therapist for immortal entities.
Honesty lives on the Upper West Side in a three-thousand-square-foot, two-bedroom flat on the top floor of a six-story building with a view of Central Park. From the couch in her living room, I can see the North Meadow through the picture window.
“But if I talk to her,” I say, “won’t that encourage a relationship?”
“Is that a problem?” she says.
“Well, isn’t fraternizing with human women against the rules?” I ask.
“Whose rules?” says Honesty. “Your rules? Jerry’s rules? The rules of emotionally unavailable men?”
“Is that a multiple-choice question?” I ask.
Honesty lights up another cigarette, then takes a drag, leans back in her chair, crosses her legs, and says, “Are you afraid of intimacy?”
The thing about Honesty is that she’s passive-aggressive.
Being an Attribute, Honesty doesn’t so much have an impact on the decisions humans make but instead provides them with one of the tools they need to overcome the challenges thrown at them by Temptation and Shame and Anger.
Oh, by the way, while Anger pulls double duty as an Emotive, payroll has him officially listed as a Deadly Sin.
“So you think I should talk to her,” I say. “Maybe ask her if she wants to have some coffee or invite her out to a nice dinner?”
“That’s generally what humans do,” says Honesty. “And I know you’ve interacted with human women before.”
It’s true that I’ve had a few dalliances with human women over the past five thousand years or so. Up until about twelve thousand years ago, man was still evolving from his apelike ancestors. You really didn’t want to get involved with Paleolithic women. Trust me. They didn’t call it the Stone Age for nothing. Even early Neolithic women weren’t much to look at. Sometimes you still couldn’t tell the difference between the males and the females. And none of them looked as good in a mammoth-skin bikini as Raquel Welch in One Million Years B.C.
You pretty much stayed away from hominid women until the Greek civilization began to rise around 3000 B.C. After that, human women started to look pretty good.
Nefertiti.
Helen of Troy.
Marie Antoinette.
And who didn’t want to sleep with Cleopatra? Show of hands? I didn’t think so.
My countless affairs with human women were nothing more than fanciful larks, one-night stands that resulted in pure sexual gratification. But this . . . these feelings I have for a mortal female . . . it’s unprecedented.
It’s a bad enough idea to develop a romantic relationship with someone who lives in the same apartment building, because if things don’t work out, it could make your living situation uncomfortable. It’s even worse to develop a romantic relationship with someone who lives in the same building when you’re Fate and you know ahead of time when you’re going to have an argument and what it’s going to be about, how many pets you’re going to have, the vacations you’ll take, the sex you’ll have, and when your human partner is going to die.
Except since Sara’s not on my path, I can’t see how her life is going to develop, so I can’t see how a potential relationship between us would turn out. Still, it’s against the rules. It’s interaction. Interference. Influence. All of which are bad.
Bad. Bad. Bad.
Problem is, everything about Sara makes me feel good.
Good. Good. Good.
I want to watch her and be near her and touch her and kiss her. I want to shower her with affection and adoration. I want to run out and buy her flowers and candy and other things that will wilt and die or rot her teeth.
“Is there any way I can just make this go away?” I ask.
Honesty takes a drag on her cigarette and blows the smoke in my face. “Make what go away?”
“This,” I say, gesturing toward my body with my hands but not knowing where to point. “This warm, tingly sensation I get just thinking about her.”
Honesty looks at me and smiles, the way she
Honesty lives on the Upper West Side in a three-thousand-square-foot, two-bedroom flat on the top floor of a six-story building with a view of Central Park. From the couch in her living room, I can see the North Meadow through the picture window.
“But if I talk to her,” I say, “won’t that encourage a relationship?”
“Is that a problem?” she says.
“Well, isn’t fraternizing with human women against the rules?” I ask.
“Whose rules?” says Honesty. “Your rules? Jerry’s rules? The rules of emotionally unavailable men?”
“Is that a multiple-choice question?” I ask.
Honesty lights up another cigarette, then takes a drag, leans back in her chair, crosses her legs, and says, “Are you afraid of intimacy?”
The thing about Honesty is that she’s passive-aggressive.
Being an Attribute, Honesty doesn’t so much have an impact on the decisions humans make but instead provides them with one of the tools they need to overcome the challenges thrown at them by Temptation and Shame and Anger.
Oh, by the way, while Anger pulls double duty as an Emotive, payroll has him officially listed as a Deadly Sin.
“So you think I should talk to her,” I say. “Maybe ask her if she wants to have some coffee or invite her out to a nice dinner?”
“That’s generally what humans do,” says Honesty. “And I know you’ve interacted with human women before.”
It’s true that I’ve had a few dalliances with human women over the past five thousand years or so. Up until about twelve thousand years ago, man was still evolving from his apelike ancestors. You really didn’t want to get involved with Paleolithic women. Trust me. They didn’t call it the Stone Age for nothing. Even early Neolithic women weren’t much to look at. Sometimes you still couldn’t tell the difference between the males and the females. And none of them looked as good in a mammoth-skin bikini as Raquel Welch in One Million Years B.C.
You pretty much stayed away from hominid women until the Greek civilization began to rise around 3000 B.C. After that, human women started to look pretty good.
Nefertiti.
Helen of Troy.
Marie Antoinette.
And who didn’t want to sleep with Cleopatra? Show of hands? I didn’t think so.
My countless affairs with human women were nothing more than fanciful larks, one-night stands that resulted in pure sexual gratification. But this . . . these feelings I have for a mortal female . . . it’s unprecedented.
It’s a bad enough idea to develop a romantic relationship with someone who lives in the same apartment building, because if things don’t work out, it could make your living situation uncomfortable. It’s even worse to develop a romantic relationship with someone who lives in the same building when you’re Fate and you know ahead of time when you’re going to have an argument and what it’s going to be about, how many pets you’re going to have, the vacations you’ll take, the sex you’ll have, and when your human partner is going to die.
Except since Sara’s not on my path, I can’t see how her life is going to develop, so I can’t see how a potential relationship between us would turn out. Still, it’s against the rules. It’s interaction. Interference. Influence. All of which are bad.
Bad. Bad. Bad.
Problem is, everything about Sara makes me feel good.
Good. Good. Good.
I want to watch her and be near her and touch her and kiss her. I want to shower her with affection and adoration. I want to run out and buy her flowers and candy and other things that will wilt and die or rot her teeth.
“Is there any way I can just make this go away?” I ask.
Honesty takes a drag on her cigarette and blows the smoke in my face. “Make what go away?”
“This,” I say, gesturing toward my body with my hands but not knowing where to point. “This warm, tingly sensation I get just thinking about her.”
Honesty looks at me and smiles, the way she
Similar Books
