“It’s nothing, really,” I say, feeling shy. “And Asha’s been such a big help.” I look around the fire for her, but she still hasn’t joined the group. Huh. I went to her house this morning, but Farli said she was sleeping in and she’d be along shortly. It’s been hours. Now I feel like the worst friend ever because I’ve been having fun and didn’t notice that she was missing. Is something wrong, I wonder? I look for her ex, but I don’t see Hemalo either.
And now I begin to worry. That’s not a good sign. I worry they’ve argued and Asha’s fragile happiness has disappeared again.
I get up and murmur something about heading to the ladies’ room, patting my belly as an excuse, and then head out into the village, making a beeline for Asha’s little house. There’s no smoke curl coming out of the teepee roof—no surprise given that everyone’s at the bonfire today—but it’s also super cold, which makes me worry about her. If I feel like my breath is crystallizing into ice in my lungs away from the warmth of the fire, it can’t feel much better for her. It’s more than that, though. She’s my friend, and I hate the thought of her being miserable when everyone else is having so much joy right now.
The privacy flap is over the door of the hut, and I hesitate, sa-khui etiquette ingrained in my brain. It’s the height of rudeness to speak to someone through the thing, but at the same time…she might need a friend. I drag my fingers over the edge of the flap, scratching at it in the alien way of ‘knocking.’ “Hello?” I call softly. “Asha, are you in there? It’s me, Claire.”
There’s a noise from within, but it doesn’t quite sound like a “come in.” I decide I’m going to interpret it as just that and claim poor human hearing if she gets upset. I push my way inside and glance around.
Asha’s here, all right. It’s bitterly cold inside, and the room is dark. She’s not sleeping, though. She’s seated in her furs, staring up at the roof, where a large gap has broken in the stitching of the hides that make up the teepee.
“Did that just happen?” I ask, moving to stand near her bedding. “Should I go get someone?”
“It has been that way for days,” Asha says in a curiously mild voice, almost as if she is half-asleep. “It is fine.”
Is it? I eye the hole and then look down at her. She doesn’t look upset, but has a thoughtful expression on her face. Her hair is braided and smooth, and she’s wearing her favorite tunic, which tells me that she hasn’t just woken up. “Are you feeling all right?”
She nods after a moment and then glances over at me.
“Can I sit?”
“Of course.” She moves over a little and pats the furs.
It’s no easy task to get my increasingly ungainly body down on the floor and into the pile of furs, but I manage it with her assistance. I tuck my legs under me and glance up at the hole that she’s watching, wondering what I’m supposed to see. “Did you…need another smoke hole?” I ask, teasing.
She looks over at me, startled, then laughs. “No, no smoke hole. It is just a mistake.” She sighs heavily and then glances down, rubbing her face. I notice that her hand—strikingly long and elegant compared to my own small one—is trembling.
My concern for her intensifies. “Asha, what is it?” I touch her arm. “What’s wrong?” When she hesitates, I say, “You can tell me, you know. I’m your friend. I won’t say anything to anyone if you don’t want me to.”
She nods slowly and looks down at her lap, clasping her hands there. “It is not a bad thing, Claire. Do not worry. I just…I do not know what to think of it.”
“What is it? Can you tell me?” I think of her missing mate. “Is it Hemalo? Did you fight?”
Asha gives a small snort. “I wish. We…” She glances down, takes a deep breath, and then looks over at me. “We resonated again.”
I sit back, rocked by this reveal. Holy cow. “Oh, girl.” I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “You must be a mess right now.”
She sniffs and then swipes at her face, brushing away tears with her free hand. “I like that you are not telling me to be excited. Any sa-khui would tell me that I should be pleased.”
“Humans are not so black and white,” I reply with a pat on her knee. “We don’t automatically think that just because the cootie decides you should mate with someone that you should be thrilled about it.”
Her quick smile tells me I’m on the right track. She’s anxious about things with Hemalo.
“You hate him?” I guess aloud. “And you don’t want to be pulled back into a mating with him?”
“I do not hate him,” Asha says softly. “I am sad he has abandoned me. I am sad he no longer wants to be mated to me. I know I was not a good mate to him. I pushed him away when he tried to be kind, and eventually he decided to stop trying.”
“But now you have resonated again.”
Her lip trembles. “And I worry it will all go wrong again. That my body will not be able to carry my kit, and we will hate each other once more.” Her hand covers mine and clenches it tightly. “I do not think I can bear to go through that again.”
My poor friend. I put my arms around her and hug her. She is stiff in my grasp, but then relaxes and puts her head on my shoulder. “It’s all right to worry about this sort of thing, you know. It happened, and it was terrible.” I rub her back. “It’s something no one should have to go through.”
“My world ended when Hashala died.” Asha’s voice is stark with grief. “She died, and when Hemalo tried to comfort me, I pushed him away. I did not know how to handle it. I still do not. At first I tried to ignore it. If I did not think about it, maybe it would not hurt.” Her throat works as if she is trying to swallow a knot. “Hemalo did not understand why I was not grieving like him. So I was cold to him. I said ugly things.” She sighs heavily. “And I tried to mate other males. I thought maybe I should hurt him like I was hurting.”
Eek. Things just got awkward. I suspected as much given Kira’s coolness to Asha, but hearing it said aloud is tricky. I pat her back. “You were trying to find a way to make it hurt less. I understand.”
“No one took me up on my offer. I was still mated, of course. If I was not mated, I could have a dozen males in as many nights. But you never touch the mate of another.” She snorts. “Not that my mate wanted me at that point. He has not touched me since Hashala was born, and that was many seasons ago.”
“You said yourself you were cruel to him. I imagine he was hurt, too.” I keep my tone as non-judgmental as possible. I doubt Asha’s ever confessed all this hurt and pain to anyone, and I don’t want her to think she can’t talk to me. I’m aching for her, because I know what it’s like to feel alone and friendless and terrified, and to hurt. To have everything you love pulled away from you in an instant. We humans have settled in well enough, but I still grieve Earth and its beaches, a warm day of scorching hot sunshine. A pizza fresh from the oven. Chocolate. A movie or a day at the mall. My parents and my dog, even though they were dead by the time I got snatched by aliens. I still miss them. I still miss all of it.
“I still hurt. Every day, I hurt for her.” She reaches into the furs and pulls out a tunic for a baby. It’s so tiny. She pulls it to her face and presses it to her mouth, then inhales deeply. “It no longer smells like her. I wish it did. She was so…” Her voice catches. “Perfect.”
My eyes sting with tears. She’s carrying around so much grief. “I know.”