Rumour

"He was an amazing orator and diplomat– you wouldn't believe what he could do with a speech; it's really incredible. I sometimes wish I had that sort of charisma. I– Eirika?"

I look up from my cup of coffee. "Hmm? I'm sorry, Saleh, were you saying something?" It was true that I was only half listening to him. It's not that I find him dull– his enthusiasm for history is endearing– but... it reminds me of someone... Seth never had the chance to go to college but he devours books on military history.

Café Argentium, Saleh's favourite meeting place, is quiet this evening. Some nights the waiters are left scurrying from table to table and the buzz of the patrons' chatter can become overwhelming. I prefer it this way; so does Saleh. "I was just going on about my thesis again. I don't mean to bore you with it."

There's no accusation in his voice, no resentment. He's patient and gentle– and this too reminds me of someone else and I feel a twinge of guilt as Seth's face, that quiet smile of his, flashes before my mind's eye. I smile at Saleh and reach out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm just distracted tonight. I... had some news from home."

He tilts his head and peers at me, looking concerned. "Bad news?"

"No. Not exactly. Just–"

"Refill?" the waiter asks as he passes the table.

"Please," I reply, anxious for an escape from this conversation. He pours the coffee and I reach for cream and then two sugars. As I stir the mix until it pales from murky brown to a pleasant mocha tinge, the ring of my spoon against porcelain seems painfully loud. "Did you get that book you were trying to find?" I ask before the topic shifts back to my home.

"I did! And it's just what I needed. As it turns out..."

I let him go on, happy for the easy task of listening. Talking seems difficult tonight. His face lights up as he talks about these people who died a thousand years before he was born. Sometimes I wonder if they aren't more real to him than I am.

It's getting late and when I finish my coffee he walks me to my apartment after which he'll have to get a bus or cab out of Allston and back across the Charles River to his own apartment closer to his corner of Harvard's campus. I could have chosen to attend Columbia University like Ephraim, but I wanted to be on my own for a few years. I still wonder sometimes if that was the right decision.

At the entrance to my apartment complex, Saleh brushes a kiss over my lips and then wishes me goodnight. His kisses are always more polite than passionate. Is it terrible that I'm grateful for that? He's five years older than me, and I think he wants to be courteous and not push me further than I want to go. He's a gentleman. So why is it all the things I appreciate about him only serve to remind of the one person I can never have?

I unlock my door, pull off my shoes, and collapse onto my couch. It takes me a good ten minutes to get up the courage to dig my cell phone out of my purse. I glance again at the text message from Tana. "sth ngagd pcm." The lack of vowels wasn't unusual coming from Tana, but I couldn't help but hope that I'd read it wrong. Could it really say "Seth engaged please call me"?

I hit the speed dial for Tana's number. She picks up after the first ring. "Tana," I say and I hate that my voice is trembling, "what was that message about?"

"There's a rumour going around–"

"A– a rumour? Tana," I groan.

"No wait, listen. It's comes direct from home."

I sniff. She followed Ephraim to Columbia and I can't help but be jealous of how she gets to see my family and my friends every week while I just see them on holidays. "How direct?"

"I heard it from Syrene."

"When did she see Seth?" I asked, puzzled.

"Well... actually she heard it from Vanessa who was talking to..."

She hesitates and I stifle another groan. "Forde?"

"Well yes."

Forde was really a nice guy and he'd been working security for Renais Enterprises Inc. nearly as long as Kyle and Seth had, but sometimes the things that came out of his mouth... "And where did Forde get his information from precisely? A fortune teller in the Bronx?"

"He saw them!"

"Who?"

"Seth and Natasha!"

I freeze. My stomach is roiling in a particularly unpleasant way. "Hold on a second, Tana," I say and I get up and put some water on to boil for a herbal tea. My hand is shaking as I reach for a cup and I feel like a fool. "All right, start from the top," I say, putting on my calm, professional businesswoman persona. I imagine it as a real suit and close my eyes for a moment to see myself pulling on a navy-blue blazer and standing in front of the board members at the office. "Forde saw Seth and Natasha? Where? When? And is he sure it was them? They broke up ages go." She remembered it had been just before she'd left for college.

"He's sure. They were having dinner at Le Chevalier the same night Forde was there with some girl he's seeing."

"I see." I take a deep breath. "So what happened? Did Forde see a ring or..." I was about to ask if Seth had proposed there at the restaurant but it seemed so unlike him; he had always valued his privacy and hardly seemed one to broach a delicate subject like marriage in a public place.

"No not exactly. But when he asked Seth about it the next day he said something about an engagement and then hurried off."

I'm dumbfounded. I can't gather my wits enough to say anything at all. Instead, I reach for the kettle; I hadn't noticed that it had begun to whistle.

"I'm sorry," Tana says gently. "I just wanted to make sure you knew before you came home for the holidays." Tomorrow I'll be heading home for Thanksgiving weekend. I suppose... that it's better this way. Less of a shock... I guess.

"Thanks," I manage. I pour the herbal tea and leave it on the counter to steep. I tell Tana that I'm tired. She says goodnight and a minute later I get a "hug" via text message. I know she understands.

The tea is steeped, but I still need to let the news sink in. Suddenly the prospect of going home seems less cheerful than it should.

ooo

November seems more drab than usual this year– but maybe that's just my mood infecting my perception of the weather. Ephraim meets me at the airport and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You look glum."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. Give me three guesses to figure out what's wrong. If I win you have to promise to smile."

"And if you lose?"

"I'll treat you to dinner at an establishment of your choice."

"All right."

He makes a show of giving the matter great thought as we head to the car and wait for our chauffeur to collect our baggage. "Fail your midterms?" he asks.

I snort at this; he knows I get excellent grades. "No."

"Went on a bender and dad found out and wrote you out of the will?"

"Ephraim!"

"Okay third's a charm. Let's see..." He's putting on an act to cheer me up and I love him for it, my dear, wonderful brother. "Break up with your boyfriend?" He says this last very earnestly; he thinks that's what wrong. He must not know about Seth then. If he did he would have realized...

"I'm afraid you owe me dinner."

"Really?" He looks genuinely surprised. "You're still going out with that history professor?"

"Saleh's a doctoral candidate, not a full-fledged professor."

He shrugs. "So what's bothering you then?"

"Nothing. Just tired, I guess. And the weather..."

"Eirika–"

"Come on," I say and I get into the car. He drops it. He knows better than to press me for information. We may be twins, but I got the lion's share of stubbornness.

ooo

The weekend has been better than I thought. It's wonderful to see everyone again, to be home– home! Holidays have always been a grand affair in our household. Our family itself is small– just dad, Ephraim, and me– but so many of the people who work for the company have become like family that we have them over, especially our security guys who all seem to be without family themselves. Forde and Kyle spent so much time as Ephraim's bodyguards when he was younger that I know he thinks of them more as friends than employees. And I know for a fact that Forde has no family aside from his younger brother. And then there's Seth. He's been on his own since his father was shot eight years ago. I wonder if he's realized that I've been ducking him all weekend...

Replete with turkey, dressing, yams, and pumpkin pie, I'm curled up on couch listening to bits and pieces of conversations, which float around the room like wisps of smoke, and just about to fall into a doze when I'm started into wakefulness. "It's good to see you again, Miss King."

"Eirika," I correct automatically. "We're not at the office, Seth– we're home."

"It's good to see you, Eirika," he says and smiles and for a minute I forget that anything's changed. Even now he's wearing a suit– a handsome charcoal suit, but it's far more formal than necessary. At least he's refrained from wearing a tie. I can't help but notice that he's left the top button of his collar undone. I want to snag him by the collar and muss up his hair... among other things.

He sits down in the wingback chair next to the couch. He has a drink in his left hand (scotch I think) and I can hear the clink of the ice cubes in his glass. The sun has come out of hiding for a moment and mellow autumn light pours in from the bay window and gives his russet hair a fiery hue. A feeling wells up in my chest, longing for this– the perfection of this moment, the easy, familiar silence as we sit here together.

But all at once, my eyes fall to his hand, his ring finger, still bare, but not for long– and my contentment washes away like sunlight swallowed up by clouds. "I guess I should congratulate you," I say, not meeting his eyes. Better to have it out of the way. I'm surprised, come to think of it, that he hasn't invited Natasha.

His brow crinkles. "For what?"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I know it's not official yet."

"What's not official?"

"Your engagement."

He nearly chokes on his scotch. He spends several moments coughing before he sputters "My– My– Eirika, what..." I have to stifle a laugh; I don't believe I've ever seen Seth so flabbergasted. He's always so cool and collected and it can't be an act. "What are you talking about?" he asks in a low tone; several people are glancing our way.

I feel very warm suddenly and I think I must be starting to blush. "There's a rumour that you and Natasha..."

"Who in the world told you that?"

"Forde." He's frowning now, his jaw clenched, shoulders hunched. "He saw the two of you at dinner. He said the next day you mentioned something about your engagement."

Seth groans and holds his head in his hands for an instant before straightening. "I said we'd had dinner and then I told him I had to leave because I had a 'pressing engagement.'"

Relief wells up in me like a spring and I find myself giggling. I'd fretted so much and all over this! "I always told you you'd get into trouble with the way you talk sometimes, Seth. You could have said you had an urgent appointment."

"Next time I'll just say 'I gotta get goin'." His imitation of a Brooklyn accent has me laughing again; it's so terribly incongruous to hear it coming from Seth.

"So... You're not engaged then?" I had meant to ask jokingly, but it comes out with a kind of earnestness that has me flushing again.

"No," he whispers. "I'm not."

I don't know why I feel so happy to hear it; it doesn't make him any more mine. "So... why were you having dinner with Natasha?"

He bristles and I realize I've gone too far, stepped into that private realm that he refuses to share. "What I do and don't do with my ex, is my concern. And Forde should mind his own affairs."

I can feel myself colouring again and there's simply nothing I can do about it. I feel more comfortable sometimes in the halls of our company, surrounded by Armani-garbed businessmen and lawyers; I know how to manage their sort. But Seth... "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." Even so, he called her his "ex" so he must not be seeing her again... It's stupid, it's silly, but it makes me happy. I reach out and squeeze his hand. "I'll help you with damage control."

"Thank you." He looks away for a moment and then, "Eirika, I..."

"Yes?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing. Happy Thanksgiving," he says and, finishing the last of his scotch, he gets up and disappears into the next room.

I take a deep breath and get ready to launch myself back into the social world so that I can casually mention that Seth isn't engaged. It'll come out as a charming story, the joke on poor Forde of course, and none of them will guess how much angst it caused me. But I'd rather they know the truth. And though he may not be mine, at least I don't have to share him just yet.