“Kathy.” I said her name slowly. Stalling. “Why did you keep your human name? Did it make you feel… more at one? With your host, I mean?” I would have liked to know about Curt’s choice as well, but it was such a personal question. It would have been wrong to ask anyone besides Curt for the answer, even his partner. I worried that I’d already been too impolite, but she laughed.
“Heavens, no, Wanderer. Haven’t I told you this? Hmm. Maybe not, since it’s not my job to talk, but to listen. Most of the souls I speak with don’t need as much encouragement as you do. Did you know I came to Earth in one of the very first placements, before the humans had any idea we were here? I had human neighbors on both sides. Curt and I had to pretend to be our hosts for several years. Even after we’d settled the immediate area, you never knew when a human might be near. So Kathy just became who I was. Besides, the translation of my former name was fourteen words long and did not shorten prettily.” She grinned. The sunlight slanting through the window caught her eyes and sent their silver green reflection dancing on the wall. For a moment, the emerald irises glowed iridescent.
I’d had no idea that this soft, cozy woman had been a part of the front line. It took me a minute to process that. I stared at her, surprised and suddenly more respectful. I’d never taken Comforters very seriously—never had a need before now. They were for those who struggled, for the weak, and it shamed me to be here. Knowing Kathy’s history made me feel slightly less awkward with her. She understood strength.
“Did it bother you?” I asked. “Pretending to be one of them?”
“No, not really. You see, this host was a lot to get used to—there was so much that was new. Sensory overload. Following the set pattern was quite as much as I could handle at first.”
“And Curt… You chose to stay with your host’s spouse? After it was over?”
This question was more pointed, and Kathy grasped that at once. She shifted in her seat, pulling her legs up and folding them under her. She gazed thoughtfully at a spot just over my head as she answered.
“Yes, I chose Curt—and he chose me. At first, of course, it was random chance, an assignment. We bonded, naturally, from spending so much time together, sharing the danger of our mission. As the university’s president, Curt had many contacts, you see. Our house was an insertion facility. We would entertain often. Humans would come through our door and our kind would leave. It all had to be very quick and quiet—you know the violence these hosts are prone to. We lived every day with the knowledge that we could meet a final end at any moment. There was constant excitement and frequent fear.
“All very good reasons why Curt and I might have formed an attachment and decided to stay together when secrecy was no longer necessary. And I could lie to you, assuage your fears, by telling you that these were the reasons. But…” She shook her head and then seemed to settle deeper into her chair, her eyes boring into me. “In so many millennia, the humans never did figure love out. How much is physical, how much in the mind? How much accident and how much fate? Why did perfect matches crumble and impossible couples thrive? I don’t know the answers any better than they did. Love simply is where it is. My host loved Curt’s host, and that love did not die when the ownership of the minds changed.”
She watched me carefully, reacting with a slight frown when I slumped in my seat.
“Melanie still grieves for Jared,” she stated.
I felt my head nod without willing the action.
“You grieve for him.”
I closed my eyes.
“The dreams continue?”
“Every night,” I mumbled.
“Tell me about them.” Her voice was soft, persuasive.
“I don’t like to think about them.”
“I know. Try. It might help.”
“How? How will it help to tell you that I see his face every time I close my eyes? That I wake up and cry when he’s not there? That the memories are so strong I can’t separate hers from mine anymore?”
I stopped abruptly, clenching my teeth.
Kathy pulled a white handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to me. When I didn’t move, she got up, walked over to me, and dropped it in my lap. She sat on the arm of my chair and waited.
I held on stubbornly for half a minute. Then I snatched the little square of fabric angrily and wiped my eyes.
“I hate this.”
“Everybody cries their first year. These emotions are so impossible. We’re all children for a bit, whether we intended that or not. I used to tear up every time I saw a pretty sunset. The taste of peanut butter would sometimes do that, too.” She patted the top of my head, then trailed her fingers gently through the lock of hair I always kept tucked behind my ear.
“Such pretty, shiny hair,” she noted. “Every time I see you it’s shorter. Why do you keep it that way?”
Already in tears, I didn’t feel like I had much dignity to defend. Why claim that it was easier to care for, as I usually did? After all, I’d come here to confess and get help—I might as well get on with it.
“It bothers her. She likes it long.”
She didn’t gasp, as I half expected she would. Kathy was good at her job. Her response was only a second late and only slightly incoherent.