Lubos called to me this evening as I was returning from my work. “I have reason to believe that this will be an eventful evening for Freya and Peter,” he told me. “I would like you to be present, if you will.”
How could I say no? And, as usual, my brother’s instincts were correct. The evening was certainly eventful.
We arrived at the same moment that Peter did. It was a rainy evening in Boston, and he stepped into Freya’s foyer and shook water from his hair before bending to kiss her. He did not notice, though I did, that she simply allowed the kiss without returning it. “Nice night,” he said, slipping out of his jacket and hanging it behind the door.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Freya said quietly. “I would’ve come to you.”
He smiled and put his arms around her, leaning down to touch his nose to hers. “What kind of a gentleman would I be,” he whispered, “if I let my sweet lady go out into the dark and the rain?”
Freya snorted and twisted herself free from him. “I don’t know who you’ve been dating,” she said acerbically, “but I’m no sweet lady.”
That made him grin. “Oh, don’t I know it.”
The suggestive tone in his voice made Freya uncomfortable, which had my wings bristling. Still, she beckoned him inside and offered him a glass of wine.
“I love this about you,” he said as she poured. “You’re so classy.”
She lifted the glass, studying the deep red liquid inside. It surprised her when he clinked his glass against hers—the gesture hadn’t been meant for him.
He set his glass down and took a seat across the kitchen table from her. “So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, offering his hand.
He had not the first idea why he was there. Already I had discerned Freya’s reasons for calling him, without any context at all, and yet Peter had total confidence.
Freya looked at his hand for a moment before she took it, holding it tightly. “Oh, Pete,” she sighed, looking up at him with a small smile. “I wish you loved me half as much as I love you.”
Even he had to acknowledge that this was an odd thing to say. “What are you talking about? Of course I love you, Fray.”
She shook her head, her hair sweeping back and forth on her shoulders. “I don’t think you do. I think your pride loves me. I think you like spending time with me. But I don’t think you love me the way I want you to.”
Peter stared at her. She took a sip of her wine and shook her head, pressing her hand against her eyes. “God, I wish you hadn’t come all the way out here,” she whispered.
“All the way out here for what?” Peter asked, and there was an edge to his voice that made me want to step closer to her.
Never let it be said that Freya Cobb is unafraid to face the truth. She looked him right in the eye and said, “I don’t want to see you anymore.”
The color was slowly draining out of his face. He forced a smile and squeezed her hand. “Come on, Fray, this isn’t funny,” he said. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about me respecting myself,” she answered calmly. “I love you, Pete, I do, and I want a future with you, but I know you don’t want that, and even if you did, it wouldn’t be like I hoped it would be. So we need to face facts.”
“Facts?” he repeated, his grip tightening on her hand. “The fact is that you love me, you said it yourself.”
Freya freed her hand with a jerk and sat back, cradling her wineglass. “I do,” she murmured. “You’re smart and fun and creative and imaginative, and every day with you has been an adventure.” Her smile was wistful. “But it can’t go on.”
“But it can, baby,” he said, leaning closer. “Come on, now, don’t be like this. Where is this coming from? We’ve been doing great, haven’t we?”
“You’ve been doing great, maybe,” Freya said. “We go out to meet your friends, or we go dancing, or we get drinks—Pete, when was the last time you took me to the movies, or on a picnic, or just stayed in with me?” There was a sharpness in her voice too, now. “All those sweet things we used to do, that you said you loved to do—are they not as fun anymore when you can’t show me off?”
Peter sat back, his mouth tightening, which told me just as much as his aura did how close that had come to the mark. “Am I not supposed to be proud of you?” he asked, taking a gulp of his wine.
“You’re supposed to want to be with me for me,” Freya said. “And I don’t think you do, or not just that.”
Shaking his head, Peter put his glass down. “Then let’s do those things again,” he said. “Pick a movie and we can go tonight. Or else I’ll stay over and we can just hang out. I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve been using you, Fray, but I can do better.”
Freya considered him. Her heart was aching, but the ache was sinking deeper and deeper as she saw him more and more clearly. “I don’t think so,” she said. “You see, Pete, I think you’d be disappointed. What you liked about me was how much I liked you, and I’m not as impressed as I used to be.”
She was right; he did not like that. “Is that so?” he said coolly. “When exactly were you going to tell me about this?”
“Tonight,” Freya answered easily.
“Right. The night that I drove all the way over here in the flood so you could dump my ass.” He took another deep swallow of wine, then grimaced and pushed out of his chair. “You know, I think I change my mind,” he said. “You’re not classy, you’re pretentious, and a cold-hearted bitch.” He poured the wine down the sink.
I did take a step forward at that, but Lubos lifted one wing to calm me. “Look to Freya,” he said. “She has his measure now.”
And she did. Freya was smiling ruefully. His words had hurt her, but the sting was mild. “What’s wrong, Pete? I thought you loved me.”
“I did, damn it.” He thumped the glass down into the sink and turned to lean over her, putting his face right next to hers. “You know what your problem is, Freya? You think you’re too good for anyone. That’s what happened with your last boyfriend, right? Saint Freya drove him away, too. You just wait for when you’re a crazy cat lady in ten years, just dying for a good fuck.” On that last word, he leaned even closer, and his sour breath was hot on her cheek. “When that day comes, don’t call me.”
Freya didn’t flinch. “I was going to offer to let you stay on the couch if you wanted, but I think since we can’t be adults about this, you have to leave now.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m going,” he said, straightening up and marching for the door. From the kitchen with Freya, Lubos and I watched as he snatched up his coat and thrust his arms into it. On his way out the door, he paused and shouted back at her, “I hope your goddamned cats eat you!” And he slammed the door behind him.
Freya stayed at the table, looking down at her folded hands. She shook her head, that rueful smile still on her face. The ache in her chest was spreading now, deepening into disappointment with herself and grief for the man she thought he was.
“You were right, Asa’el,” Lubos told me. “She is well rid of him.”
I was not so certain that she was. Peter’s anger had been sharper than I had thought it might be, and his manner had been threatening.
“Speak your mind, brother,” Lubos said, watching my aura.
I shook my head. “I only worry that this is not the last she has seen of this man.”
Lubos nodded thoughtfully. “I will watch her carefully, you may be sure of it. But I think that this kind of anger will keep him away, rather than bring him back to cause more hurt.”
“I hope you are right, brother,” I murmured, looking at Freya. Her heart was saved a deeper hurt by her actions tonight, but she is hurting more than enough as it is. As she put her head into her hands, I left Lubos to comfort her.