Epilogue Part 3

5 years later

Helga was getting her master's, on her way to becoming a professional psychiatrist. I had opened a comic book store in Seattle, and we shared an apartment together while I was getting my business going and she was getting her degree.

On some nights, we'd fall asleep on the couch together, with her head on my lap and me stroking her hair. Some nights, when one of us would have a bad dream about our past, we'd end up in the other's bed. Just to sleep, nothing more. The relationship we had together was completely platonic, on her side.

I liked it this way. I wasn't interested in girls that weren't her, and she never brought home any men. I knew there was only one person she'd ever bring home, and he was deep in South America.

Some nights she'd ask me why I'd never brought anyone home. It was long enough of a time, I'm sure she thought, that I no longer romantically loved her. But she didn't understand the depth of what I felt for her, no matter the fact that she loved him since she was three years old. After all, and she still held onto that.

In fact, at one point, we'd fought about him. I'd told her that he was long gone, and she'd looked at me angrily. She was quiet and dangerous when she finally spoke.

"Are you really angry about the fact that I'd only bring one man home? He's long gone. You told me so!" Here eyes were glistening at this point. "You, on the other hand—you could get any woman!"

"Yeah," I shouted back, "Well, you know I couldn't bring anyone home because I love you!" I took a second to pant. I inhaled deeply. "I love you, Helga. Always. I love you like you love him."

Her eyes didn't soften that time. It was five years since I'd brought him up. She'd mentioned him before in conversation, briefly, and always when she did she looked a little pained. I knew how much she loved him. I wished I'd been the one in preschool to tell her I liked her pants, or to share my cookies. I wish I'd been that activist in 4th grade to stand up for things.

But I wasn't. Ultimately, I guess, I was the one living with her, but I'd only touched her once the way I wanted to, and that was shortly after high school had ended. She was always unattainable, to everyone.

"I love you, too, Brainy!" Helga had shouted that night. "I love you, but it's different. I've only ever loved three people. You, and Phoebe, and….you know. But I just can't love you like I love him. I can't."

She almost started crying then. I grabbed her body and held her. "I love you. Always. It doesn't matter how you feel about it," I said, her chest against my neck. It was a sign of maturity, I think, that I wasn't turned on by her weight against me.


A few years later

We'd been living together for three years and Helga was working on her doctorate while my business was in full bloom and more profitable than I had ever imagined. To be honest, I had more than enough money to live alone. In fact, I could buy a house in the suburbs if I wanted to. But I didn't, and I never told Helga that I could. I couldn't risk it, I supposed. She always wanted the best for me, and I knew that if I told her, she'd have wanted me to live alone. Even buy a house in the suburbs, maybe.

Then, Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd began to host reunion parties. At first, Helga was reluctant, not interested in anyone from high school. As far as she was concerned, the only two people worth talking to were the only two people she kept in contact with. It took a little convincing, but eventually we went to those parties.

It wasn't too hard too make it over there, since Hilllwood was only a stone's throw away from Seattle, and when we'd attend them on occasion, always together.

When we were there, people would always ask us uncomfortable questions. Were we engaged? When did we ever plan on marrying? How long had we lived together?

We'd always answer politely, say we were just roommates, Best friends. I don't know. Had I been given the opportunity, I might have explained the extent and depth of our relationship.

The fifth reunion party that we attended, I was sitting with Helga at a table, drinking a beer. We were talking about something that seems of such little significance now. I don't even remember what it was.

Helga stopped mid-sentence and looked at me, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

My heart hurt then, because in that moment I gave her up. I gave her to that man who just strolled by at the party, not realizing the immense love emanating from the woman I'd spent the better part of ten years with.

It pained me to smile. "Go talk to him," I said.

"Should I?" Helga sounded scared, looked at me from underneath her lashes.

"Of course," I answered. "You're a beautiful, smart, caring woman. Who wouldn't want to talk to you?"

She squeezed my arm. "Okay," she said, breathing in slowly, "I'll go talk to him."

I watched as the love of my life strode up to the man she'd always loved, the man I'd thought was gone forever. I watched as they talked, as she threw her head back in laughter, as she leaned in to tell him something, I watched as he nodded, and they looked perfect together, even just then, meeting after all these years. And thusly I welcomed Arnold Shortman into my roommate, love, and best friend's life.