Morgan and Brooke’s announcement of their new relationship was—surprising is not quite the correct word. I believe that certain members of their families have been suspecting this for some time. However, I understand that these relations have hoped the current situation would not come to pass. I still do not know why humans object to such a caring and beautiful love, but there it is.
Morgan and Brooke are bearing up well under the disapproval. Brooke has known her own heart for some time, and Morgan, having made her decision, is sticking to it. Still, it is difficult, and it does not help that Morgan is once again unemployed. I mean to talk to a few of my friends among the Fortunes to see what might be done for her.
Today, however, they decided to give themselves a bit of peace—they went to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art and left their phones behind, giving them anonymity in a city full of strangers. Ironically, these strangers are more accepting of the two of them than their own family has been.
I wished to give them a bit of privacy—while I am a benign presence in their lives, I am still a presence they have not invited, and if there is no reason for me to be watching, I will stand back. This put me a bit at odds. I checked on my other couples, but they are all progressing so well that they currently have little need of me.
So I went to see Freya Cobb.
I know that many of you will say there was no point to this—I have said myself that Freya is under a very good wing with Lubos, and I have full confidence in his ability. Still, the fire woman—as I often think of her even now—stays in my thoughts, and I wished to know how she has been doing.
I met Lubos on his way up from her house, and he was kind enough to stay a moment to talk to me. He has not yet brought her into contact with a candidate, but he says that he has a man in mind.
“With this woman in particular, such matters cannot be rushed,” he told me. “I will keep you informed, I assure you.”
There was no reproach in his tone, but I felt foolish for having felt the need to come and see for myself. Still, I had come already, so I remained while he departed, taking a few moments to look in on Freya.
She was engaged in some form of mortal combat with an invisible opponent, her hand flying as if there were a sword in it, although I could only see a small white wand. It turns out that this is a form of recreation for the humans: they have technology that can analyze their movements and recreate them on a screen. A “we”, it is called? Although it is usually a solitary activity, so I am not certain about that name.
The confusing activity aside, it was rather captivating to watch Freya. She had tied her hair back, leaving less distraction from the expressions of her face and eyes. It was as if the small black enemies on the screen were her own frustrations and demons, and she were dispatching them with merciful speed and a vast grace. I could feel satisfaction and exhilaration rolling from her, and she blazed with the aura that first caught my eye.
There truly is something special about her. I have never come across a human like her before.
There must be a reason. Perhaps I will ask Lubos about it when next I see him—surely he has noticed how different she is. He may know what causes the difference.
When all the enemies were dead, Freya turned off the screen and did a dance of celebration, sweeping me up along with her. I laughed with her as she fell onto her sofa and sighed, pulling down her hair. “Man, I’m good,” she said. “Shew, that’s a workout.” She laughed again, shaking her hair out around her head.
I watched her catch her breath for a while. “What is it about you?” I asked aloud, not to make her hear me, only wanting to make a connection with her.
It surprised me when she glanced my way, but it was only to see one of her cats jump up onto the kitchen table through the open doorway. “Hey!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. She ran to intercept the disobedient creature, and there was a yowl and a scrabble of claws across the tiled floor. It made me laugh again.
Sighing, she returned to the sitting room with a bottle of water and sat down, putting her feet up on the table. Trying to decide what to do next, she glanced around the room, then sighed once more, reached down into the sofa, and pulled the remote control out from under the cushions. With a flick of her thumb, she settled down into inactivity, only her eyes moving.
It was disappointing, somehow. I have been so accustomed to seeing her in action, and the contrast was stark and not flattering. Somehow she seemed to diminish, sitting there without moving, without motivation. There is so much to do in her world, so much to be done. Why would this most capable woman not have something to accomplish, even on a day when she has no obligations?
It disturbs me. She could do so much—change the world. How is she content to sit and watch?