第 82 页

“Well, some right,” said Turgon, feeling flustered. “And just because you think you don’t doesn’t mean you can’t. You know? I just want to know if you are. Do. Object?”

“I don’t think that was real English,” said Finrod lightly, turning away.

“I don’t think you’re answering me for real!”

“I answered you,” said Finrod, his back to Turgon as he busied himself with something at his desk. “By all means, ask out Amarië. You both deserve happiness, and I care about you both. It would be selfish and irrational for me to deprive you of something potentially good simply because of some vague discomfort of mine.”

“So you do have some discomfort.”

“Of course not.” Finrod still wasn’t looking at him, and was talking in the bright, beautifully enunciated way he did when he was shielding his true intent. “Nothing worth holding you back.”

“Well. If you’re sure.” Turgon rocked back and forth on his toes. He wasn’t sure at all, but he was also feeling impatient with Finrod’s refusal to give an honest or straightforward answer. I’m not going to let you passively guilt me into not doing this and then have plausible deniability because you never actually said the word ‘No’.

“Mmm.”

Turgon waited, but Finrod didn’t turn around. He gave up. “Great, then,” he said with equal cheer. “I’m going to ask her out. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” murmured Finrod, not looking up, and Turgon turned on his heel and left, not sure if he was elated or uneasy.

* * *

Mablung stood on the front steps of the house on the corner of Wadfrea, listening to the sound of the doorbell echoing inside, and had a sudden urge to run away before anyone came to the door, like a kid pulling a prank.

“But I forgot my bag of flaming dogshit,” he muttered to himself, and reflexively brought his hand up to smooth down his cowlick again.

The door opened, and Oromë looked down at him, surprised. “Mablung?”

“Hey, C-coach,” Mablung croaked, and then cleared his throat.

“Should I have been expecting you?”

“No.” Mablung felt sheepish. “I would have called but, uh, I hate phones. And I would have emailed, but the only address I have for you is your beleriand.edu one, and it bounced me.”

“Yes, that one no longer works,” said Oromë softly. “I can give you a reliable one, though.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. So I’m sorry I just, like, showed up, I didn’t really know what else to do, and…” Mablung trailed off, trying not to be obvious in the way he was looking nervously over Oromë’s shoulder. “I can make it quick.”

Oromë watched him for a moment, and then stood aside. “Come on in. Celegorm’s not here,” he said, in mild answer to Mablung’s darting gaze. “So we can call the awkwardness halved, at least.”

If he’s inviting you in, Mablung thought, trailing Oromë into the house, that probably means he doesn’t know all the shit you said to Celegorm. And despite himself, a feeling of shame welled up from somewhere he had forgotten about.

They sat at the table, opposite each other, and Mablung cracked his knuckles nervously. “Um. So how’s it been going?”

Oromë smiled. “You mean on my ‘sabbatical’?”

“Right. Uhh.” Mablung didn’t know where to put his eyes. He felt so awkward he wanted to snake out of his skin and run away. “Sorry, about…the…thing…”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Oromë. “It’s good to see you, though unexpected, I’ll admit. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He sounded sincere in his curiosity.

“I’m applying for a job,” said Mablung, in a rush. “I’ve been sort of unsuccessful in pinning a one down this past year, but I’ve got some good leads now, and I just need references. I’ve only worked for two people, and they’re both writing me letters, but I thought…they say you can use a teacher, or…or a coach, someone who can speak for your character, and leadership skills, or whatever, and, well, you’ve known me five years, and made me captain and all, and I figured, I figured I should have a letter from you? I mean, if you’re up for it. And actually I didn’t figure it. Beleg told me I’d be an idiot not to. And he’s probably right. He usually is.”

“Oh.” Oromë looked surprised, but touched. “Are you certain you want a letter from me?”

“Yeah?” Mablung shuffled his feet and looked up. “Why, do you not want to?”

“No, no. I’d be delighted to write you a reference, and I would mean every word. I just want to make sure it would actually serve you well. Given the...sabbatical and all that.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Mablung scratched his head. “I – I’d still like it, honestly.”

“You can always decide whether or not to use it, of course, but I’d be happy to write something for you to keep on file for the future,” said Oromë. “I’ve done that in the past – written a general character reference that can be used for various purposes. Would that work for you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, that would be perfect.” Mablung gripped his hands together and tried not to let his excitement and relief show. “I really appreciate it, Coach.”

“When do you need it by?” Oromë had pulled out a notebook and was jotting something down in it.

“Um, next week? Sorry,” said Mablung, “I know that’s quick turn around. I shoulda come sooner but I…procrastinated.”

“No problem.” Oromë wrote something down.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You’re a year out of school now, Mablung, and I am off the school’s payroll.” Oromë smiled, a little sadly. “I’m no longer your – or anyone’s – coach. Call me Oromë.”

“Thanks,” said Mablung again, and smiled back, less tentative now. “But I think I’ll stick with ‘Coach’, if you don’t mind. That’s who you’re always going to be in my head, no matter what else changes.”

He was halfway out the door when he paused and looked back. “Hey, Coach?”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t heard anything from that Turin kid, have you?”

Oromë looked suddenly grave. “No, I haven’t. All I know is what I saw in the papers. Why, have you?”

“No,” said Mablung, already on his way out. “Just asking for a friend.”

* * *

Aredhel is online

Aredhel: I’m here!!!!

Elenwë is away

Aredhel: :((( Baaaaabe

Aredhel: It’s five afterrrrr

Aredhel: I brushed my hair and everything

Aredhel: I look so cute

Elenwë is online

Elenwë: Hey!

Elenwë: Cute, huh?

Elenwë: Prove it

Aredhel is calling

“Hello!”

“El El El.”

“Hi, Ireth. Stop moving so much, I’m trying to see how cute you are and you’re super blurry.”

“I’m excited. I move when I’m excited.”

“Yes, but my wireless connection is slow already, and you’re moving beyond the ability of my weak pixels.”

“Okay, don’t pout, I’m holding very still now.”

“Yes, perfect.”

“Well?”

“Aww, baby.”

“Yeahhh?”

“You are so cute. Um, well, still blurry, honestly, but so cute. Not that this is a surprise.”

“You are pretty.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Why are you laughing?”

“This is such a substantive conversation.”

“Look, if we can’t start our vidchats with lengthy commentary about how hot we find each other, then what’s the point?”

“You are so smart and so right, querida.”

“I know, aren’t I? But I can talk about other, less important things too. How was work today? Are you still feeling like you’re getting along well with the rest of the project team and all that? Have they invited you to lunch with them again?”

“Yes, I think so, and YES, two lunches in a row! I still feel so behind though, they know so much more than I do…”

“You’re just the intern! No one expects you to know as much as the project leaders.”

“I guess. But I still feel like four years of college only prepared me for, like, the technical parts of this. I can work the equations! But then we go out to the site and the measurements keep changing and don’t match the schematic at all, and it’s just, ahhhh, how do you deal with this? And they don’t get fazed, it’s like they expect everything to go to shit.”

“That’s what being an intern is about. Learning how to deal with stuff going to shit, from the pros.”

“I guess so.”

“By the end of the summer you are going to be a cool cucumber about stuff going to shit.”

“Hah. Anyway, how was work today?”

“You see this bottle of wine I’m drinking?”

“Aw, Ireth...”

“No, it’s not so bad. Just boring, and I’m around my mom all the time. She’s great, and isn’t too micro-manage-y, which is good, but still…more exposure than I maybe need.”

“I can see that. How’s living in the house? Are the boys horrible? Are they stinky?”

“They don’t smell as nice as you do, that’s for sure. I keep sneaking, like, lavender body wash into the shower to see if they start using it, but they don’t. Tyelko told me my Doctor Brauner’s made his ballsack really sting though, so I’m keeping that in my room when I’m not using it, because shit I don’t want to know, right? But actually, I was expecting way worse.”

“Is it just the three of you?”

“No, didn’t I tell you? Makalaurë is back, even though he spends some nights at Findekáno and Maitimo’s. And Moryo is in and out, I don’t know. Some nights he’s here, some nights he isn’t. He and Curvo still don’t talk much.”

“Mmm, understandable…”

“But no, it’s fun. I like being in a house with people, even though Lómion is at risk of being eaten by Curvo at any moment. Tyelko thinks it’s funny.”

“Aw, Lómion! Don't let him get eaten, I think he'd give Curvo horrible indigestion anyway. And I'm jealous of your catlife, I miss my baby.”

“I’ve been checking in on her for you! Turno might be making her fat.”

“Every cat that comes into his house is going to go spherical, I swear. Make sure she doesn’t get so fat her knees crack when she jumps on things, like Ulmo Jr’s do.”

“I’ll try.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m just thinking…”

“About what?”

“If my pixels are fast enough.”

“Fast enough for what?”

“For the level of definition we need. I got a new bra. Want to see?”

“Uhh, the answer to that is HELL YES. Always hell yes. You should know this. Hang on, I’m going to pull the curtains.”

* * *

It was the wee hours of the night, but Aredhel had not yet managed to fall asleep. Restless, she wandered down to the kitchen for a glass of water. She had been Skyping with Elenwë until past midnight, and now her brain wouldn’t let her calm down enough to sleep, bottle of wine or no. Still preoccupied thinking about Elenwë and riding on the mixture of elation and longing that followed their conversations, Aredhel was going through the motions automatically and pulled up short when she saw she wasn’t alone.

“Curvo?”

Curufin turned away from the light over the stove as she clicked it on, but not before she saw that his face was wan and his eyes slightly red.

“Uh. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” said Curufin brusquely. “Fine.”

Aredhel hesitated. She poured herself some water and half turned to leave the kitchen before looking back. “Um. Should I get Tyelko–?”

Curufin let out a rough laugh. “No. God, no. He would hardly understand.”

Aredhel wavered in the doorway. “Is this. Um. Is this about your dad?”

“No.”

Aredhel’s bed was calling out to her from upstairs, but Curufin was standing there with his bony shoulders and knobbly elbows and his face turned away, and her feet stayed rooted to the floor. “Is this…Is this about you and Findaráto?”

Curufin didn’t answer.

“Did you two fight?”

“No.” Curufin dragged a hand over his eyes and straightened his shoulders. “No, of course not.”

“But it is about him.”

“Yes.” The word was so soft that Aredhel almost couldn’t hear it.

She thought for a moment. Her bed was waiting for her, the fan would be humming in the window, and she had a whole evening full of pleasant Elenwë things to turn over in her mind. But…

“I’m going to go sit down in the living room, I think. More comfortable.” Without turning on the lights, she padded into the living room and sat on the couch, legs tucked up under her, water glass in hand. A minute later, she heard quiet footsteps, and saw Curufin’s slim silhouette settle at the opposite end of the couch.

She took a sip of her water. “Me and Tyelko used to have sleepovers when we were younger.”

Curufin didn’t answer.

“We’d talk about dumb shit all night, watch some scary movie, throw stuff at each other, make jokes, fuck around, you know, stupid stuff. But then we’d turn out the lights to go to sleep.” She hesitated. “And that’s when we’d actually talk for real.”

Silence from the other end of the couch.

“It’s easier to say some things when you can’t see the other person’s face, sometimes. And when they can’t see yours.” She took another drink from her glass and looked out the living room window where the moon was turning the yard silver.

She waited.

After what seemed like an hour –

“He’s done so much more than I have.”

Aredhel knew at once that Curufin wasn’t talking about going to grad school or owning a car. She knew whom he was talking about, as well. “Well hey, Findaráto’s a decent bit older than you.”

“It doesn’t matter. When he was my age – once I’m his age – it will all come out to the same thing. He’s done so much more. He will have always done more. And he will always want so much more.” There came such a long pause that Aredhel wasn’t sure if Curufin was going to say anything more.

But he did.

“I can’t do it,” said Curufin softly. “I can’t do what he wants, I can’t… I don’t want what he wants, and I don’t understand how to…fix it.”

Aredhel took a breath. “You mean physically? Sexually.”

Curufin gave a stiff nod.

“Does he pressure you?”

“No! No. He’s kind.” Curufin’s fingers curled into fists. “I hate people being kind to me. It’s so patronizing. But what else can he do, when I’m so…not normal?”

Aredhel blew her breath back out. “Normal’s relative when it comes to sex.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Seriously. I’m not exactly ‘normal’ either.”

He snorted. “Oh, from what I remember, you and my brother were very normal in your vigor with each other.”

“Hunh, yeah. If 'normal' is being able to go to town on your best friend every once in a while, then sure, in certain instances, with him, I’m ‘normal’. But that’s the thing – I’m all over the place.” Aredhel concentrated on the dark room. Maybe, if she pretended she was just saying it to the empty night…it’s easier to say certain things when you can’t see their face. “I’m with someone I love more than anything now, right? And sometimes I can’t even stand to have her touch me. It’s not fair, I love her, she's perfect and wonderful and everything I could ask for, but sometimes when she touches me I just want to run. I want to not feel that way, more than anything. But I have no control of it, it just happens. And then other times I want her more than anything, want her like crazy, feel almost 'normal' about it. Then sometimes I can touch her, but I can't have her touch me. Other times she can touch me, but I can’t touch her. And sometimes the thought of anything, at all, makes me…sick, and scared, and all fucked up." She closed her eyes, trying not to relive a thousand different instances of her wanting to twist herself into being better at this. "What I’m saying is - I don’t think I’m 'not normal' in the same way you are, but I can tell you, Curvo, that I’m not. I don’t actually think anyone is.”