“What time is the party tonight?’ Garún asked.
“It’s not a party,” Sæmundur said. “It’s a social event. Everyone’s who’s anyone at the university will be there. Donors as well.”
“Just because it’s a boring party doesn’t mean that it’s not a party.”
Garún stirred her porridge listlessly. It was already cold and growing colder by the second. Like the sinking feeling in her stomach.
“So, what time is it?’
“I don’t know. Eight? Something like that.”
“When should I be over?’
Sæmundur focused on eating.
“I’m not sure people are allowed to bring dates.”
“Okay.”
The words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t used to that. Garún stood up and threw away the rest of her porridge. She felt nauseous. She didn’t want to have this conversation – didn’t want to believe she had to have this conversation.
“Sæmi. Are you ashamed of me?’
He stopped eating and looked at her. She forced herself to turn around and face him. His face expressed hurt and something else. Regret? It felt like an act to her. She’d seen this fake indignation too many times.
“Garún, come on. You know I’m not.”
“Then why don’t you want me to go with you?’
“I do want you to come with me.”
He reached out and held her hand. Started stroking her fingers with his. He’d done that when they’d first begun sleeping together. It hurt feeling him do it now, only to misguide her. Convince her of the lie he was telling her.
“I don’t want to accidentally stir up trouble by bringing a plus one when it’s not expected. I want to make a good impression, that’s all.”
“Which will definitely not happen if that plus one is a blendingur.” He started to object but she didn’t give him the chance. “I know how these people are. I know what they’d think if I was there. I know why you don’t want to bring me. I just … I thought you’d still at least ask me to go with you.”
“Garún, love, please listen to me. I want you to be there with me. I’d feel so much better. But I’ve been stirring up enough shit at Svartiskóli already without adding insult to injury. It has nothing to do with who you are. Trust me on this.”
He got up and moved next to her. Held her eyes with his, stroked her hair behind her ear.
She didn’t believe him. But he would never admit to this ugliness in his heart. He would never tell her the truth about this. This lie wasn’t only for her. It was also for himself. Maybe if he lied to her enough times it would become true for him as well.
She wasn’t willing to let this go. Not like this. He was lying to her, acting as if she was imagining things, being hostile and paranoid. She wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t. She would prove to herself and him that she was telling the truth. Even if it broke everything they’d built together. If it was all based on lies, it wasn’t worth anything to begin with.
Humans have no real way of defending themselves against the huldufólk’s emotional empathy. The natural ability is also what allows huldufólk to barricade their emotions from an invasive reader. She’d done it instinctively when they’d first met, and he’d later admitted to her that he found it uncomfortable. This was after they’d been together for several months. Garún had been occasionally reaching out to feel Sæmundur’s feelings. Usually when they were doing something nice – out walking together, talking, drinking – but what really did it for her was when they were making love. Feeling his desire, pleasure, eagerness, on top of her own – it was intoxicating. But it had been a one-way street.
She had promised not to do this any more. It made him feel kind of abused, the privacy of his emotions broken, as he had no ability to reach back. It wasn’t a bridge between them, but a wedge. So she’d stopped. As integral to the huldufólk as the ability was, it wasn’t everything to her. She was human as well. So they had built a human intimacy, based on whispered secrets, gentle intuition and good intentions. She told herself she didn’t have to know for a fact what he was feeling all the time. It surprised her that after a while it felt as if she did anyway, and vice versa. Subtly they’d grown so close that she could tell what was on his mind depending on how his brow furrowed as he pored over his manuscripts, how he scratched his head when he was worrying over something, and likewise how he held her when she was rolling a cigarette over and over on the balcony, knowing she felt depressed and alone. It might not do enough to pull her out of the slump, but it warmed her heart. They had built a bridge between them.
Now they stood at opposite ends of a chasm. She felt as if nothing could possibly close this gap between them. If she reached out and scanned his feelings to know that he was telling the truth, then she could trust him. But in doing so she would have broken her promise to him, irreversibly shredding the tender connections they had cultivated with each other. He wouldn’t be able to forgive her. And if she was right – she couldn’t forgive him, either. They were at an impasse. The only way for no one to get hurt was to accept the lie. An impossible choice.
He saw her worrying, saw some glimpse of this storm of doubt and fear tearing through her. He held her shoulders, looked into her eyes.
“Garún, you know how important this is to me. I’m on my last
