I wonder if it is true in all cases that when one delays too long in making a choice, that choice soon disappears. It certainly seems to be true in Freya’s case.
She has continued to see both of her men, getting to know them both and making no promises to either of them. I think that she has handled the situation as well as she can, with honesty and openness about her feelings. But if she does not make up her mind soon, she will lose the chance to choose, for both Henry and Archer are beginning to draw back.
I should be clear—both men are still just as attracted to her as they were before. But with Henry at least, this is the problem. Henry wants more from Freya than she wants to give him. At first he understood and even respected Freya’s decision to keep him at arms-length while she worked out her feelings for Archer, but now he is getting impatient.
He came over this evening to hang out with Freya, and it was a pleasant evening for both of them—Freya made dinner, and Henry provided dessert and a six-pack of beers. They talked about their families and their jobs and watched stand-up comedians online. After the laughter had faded, though, Henry ran a finger down Freya’s arm, making it clear that he wanted to stay the night.
Freya slid out of his reach, grimacing. “Come on, Henry, we’ve talked about this,” she said.
“Yeah, weeks ago,” he said, though he dropped his hand. “I thought maybe we could talk about it again.”
“Nothing’s changed,” she said.
The quiet that fell between them was far less comfortable than the rest of the evening had been. Henry reached for his drink again. “So you’re still seeing that Arrow guy?”
“Archer,” Freya said, “and yes. He’s a good friend.”
Henry snorted. “He’s not a friend. He’s a player in the game, sweetheart, and trust me, neither one of us has forgotten it.” He leaned back and studied her profile. “What if I told you that he might be about to step off the field?”
Freya frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
Henry shrugged. “So don’t bite my head off, but I might have checked this guy out. I wanted to know what I was up against, you know. And I saw him the other night out with this other girl. They looked pretty cozy.”
Freya looked away from him. “That doesn’t mean anything. It could be a friend or his sister.” Though she was remembering now that Archer didn’t have a sister.
“Could be.” Henry sounded quite skeptical.
“It doesn’t prove anything,” Freya told him tartly.
“Except that it bothers you,” Henry said softly, watching her face carefully.
Freya scoffed and got to her feet. “So you’re testing me? That’s a cheap trick. I bet you didn’t even see Archer at all.” She scooped up one of her cats and clung to him, though he wriggled to be free.
It was a cheap trick, but it had worked. Freya was troubled by the thought of Archer being with someone else, and she wondered, as did Henry, if that meant she preferred him to Henry.
I studied her aura myself and said to her softly, “I think it is only pride. Remember, it is fair for him to explore other options—that is, after all, precisely what you are doing.”
She admitted that, and her resentment faded back into resignation. She did like Archer, but not enough to go racing after him. Indeed, just the smallest indication that he might be moving on from her made her ready to let him go.
“Archer can do what he wants,” she said. “As long as he’s happy, I’ll be happy for him.”
“Does that mean I can stay the night?”
Freya and I both turned at the same moment to look at him. I’m not sure whether it was my aura of displeasure—I was still not happy about his attempt to manipulate Freya—or her expression, but his grin disappeared quickly.
“Come on, Fray,” he said, leaning forward. “You and I are good together. I know I messed it up to begin with, but you have to give me a second chance.”
“Why do you think you’re here?” Freya said coolly. “I don’t owe you anything, Henry, and the more you try to convince me that you do, the less I want to give it to you.”
He pushed to his feet. “If that’s how you feel, maybe I should go right now.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I’m warning you, I’m not sure I’m coming back.”
“What a tragedy,” Freya said with sarcasm in her voice.
Henry snatched up his keys and marched to the door. He wasn’t quite finished, however. “You know, Cobb,” he called from the doorway, “if you can’t figure out what you want, you’re going to end up alone.”
He didn’t quite slam the door behind him, but it still made Freya flinch. She sighed and set the restless cat down, then went to the door and slid the deadbolt into place.
I followed her, wishing I could wash the uncertainty and loneliness out of her spirit. “It is better not to choose at all,” I told her, “then to choose wrong and be unhappy. And you will never be alone. I will not leave you until you are no longer alone.”
She turned, and it was one of those strange and wonderful moments where I thought she could see me. But then she walked right through me and went up the stairs. And for a moment, I felt just as alone as she did.