by Sonja Bair
My mother either didn’t see our reaction or chose to ignore us. Of course, her superior assessment of our family cut both ways. Next, she would be harassing me about not taking up more of a leadership role in the Alva.
“So when do you plan on visiting Sweden again, Freya?” she asked very innocently. Aaaaand, there it was.
“It’s not on my schedule anytime soon,” I said in a firm voice, hoping to head her off at the start.
“Why? This is your Flock we are talking about. Times are changing fast and the Flock needs to hear more from your generation. And they need to hear from an international perspective. They are stuck in the past. You are the future, Freya. It’s time to take up some responsibility for that future.” It was an old conversation. I had quieted her grumblings when I worked for the USN, but I had done that job because I wanted to, not because of her desires. I had no wish to get caught up in Flock politics or move to Sweden.
“It’s not going to happen, Mom, so let’s not argue,” I said.
A loaded silence hung in the air for a moment. Elin shifted uneasily in her seat, probably nervous that her turn was coming. Drew saved us from the awkward moment by walking in. My mother adored Drew. In her opinion, he was good man and worthy of Elin. Thank goodness, or else Elin would never hear the end of it. Alma stood up and gave him a very un-Swedish-like big hug. She peppered him with questions about the ranch and life in general. Drew replied in his slow and steady way. He asked a few polite questions about life in Chicago and seemed genuinely interested in her answers. Once again, it struck me how similar Drew and my dad were.
While Drew and my mother were talking, I heard another car pull into the driveway. Since they were deep in conversation, I slipped away and peeked through the window. It was Alrik. This could be a problem; he’d been a de facto part of our family practically since birth, but he and my mother had had a serious disagreement about some USN business.. Regardless, my mother gave him a warm hug as soon as he walked in the door.
“How did I get to have such handsome men in my life? Your father included.” She looked back at Elin and me and winked. I have spent quite a bit of time in Sweden, enough to realize that the public affection that my mother often demonstrated was a seriously uncommon Scandinavian gene. My family was yet again the exception compared to the rule.
“Alma, I am so glad to see you. How was your travel?”
“Fine, fine,” my mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Now that we are all here, let’s get down to business. What’s the plan? I assume that you smart young people have a plan?”
“For which problem?” Alrik asked in a tense voice. “Jia or Freya’s mess with the werewolves?”
I blinked rapidly at the bomb Alrik had just dropped. I was too far in shock at his abrupt disclosure to even stutter back the nasty response he deserved. To give my mother credit, she arched an eyebrow in censure and clucked her tongue. “Tattling is never an attractive trait, Alrik.” My break from her attention was only temporary, and she turned to face me. “Tell me what Alrik means when he says ‘Freya’s mess with the werewolves.’”
I sighed and motioned everyone to sit down at Elin’s large kitchen table. Elin, ever the good hostess, got some more glasses and refilled the pitcher of iced tea before sitting down at the table. I fiddled with my own glass, trying to organize my thoughts.
“First of all, let me say that this ‘werewolf mess’ is something unexpected to all involved. And although I have a feeling you may be upset with one of the werewolves in question, he has acted very responsibly.” I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was a grown woman and capable of making good decisions. The people who surrounded me right now were those I loved, but I was the one who ultimately was in charge of my life. And with the self-pep-talk steeling my spine, I gave my mother the rundown of what had happened with David and the other werewolves.
Silence filled the air after I finished. My mother stared into space, no expression on her face. Her shoulders pushed back, and her chin jutted out slightly. Her only movement was one finger drumming on the table.
“Ahh, Freya,” she said after a minute had passed, “you are too much like me. How can I scold you for helping the werewolves when I moved across the ocean, away from my Flock, and helped start the Union for Supernaturals?
She stood up, hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, “But please be careful.”
Chapter 22
Monday’s school day was over. Nothing traumatic had happened so far, so I unpacked my cello, tuned it, and got lost in Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, my song for playing and thinking. The music allowed my brain to wander at will. I purposefully didn’t have an agenda for this practice session, so I was curious to see where the music took my brain. At first, there was only the music and a kaleidoscope of images and ragtag bits of thoughts: lesson plan for tomorrow’s class, need to look into buying a nice air mattress for Alrik, Philip’s bad haircut (need to talk to him about that), what was David doing right now, need to talk to my mom about plans, need to coordinate with Elin about making sure Meng and Wen were comfortable, it is rough to be in a foreign country and feel so far from your comfort zone, my first international trip for the USN… My brain paused at that memory and circled there for awhile. The trip took place shortly after I had worked my way into the position of Information Officer for the Associate Members. I was the lead for the trip, trying to convince the Negaras to become more involved. The clan had been a thorn in the side of the USN for years. They would flirt with the idea of cooperation, but then would viciously attack against any perceived threat, leaving a bloody mess that would gain unwanted attention. I left the United States nervous, overprepared, and stuffed full of advice from every source possible.
I arrived at the village feeling like a bad joke. Who was I to tell them how they should live? The first half hour of the conversation between the leader of the Negaras and I were terribly awkward and went nowhere. I tried to channel my mother and use her diplomatic techniques. I pulled out a binder full of statistics my boss had created. I stumbled over my sentences, trying to use phrases I had heard others use. And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the leader had a sizeable strawberry birthmark below his left ear. My grandfather on my mother’s side had a birthmark in the exact same place. Somehow, that coincidence broke through my blundering and taught me a lesson. Rather than living in the shadow of my mother or trying to do things exactly how my boss saw fit, I was going to do it my way. And my way meant that I recognized that the leader of the Negaras and I were both humans trying to do the best we could. We had much more in common than we had different, and even those differences could be overcome.
I relaxed, allowed myself to be myself, and enjoyed the tribe leader for who he was. I listened to him. I cracked jokes with him. We didn’t even talk about the USN again until the second day. By that time, I knew all about his grandchildren and how he feared for the loss of their ancient culture. I had met the grandkids as well and even played some soccer with them. When we did get around to the USN, I listened to his concerns, one after another. And then I addressed all those concerns, one after another, but more importantly, I addressed the underlying fears that he hadn’t spoken aloud. And surprisingly, I truly enjoyed myself. The Negaras joined the USN that day.
Other trips weren’t as successful, but I learned a valuable lesson. I was an amazing creation and so was every person around me. Since I adore science, let me phrase it according to biology. At birth, a female has between one to two million eggs; each one of these eggs is unique not only to her, but unique in the history of humankind. Men make fifteen-hundred sperm per second, and each of these sperm is unique not only to him, but unique in the history of humankind. Now, out of my mother’s millions of eggs and my father’s quadrillions of sperm, the two sex cells that happened to be me combined. Damn, those are ridiculous odds. I, like every other human being on the planet, won the lottery of all lotteries just to be born. I’m going celebrate. I’m goin
g to be proud to be alive and to be me. And most of all, I’m going to not try to be someone I’m not. That would be a slap in the face of the ridiculously high odds that created me.
A lot of people are trying to force me into a role at the moment: a co-Alpha, a threat to the Santa Fe pack, a denizen of Hell, an employee at the USN, a mate, a girlfriend. They were welcome to their opinions, but that didn’t change the fact that I did not choose any of these roles. I would be true to my responsibilities, but I would not be forced into a position that didn’t fit. If that created ambiguity and chaos for those who wanted to stick me into a capacity, too bad. They would have to live with the confusion that they themselves produced. I took a deep breath, played through the last section of the piece again, and stopped.
“Okay, then,” I asked myself. “What do I want?” Just because I refused to act in a way untrue to myself didn’t give me a free pass to not participate. I flipped my bow around in my hand, a habit my old music teacher passed on to me. Some answers came to me almost instantly. I wanted to feel at home in my new city. I wanted to hang out with my sister. I wanted to teach. I wanted to continue working with the USN. That last answer caught me by surprise, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true. I was passionate about the cause and believed I had the talents and skills to improve the organization, but I needed to figure how to fit it into my life. I could talk to my mother about options. Mentally, I moved past the USN and started asking myself if something felt good and true for a relationship. In that area, however, there were no easy answers.
Practically without realizing it, I started to play again. A jumble of thoughts drifted through my head. I moved from Beethoven to a simple hymn and repeated the chorus twice. I was so lost in my head that that when the classroom door shut, I nearly jumped out of my seat and poked myself in the eye with the bow. A discordant groan from the cello lingered in the air. I looked to the door and discovered David leaning against the doorframe.
“Sorry, Freya. I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought I was being obvious.”
I waved my bow in a dismissive nevermind gesture. “I guess I was in a galaxy far, far away and couldn’t be bothered to notice anything, even something obvious.”
“‘Come Thou Fount’ is one of my favorite hymns,” David said as he swung a seat backward, sat down, and a sly, calculating grin grew on his face. “Play it again, Sam.”
Suspicious of his grin, but intrigued, I started the song from the beginning. Much to my surprise, after the intro, David began to sing along. He had a beautiful baritone which blended well with the deeper tones of the cello. I played through the chorus and two verses until he broke off and laughed.
“I forgot the rest of the words.”
“Well, I’m truly floored,” I said with honest shock. “I didn’t know you sang, and I really didn’t know that you sang so well.”
David gave a dismissive shake of his head and grinned. “My mother is an accomplished piano player and played for our church when I was growing up. When my brother and I showed less than stellar skills at the piano, she focused all her energy on making us sing. We were a regular Von Trapp family before my brother and I threw a massive protest and refused to ever stand in front of the church again. But she did manage to knock some technique into my hard head.” He rapped on his head with his knuckles as if to prove a point about the density of his skull.
“If I ever met your mother, I need to thank her for her persistence. That was beautiful, David.”
“No, you are beautiful, Freya,” he said with a wink, but changed the subject to something safe before I could get too embarrassed or flustered. “How was school?”
“Fine. Nothing too exciting to report. How was your day?” I asked.
“Similar, nothing too exciting. Therefore, I decided I needed to spice up my day with some danger and invite you and your mom out to dinner,” he said with a grin.
“No, no, no. That would not go well. My mom is more trouble than you can handle,” I said with some panic in my voice.
“Hmm, you should have told me that earlier,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Because I already spoke to your mom and we are all having dinner at seven tonight.”
I stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“She sounded very nice on the phone,” he said in a conciliatory voice.
“That makes me even more nervous,” I said with a frown. “She was ready to have you drawn and quartered yesterday when we talked.”
“I figured as much. But the best defense is good offense.”
“And just how offensive are you going to be tonight?” I asked, still frowning.
“She doesn’t stand a chance,” he said with confidence.
***
I took a deep breath, wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans, and stood up. David was approaching our table, his stride long and slow. He appeared relaxed and calm—I was not. Mom hadn’t said much about meeting David, but upon her insistence, we arrived fifteen minutes prior to our reservation. I knew from past experience that she liked to stake out her territory when meeting a potential adversary. Prior to the dinner, I had tried to spin the werewolf problem in a positive light—inner species cooperation and all—but my mother only gave a scornful “hmmpfh” noise at the conclusion of my spiel.
My mom joined me standing as David reached the table. She extended her hand and introduced herself. Her accent was stronger than normal. “You must be David.”
David shook her hand, didn’t release it right away, but instead placed his other hand over hers. “You must be Freya and Elin’s other sister.” And then he winked at her. The vast majority of people on God’s green Earth could not have pulled off that lame line, let alone a wink, on my mother. But somehow the twinkle in his green eyes and his playful smile counteracted its preposterousness and my mom smiled. Actually smiled at him. David: one. Alma: zero. This may be less one-sided than I had envisioned. I grinned in anticipation.
David chose the chair next to me and directly across from my mom, but didn’t sit down until both of us sat. So his mother taught him manners—that was something my mother would strongly approve of. I wondered if the two women would get along.
David started the conversation asking about her travels, then skillfully moved from the mundane small talk needed when first meeting someone to a more personalized and meaningful conversation—the TSA’s invasion of personal privacy and possible ramifications on the supernatural world. In a few short minutes, he had found a subject on which my mother was passionate and he could talk about knowledgably. Chalk up another point for David. Although I understood that personal privacy was an important topic, it wasn’t one of my core concerns, so I let the two of them do most of the talking and watched their interaction. As the conversation turned toward family, David’s whole demeanor changed to become less guarded and formal and judging by the smiles my mother was trying not to smile, she was melting toward him.
“Matthew, my younger brother, was lead singer in a death metal band which had become popular. He would never allow our mom to go to any concert, which disappointed my mother. She really wanted to see his latest musical endeavor and be supportive in any way she could. She loves music and was thrilled that he was back into it, even if it wasn’t in a way she would have preferred. So one night, my mom dressed up all in black and put on dark make-up and tried to sneak into the venue where he was playing.
“Of course she was the oldest person there by a few decades and completely stood out. She tried to play it cool, but her disguise lasted all of five minutes. My brother spotted her before the music started and was utterly mortified. He tried to discreetly ask her to leave, but then one of his bandmates spotted them and informed the whole room.
“The audience thought it was great that Jawbone’s mom was there and insisted she stay. People kept buying her shots, which she felt obligated to drink. She’s a lightweight to begin with, and by the end of the concert, she could hardly stand, but was headbanging w
ith the best of them. Matthew had to take her home that night, practically dragging her to the car while she was singing some of the band’s songs at the top of her lungs along with all her new death metal aficionado friends. Matthew wouldn’t speak to her for the next day, but that was okay with my mom since she had the biggest hangover of her life. When Matthew finally did speak to her again, he made her promise to never, ever come to another concert. Of course, from there on, at every concert, someone in the audience would shout out, ‘Where’s your mom, Jawbone? She’s awesome!’”
All of us laughed at the story. Based on that story alone, I would bet a paycheck that my mother would like David’s mother.
My mother took a sip of her iced tea, put it down firmly, and then focused in on David. “So, tell me what your mother and brother think of your situation. Are they being threatened because of your renegade status?”
David sighed and looked directly at her. “Yes. They are. I have moved them to a safe location. It is unfortunate to have interrupted their lives, but Robert and Maria will not be able to hurt them where they are.”
“So you are endangering all of those around you right now?” My mother’s question startled me, not because of the content, but because it lacked the subtle tone she usually preferred.
I tried to speak up to diffuse the tension, but David put his hand over mine and interrupted me.
“Yes. I am,” he said simply.
“But no one has gotten hurt, Mom.”
