I spent most of my day with Freya today. It has been a while since I saw her—in fact, I haven’t visited her for more than a moment since Shannon died. Hatsumi realized this a few days ago and asked me why I have been avoiding her. It was difficult to admit the truth—that having seen similarities between Freya and Shannon, I feel guilty visiting the one when the other is so far beyond my reach.
Hatsumi had a different theory. “I wonder, Asa’el, if you are not also afraid of failing Freya as you believe you failed Shannon,” she said.
I wanted to say that I did fail Shannon, but Hatsumi and I have argued more than once about that, without resolution. She thinks that I went above and beyond what was expected of me for Shannon’s sake. I say yes, perhaps, but it still was not enough to save her. But I digress.
“Which is an understandable feeling,” Hatsumi went on. “But by avoiding her, you are doing her an unkindness. Whether she knows it or not, she has come to rely on your company and your support. And I think if you go to see her, it will be good for both of you.”
I wasn’t so certain of that, but it is true that I have not been fair to Freya by staying away. So I went, resolved to keep my shadows to myself, and my hopes were not high.
I have to say, though, seeing her again was like a breath of fresh air. She was curled up on her sofa, her cats perched in the crook of her knees and against her shins, a book balanced on her lap. She was tranquil, but the flames of her aura were burning low, dimmed by weariness and something I could not identify.
But even as I approached, she took a deep breath, and some of the vibrancy returned to her aura. She smiled and reached down to pet each of the cats before going back to her book with a lighter heart.
It is hard not to attribute this lifting of her spirits to my presence. And the thought that I might have such an effect on her is the greatest comfort I have found yet.
I sat next to her and curled two of my wings around her. For a long while I said nothing at all, just absorbing her presence.
“I am sorry I have been gone so long,” I told her at last. “Something terrible happened to someone I care about very much. I did not cope with it very well.”
She felt the spike of my grief, if only dimly—her smile faded, some of her dull mood from earlier returning.
“But that does not excuse my leaving you alone,” I went on. “You have also had a loss recently, after all, and I should have been here for you.”
Reminded of Elliott, Freya put her book aside and leaned back to frown at the ceiling. I studied her emotions—there was some little pain, but it did not cut very deep. More prominent was a worry, not quite yet put into words in her mind, that she might never find someone to love her.
“You already have,” I said, and I opened my heart to her. “But I promise you, I will find someone who can stand beside you in this life, someone who will see you as I do—and more importantly, who will make you see yourself that way.”
Her smile was wistful, and she closed her eyes.
“You should not be alone now,” I murmured.
Her brow wrinkled, and I saw that she had considered calling George and Kara—they have been talking about meeting up for their promised drinks and dinner, but Elliott’s absence would have cast a pall, and so they have put it off. But the two of them are apparently on a date tonight.
“They are both your friends. If they knew how unhappy you are…”
Freya shook her head and got up to feed the cats.
So I went myself to find George and Kara—I was curious, after all, about their date and how their relationship is progressing. This is, in fact, their second date, and it was going quite well. George was being friendly, while Kara maintained an aloof façade that did not fool him for a moment, but amused both of them. They are an odd couple, but they suit one another.
And each is a good friend. The moment I introduced the thought of Freya to them, it only took them a few minutes to come to an agreement. Well satisfied, I went back to keep Freya company and wait.
A few hours later, her doorbell rang. Surprised—Freya had been thinking about heading to bed—she went to answer it, whereupon Kara shoved a foam container into her hand. “Brownies,” she said, then reached into her vast bag and produced a bottle. “And wine. You pour, I gotta use your bathroom.” She pushed past Freya into the house.
Bewildered, Freya looked at George, who was holding a large paper bag. “Weren’t you guys on a date?”
“Yep,” George said, grinning. “You’re the afterparty.”
Freya frowned. “That’s a little weird.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, “but Kara got it into her head that you needed some company, so here we are. Anyway, I’m gonna be the third wheel here, not you.” He tipped the bag so that Freya could see the contents. “We’re doing mani-pedis.”
Freya tried to stifle a laugh, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Bowing to the inevitable, she beckoned George inside and went to pull down glasses for the wine.
It was just what she needed. The wine was rich, the brownies delicious, and the talk happy and inconsequential. They laughed as George insisted on getting his nails painted an electric blue, and as Kara bungled her way through palm readings. Elliott was not mentioned once, nor was he missed.
Late into the night, when George had fallen fast asleep on the sofa and the girls set to painting his face with eyeliner, they talked a bit more seriously. “It’s like sometimes you feel like your life is going nowhere,” Kara said. “I mean I’m not there right now what with the book coming out in the fall—”
“Do you insert that into every conversation?” Freya asked, grinning.
“Gotta do what I gotta do. But my point is, I’ve been there before, too. And it’s okay. A life is way too long to be exciting all the time—there are gonna be these boring times.”
“I thought life was short.”
“Time is funny like that. When it’s full, it flies, but there are these empty times that just stretch and stretch, and they seem to last forever. And it’s only when you look back at them that you realize how small they really are.”
Freya considered this. “You know, sometimes I forget what a poet you are, and then you say shit like that.”
Kara preened, and Freya had to bite down on her hand to keep from laughing out loud and waking George. When they had both calmed, Kara looked at Freya, and while her face was faintly scornful, there was clear affection in her aura. “Look, bitch, you are brilliant, passionate, and one of the kindest people I know. And I know it isn’t as important as all the rest, but damn, girl, you fine. You will not sit here stagnating forever, okay? You’re gonna find Mr. Cobb eventually, or maybe you won’t, and you’ll be Cobb the one and only. Either way, your life is going to be awesome and it’s going to be a fucking privilege to be a part of it.”
Freya didn’t know what to say, especially as I was making it very clear to her that I felt exactly the same. It is a privilege to be a part of her life, and just to be near her is a comfort to me.
“Now,” Kara said, elbowing Freya lightly, “help me paint a dick on my boyfriend’s face.”
Laughing, Freya obeyed, and I left them there, washed in the light of true friendship. Even now, though, I feel as if I have carried some of Freya’s flame with me.