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In some ways, Hiljddidhope, of course.
But she couldn’t give herself over to the hope the way Valdemar did. She just had to protect herself, just a little bit, prepare herself in case it went badly, because they all knew the odds were that Abigail was not going to make it.
Maybe, when Abigail finally passed, it was simply impossible to go through it together. Maybe they each needed someone to blame.
Maybe that was why she asked for the divorce.
Her shoulders shook. She cried, into her pillow, until her tears turned to dreams and she fell asleep.
The next morning, she was determined to do the right thing about this entire situation.
She got in her car and drove to the Walgreens, where she marched through the place until she found the Plan B on the shelf. She picked up the box and read all about whatever it was. Well, it would delay her ovulation, delay it long enough that any sperm still inside her, belonging to Gunnar Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was, would all die. It would prevent the pregnancy, not end it, and it wouldn’t…
Hiljd couldn’t end a pregnancy, not personally. It just… she didn’t make judgments about what other people did, butshecouldn’t. If she hadn’t ended the pregnancy that had produced Abigail, she certainly wouldn’t—
The point was that this was not the same thing.
She put the box back on the shelf.
Empty-handed, she left the store.
iv.
“WHAT?” SAID GUNNARto his father. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” It was dark and cold and Gunnar was huddled into his winter coat, his scarf wrapped around his neck.
It was late December, and he was here, helping his family lighting the huge Yule log for the orc community who all lived nearby. Most of orcs in this neighborhood drove past this little wooded area with a few picnic tables and a pavilion on their way to their houses. It was a centralized location.
The Yule log, decorated with pine cones and red and green paper, would be lit now and hopefully burn all the way through Yule. Someone had to come and check the Yule log at intervals. Someone was scheduled to come by once an hour, to make sure it hadn’t somehow caught anything else on fire. Gunnar was on the schedule to come and keep an eye on it several nights from now, at 2:00 in the morning.
“Where were you?” said Gunnar’s father, folding his arms over his chest.
“He was watching the Barbie movie,” piped up Gunnar’s nephew, Tyr. He was six years old.
“Seriously?” said his father, drawing back.
“Hey,” said Gunnar, pointing at his father. “You’re going to give him ideas, Dad. He’s going to think that there’s something wrong with watching the Barbie movie, and basically, you’re enforcing the patriarchy.”
His father put a hand on his shoulder. “Stop it with that shit, son. I mean it.”
“Grandpa said shit!” said Tyr. “That’s a bad word.”
“I don’t see how pointing out that we’re all stuck in a rat race that’s designed to keep us down and them up—and by them, you know who I mean—elves and fae—and they want to keep it that way,” said Gunnar, “is a bad thing or even something you don’t agree with.”
Gunnar wasn’tinto itinto it.
Just.
Maybe there had been some Google searches. Some long reading of some Reddit posts. Some interesting videos on YouTube. And then, maybe somehow he had decided to watch the Barbie movie, which wasn’t actually bad. He didn’t even get why people thought it was so hard on men. He was pretty sure that one dude who’d been so butthurt hadn’t understood a second of the movie. Most of it had definitely sailed right over Tyr’s head, for instance. Maybe that dude was just about on par with a six-year-old.
Now, his nephew wandered off, singing, “I wanna push you around, well I will, well I will,” tunelessly.
“What is he singing?” said Gunnar’s father.
Tyr turned. “I’m telling Grandma you said a bad word.”
“Don’t,” said Gunnar’s father. “Tell anyone but Grandma, Tyr. Have a heart, kid.”
Gunnar shoved his hands into his pockets. “When are we lighting this thing?”
