mind to the editor of the Hamburg News: Something would really have to be done in the new year about this deplorable state of affairs! The legislators ought to stir themselves and impose harsher fines so that every single citizen understood that their own freedom ended where it affected someone else’s life. Dog waste on the sole of a shoe—to Jonathan, that was the ultimate nuisance. Some things really stank.
As he set off again, gradually building up speed, he threw a quick glance at the Run app on his smartphone, and his next irritation was discovering that this brief pause had ruined his statistics. He wished he could get his hands on the dog-mess miscreants and their damned curs—he’d have a thing or two to say to them!
His thoughts drifted back to Tina and Thomas. Tina and Thomas, who probably called each other “Tini” and “Tommy,” or maybe even “Bunnykins” and “Honey Bear.” Who knew?
He imagined them sitting together in the evenings over a bottle of red wine from the discount store in their cramped Ikea living room, while their daughter, Tabea, slept peacefully in her crib crafted from hand-stained organic larch wood—indeed, life as a couple had clearly not been the peak of perfection after all, since barely more than thirty seconds after announcing her relationship with Thomas, Tina had brought a baby into the world.
Tini, Tommy, and Tabbi, then—as corny as Huey, Dewey, and Louie.
Huey, Dewey, and Louie in their cheap digs. And Huey and Dewey saw fit to worry about Jonathan and wonder how he was doing, so much so that Huey said she simply had to pop down to the nearest Aldi, they had such cute chocolate chimney sweeps there, she could buy one and place it on her ex’s doorstep with a card, since she’d left him in such a mean-spirited way and broken his heart.
“Good idea, Huey!” Dewey exclaimed. “While you’re there, please could you get a bottle of Chateau de Clochard? It’s on sale—we’re celebrating this evening!”
Jonathan’s fitness band showed a heart rate of 172 beats per minute. He had to slow down if he didn’t want to risk his health. He had no idea what was wrong with him that morning, until he gritted his teeth and admitted that he still found it impossible to stay calm when he thought of Tina and her new life.