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I can’t have both everything he’s offering and everything I’ve known.
It’s impossible to be fully fae and fully human. On some level, I either only get to be a little of each or all of one. But, at the least, if I could separate my work from my personal life, if I could maintain the appearances I need to at work, then come home and be whoever I am without shame or worry…that’s something.
Isn’t it?
Of course it is.
The real question isn’t whether or not it’s something; it’s whether or not it’s enough.
At the very least, is it a step in the right direction?
I love my littles. I love my job. I just wish that sometimes it weren’t so abusive. And exhausting. And overwhelming. I wish I weren’t preparing children to navigate an unkind world where success means inevitably losing pieces of themselves or facing rejection of the most vulnerable parts.
“December twenty-first…” I murmur. “How do I even start to tell my parents this insanity? And what if they think you’re a demon or something?”
Pollux finishes the pizza, closes the box, locates a napkin, and wipes his hands before cuddling his crocheted bee again. Peering at me with his chin propped against butter yellow, he murmurs, “It would not be the first time.”
I believe it would physically injure me to witness anyone linking this man to something so horrible when he’s like…this.
At a personal level, I know he can’t be a demon because he’s made of the same stuff as Andromeda, and she’s survived every Bible reading we’ve had at school with enthusiasm, often adding fun facts.
As though someone has been providing her with something of a religious education at home. And including the historical context of many of the more modernly-questionable moments.
It has been refreshing to not have to fight with my children in order to explain how the Bible is a massively feminist book when looked at through the context of the time period.
Case in point, calling Pollux anything less than an adorable, awkward, genuine mess is the same as saying all seizures are a sign of demon possession.
And then taking your child out of my school on account of another child who has epilepsy.
I may be forced to tolerate it, but I will be infuriated for the rest of forever.
“What’s wrong?” Pollux murmurs.
I scowl. “I just thought of something unsavory.”
“Involving…me?”
“Absolutely not. You are a beautiful sunshine person made of wonderful things. And I’m hopeful that my parents don’t have prejudices that would bar them from seeing that.” But, of course, it’s the not knowing that always gets me. I desperately wish I could line actions up like a syllabus and run through every point that might shift the grading scale. At least then if something goes horribly amiss, I have a record I can assess for a reason.
Exhaling, I calm myself, attempt to believe in the kindness of my parents, and say, “I’ll talk to them within the next few days to test the waters a little bit. We’ll go from there?”
Wide-eyed, Pollux stares at me.
My skin prickles as heat rises to my cheeks. “What? This is just moving into a place where I can frown freely without feeling like I’m a failure for not being perfectly happy and at peace and together all the time. Nothing else. We’re still sorting through the whole I’m fae thing. Until I know what kind and how I function under that title, we’re not entertaining married life at a traditional level. Got it, got it?”
His eyes warm as the most beautiful and tender smile I’ve ever seen touches his lips. “Is there anything you want that I can have ready for you?”
“We hardly know yet if my parents won’t have me admitted to a psych ward during winter break instead, Pollux. I’m certain if they think I’ve gone mad, I can convince them it’s nothing worth losing school days over, but—”
“Regardless of whether you come or not, I will prepare a place for you. It will be there, ready and waiting, so you can know in the moments when you feel lost there is somewhere you fundamentally belong.”
My lips part as every hair on my arms stands up straight. I’m speechless for several long moments. Because the only words I can think of are the ones I’m not supposed to say…unless I love a faerie enough to belong to them.
But, looking at Pollux right now, maybe…I almost do.
Chapter 35
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