I have to admit, I am a bit concerned by what happened tonight. Perhaps it is nothing—the merest coincidence—but recent experience has taught me to be wary of anything that is unexpected.
I was with Freya, and there was nothing to indicate that it would be a remarkable evening. She did indeed stay in touch with George over the holiday: tonight was their second date. Their first was a turbulent, short affair, as they spent most of it arguing about the differing opinions they could not get into on the night they met, for risk of losing their tempers and rewarding their friends. On their own, however, they had no such restraint. In the course of the brief meal they shared last week, they argued three times, and the last time they were so out of countenance with one another that they left. But George insisted on walking Freya to her car, which started another argument about the need for women to protect themselves after dark. It turned out, however, that the two were in agreement on this topic, and two blocks of working out their equally passionate feelings on the subject were enough to put them into harmony again. George kissed Freya good night and asked her to go out with him again, and she said yes. I was so exhausted by the whole thing that I could not even write about it.
So here we were this evening, and I was braced for a similarly explosive evening. However, it started out to be more tranquil than I had expected. George met Freya at the bar of a lovely restaurant and guided her to a table where a server brought them hot towels and informed them of the specials.
“Solid choice on location,” Freya said when the man had gone. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “We may disagree on a lot of things, but at least you have good taste, George Seiler.”
George mimicked her position, making her smile. He is a tall, thin man, with an aura filled with wit and wariness, but underneath is a core of kindness that reassures me. “So what is it on which you would like to disagree tonight, Miss Cobb?”
“Certainly not your grammar.” She eyed the sake that the waiter brought for them. “Or your taste in liquor.” She glanced at the waiter to tell him that they weren’t ready to order yet, but George ordered for both of them, which made Freya’s eyebrows lift and made me grimace.
“Trust me,” George said when the waiter was gone. “If Lan has put something on the specials, it is really worth having.”
“Hmm,” Freya said, in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t out of danger yet. “I might have preferred to argue about whether or not that was true.”
“Oh, but there are so many better things for which you could yell at me,” George said, smiling.
He’s a brave man, and one who likes a challenge and can recognize it when he sees it. And it is hard to be angry with someone who is so eager to be with you—especially after Freya’s difficulties with Peter. She kept her frown a moment longer, then laughed and shook her head. “I would have thought you’d have had enough of me yelling from our first date.”
“Oh, it only gave me a taste for more,” he said. “Besides, I suspect that on the things that really matter—”
“Literature and music don’t matter?”
“—we will align,” George continued, though he smiled at the memory of some of their arguments from the week before. “So let’s dive right in to the sticky subjects, shall we? Who did you vote for in November?”
It seems that George was correct, much to my relief: in their fundamental beliefs, there are no major differences between the two. Freya and George only differed on one of the candidates in the most recent election, and those two had comparable beliefs, so the disagreement lay in more personal matters. They spoke quite civilly about that disagreement, and had come to a peace with it by the time their meals arrived.
After Freya had agreed that the food was quite delicious and scolded the smugness out of George’s smile, they turned to religion. This certainly caught my attention, for I’ve often wondered about Freya’s faith—or lack of it.
“I’ve been put off by organized religion,” she told George. “My dad was a Christian, and I used to go to church with him, and I met some of the most unbending, uncharitable minds in that supposedly sacred place. They would even talk about it in the sermons—how they must not relent in the face of sin, that it must be condemned…and it would be things like homosexuality and abortions they were condemning, compounding pain upon pain…” She shook her head. “I got tired of the hypocrisy.”
George nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that. Personally I am a Christian, but I haven’t found a good church in a long time. I tend to bounce around a lot, or I just meet with a couple of friends to talk about scripture.” He poured more sake for both Freya and himself. “So do you still believe the teachings of the Christian church?”
She shrugged. “Do I believe in God? Sure. I just can’t look at this beautiful, intricate world and see it as an accident. Do I believe he loves us? Maybe. Maybe he says that he does. But has he acted on that love in the last two thousand years? Has he done anything to help us since then? Not that I can see.”
If only she knew that just behind her stood a servant of that very God she doubts! If only she knew how that servant, one of the lowliest of all, loves her with all his might!
Then it occurred to me that perhaps her own personal experience colored these beliefs. I know well, after all, the difficulties Freya has had with her estranged father over the years. He was always a disappointment to her. It would not be a surprise if her heavenly Father took on the face of her earthly father for her.
I did not speak my thought aloud to her—why would I? It was just an errant thought, with no real relevance to the conversation. It was too soon, I thought, for her to speak of such a private thing to George.
But Freya suddenly smiled ruefully. “But then, I have bad history with fathers,” she murmured, lifting her cup to her mouth again.
A shiver went through me. It was as if she had read me, just the same as I can read her. A coincidence, perhaps, but even now I feel that that was not the case. Somehow, Freya caught my thought, without my speaking it, without even knowing that I was there.
How is this possible? An angel could have done it, but a human? I have never heard of such a thing.
I was distracted through the rest of the evening. Perhaps I imagined that Freya was, too. The date went well, and the two of them arranged a third and shared a lingering kiss that hinted at some of the passion they both feel so strongly. Both, however, are wise enough, I think, to restrain that passion, to get to know one another better before they leap into something serious. And after all, I do not think their relationship will suffer for the build-up of suspense.
I am more worried about what happened with Freya and me. It may have been a small thing, but I cannot stop thinking about it. Is this because I have spent too much time with Freya? Is she beginning to become attuned to me? I know that this can be a danger for angels who work closely with certain humans, but usually it takes years and years before a human becomes sensitive enough to be aware of our presence.
It is possible that I am overreacting, and that this is only a coincidence. I certainly hope so. If Freya is growing conscious of me, it may mean that I have to leave her, and I do not think I could bear that.