I hate being sick. Well, this headache at any rate. It's making it hard to see straight, and the painkillers haven't kicked in yet. Kristoff's gone off to pick up Joan from swordfighting, and I'm cocooned in blankets on the couch. I quite like being a blanket burrito, but it can make changing the channel difficult. Let's not get started on using the bathroom then trying to get comfortable again. I can hear a car in the driveway. They can't be back this soon. The clock says I don't know what I'm on about. My headache says… nothing. It's just kind of a dull ache now, so the painkillers must be starting to kick in.
From where I am I can see the front door clearly enough, and Joan walks—actually staggers—through it still wearing most of her kit. She falls onto her back as melodramatically as possible.
"I'm dead."
Kristoff is just behind her. "Hi dead—"
"Come on dad. Low hanging fruit."
"When did you learn that?"
"Ages ago. I've been saving it for times like this."
I hear some heavy quilting and leather shifting as Joan rolls around. "Oh, hey mom. You okay up there?"
"Headache."
"Laney would sympathize," Joan's sounding sheepish and apologetic. "I might've clocked her a bit hard in our 'champions' bout."
"Come on, you," I can see my husband pulling my daughter to her feet. "It's past time you get cleaned up."
"Fine." The way she's almost stomping on the stairs is telling me she's tired, not angry. Must've been a good night. I need to give her some more story though. It's been a few days, and I can't just leave her hanging about what happened between me and Elsa; about hair, and about that note the therapist made me write out. And, much as she might hate it, about that time you caught me out just as you came home. Ah, the look on your prude face… priceless.
Joan stops halfway up the stairs. "Hey mom, you think you'll be able to tell me some more story later?"
"I think so," I sit up slowly, feeling a little dizzy. "The headache's mostly gone."
"Maybe just lie down for a bit while I finish my shower then. I can come back down after."
I shake my head, regretting it as the world doesn't quite stop when I do. "I'll come up. Our bed is upstairs too." Getting off the couch leaves me dizzy again, and I put out a hand to steady myself. I mean, the painkillers should be working now, so I don't know why I'm still dizzy. Unless it's not just a headache. Which is in and of itself a most unpleasant thought. I'm not tempted to look it up though—not until tomorrow, at least. Instead I just head for the master bedroom, and flop down on the bed.
Which was another bad choice, as it now feels like I'm either bouncing or sinking through the floor. That tells me maybe it's an ear thing. Well, at least the spinning stopped. I doze a little, waiting for Joan. A hand against my shoulder gently rocks me awake. I look up at Kristoff, then over at the clock.
"We decided to let you sleep it off. She said the story will keep until tomorrow." His next words are just for me. "You're okay, right?"
"I think so," giving my head a little shake to check. "It was kinda like dizziness, but it felt like bouncing when I flopped down, and then I thought I'd just have a little rest and now it's nearly midnight so that must've been more than I thought, but I don't think it's anything serious and maybe I was over-tired because me and Audrey did the welds around that whole—yeah, that's probably it. Headache too."
"Thank you, doctor Bergman." He's giving me that half-smile. If I didn't just say it he was gonna call me on it. "Getting changed yet?"
I look down. Still wearing my jeans, and light cardigan over my t-shirt. Not ideal for bedtime. I leave everything in a pile at the foot of the bed, much to Kristoff's annoyance. I can see the look he's giving me so I nudge the pile around with my foot. We've got the same pyjamas on now, and I climb into bed behind him. Hey, I might be a bit small, but I like trying to be the big spoon. It also lets me whisper in his ears, and he seems to quite like that. It's not even talking about anything, but I know we drift off slowly, our alarms set for the morning.
I'm flaked out on the couch again, but this time it's because we must've shifted a ton of material at work. Well, maybe not an actual ton, but a lot, making room for a big walkway build. Nothing wrong this time, just exhausted from all the lifting. Joan's lying on the floor next to the couch, notebook out, sketching something that I'm fairly sure is not trig homework. Oh, sure, there's probably a T and an I in what she's drawing. Or maybe I should use an A, remembering some of my attempts at 'art' during high school.
"So, mom, last time you said something Elsa always deflecting, and playing dirty to get her to talk honestly with you."
"Well, maybe a little outside the rules, and it generally got me just as much as it got her."
"The whole morning thing, right?"
"Yeah, she'd open up more; wouldn't have as many walls. It felt weird, sometimes, but I guess it was the same as me handing her that note the therapist made me write, and being afraid of her not reading it. Or reading it."
Joan's sitting up, squinting at me. "So it was about honesty, or… being, umm, vulnerable? Is that the right word?"
"I think it'll do for now." I lever myself upright, making sure we can see eye-to-eye. "So my plan started by getting in to Elsa's bed…"
–∞–
Sunday morning. I was in Elsa's bed, and the sun peeking through the curtains had woken me early. I had sort of planned it that way. I'd also set the alarm on my phone, so I turned that off before it could disturb us. Elsa was already awake, sitting up with a pillow at her back. She yawned, then smiled when she saw I was awake. I smiled back. My smile faded when I realised what my plan entailed. Her hand found mine under the covers. I gave it a gentle squeeze.
"I know you're afraid of losing your hair," I made sure she was looking at me. "And I think that's why you don't want to talk about it when I asked those other times."
"You are not wrong," she shifted around slightly, and I lay my head in her lap. "And you are not playing fair."
"Well you're not gonna talk about if I do, you stinker."
"There are times I do not like you." There was no malice behind it.
"And you're deflecting again."
"Because there is a large part of me that doesn't want anyone to see me like that. I do not want their pity."
"What about their sympathy, Elsa?" I gave her hand a tight squeeze. "What about people that might want to help? Or people that could see you as inspiration?"
"Only to see me die, in the end, despite everything?" I hated the coldness in her voice.
"Do you think dying will stop me from loving you?"
"I hope so." The words were out of her mouth before she realised. Having no walls cut both way, and it crushed me hearing her say that. It didn't matter that I knew the context, it still hurt. I felt the tears stinging the corners of my eyes, and I know she saw them too—I could tell from the crestfallen look on her face. "I–Anniken–I mean—"
I placed a finger from my free hand against her lips. "Shh. I know what you meant. But it still hurt."
"I'm sorry. I do not want to hurt you; then knowing you will love me even after I die—it hurts me," she let out a heavy sigh. "I should be worshipping you for loving me like that, but instead I am afraid of how much pain I will cause you, in the end."
I let her hand go, rolling back to face the ceiling. I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks. "It might hurt until the day I die," a shuddering sigh escaped my lips. "But it would still be worth it."
"I don't deserve you, Anna," she leant down to kiss me. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. And then I realised we hadn't even talked about my plan.
We shared another little kiss before she sat up again. "Elsa, I wanted to talk to you about the hair thing—because I had this idea and I've seen you dance a few times and you keep that braid and so I was just thinking that there's like these super-good realistic wigs and if you lost your hair it'd totally work for you, and you even have a style a day thing going or something but you said something about not wanting people to notice and not needing pity but I was also kind of afraid maybe you'd be too proud to wear a wig and I'd understand that too but seeing your hair and how much you care about things like that—"
"Anna. Stop. Breathe. Please."
I took a couple of highly exaggerated breaths. "Happy?"
She buried her face in her hands. "I'm dating a hyperactive five year old."
"Well that's progress," I couldn't help the laughter. "My parents kept saying three."
She was laughing, and it was a happy laugh. "You must keep your sense of humour, Anniken. I think it will keep you strong." Her hand found mine again, but this time she shuffled down to lie next to me. "And it makes sense that a five year old would be fascinated by my hair."
I still had to press the point. "So, a special wig, so other people can't tell?"
"I will admit that it is more for me," she kissed my cheek. "Because you would love me even if I had nothing left. And perhaps it is a little unhealthy, but I wish more people knew how to love so strongly."
"But they might not know how to enjoy the little moments as well. Like now."
Elsa rose, heading to the window. "But would they enjoy this?" She opened the curtains with a flourish.
"Gah, my eyes!" I flailed around in mock panic for few seconds.
"Come on. If you are up, I think we should share breakfast. I will make you something."
"The toaster told me he's gonna jump next time he sees you…"
We went out on Monday afternoon. It was a small, boutique kind of shop near the middle of town. Upmarket, but nestled between two other major stores so tightly that we missed it the first time past. She insisted we keep looking further down the street, or that the numbering jumped and it was way back the other way. I stopped and took my phone out, checking the map. She had to check over my shoulder, of course.
"Look, Anniken, it should be right there. I only see Emporium and a cafe. There is no space."
"Well I'm going to go back and look—and if I fall into some sort of interdimensional portal I totally expect you to rescue me, given you got the pants and everything."
She sighed, falling in step a pace behind me. "I knew that would come to bite me in buttcheeks one day."
"It's 'bite you in the ass', and yes, you had to have been smart enough to see it coming." I stopped in front of small alley with an ornate glasswork door. "Hey, look, here it is."
"That is a fancy door for a wig shop."
She wasn't wrong. The silhouette on the door looked vaguely familiar. It couldn't be. I stepped though the door, a little bell tinkling to announce my arrival. The old world style decor certainly seemed about right. Well, somewhat antique, at least. No trendy, upmarket minimalist designs here. It looked like everything was handmade. Including the sales counter that looked like it was carved from a solid block of mahogany. Or perhaps an old trunk on its side, given the roots seeming to grow out from the wall. A terrarium had been fitted around some of the roots, and inside was a chameleon.
The brunette at the counter looked up, and I knew it was her. She raced out to hug me. I could almost sense Elsa's frown on my back. Woman, I was not expecting this.
"Anna!" I almost had to get a crowbar, her grip was so strong. "I'm so happy to see you again."
I was still looking around in bewilderment. Elsa was looking more puzzled than me. I had to ask my cousin an important question. Or two. Or ten. "'Punzie, when did you have time to set all of this up? And weren't you and Eugene going to—"
"Eugene had some trouble with certain border security people. Before you ask, he's fine, and I'm fine. Right now he's either visiting a long-lost relative about the nose thing, or attempting to dive off the Spanish reefs in order to find pirate gold."
"And you're here?"
"I have a business to run. Eugene managed to set me up with the capital, and I kinda missed home—well, parts of it, anyway." She finally seemed to notice Elsa behind me. Or at least acknowledge that there was someone else in the shop. "Wow, Anna, why haven't you introduced us yet?"
"You did kinda glomp me…" I gestured between them. "Elsa, meet my cousin Rapunzel. 'Punzie for short."
Elsa took the proffered hand. "I can see she has your same energy, Anniken."
I pointed the other way. "'Punzie, meet Elsa. I am going to wife her so hard."
Dead silence.
I leaned over and whispered in Elsa's ear: "Well, I might have to test the sex first."
Her blush was incandescent.
Rapunzel put on her best scolding voice. "Anna… and in my place of business no less." She turned to Elsa, her voice much milder. "Elsa, dear, please wait over there while I have words with my cousin on your behalf."
"Thank you, miss Rapunzel, but Anna and I have already shared many words," Elsa smiled at me very sweetly. "That she is having an, ahem, dry spell, is entirely of her own choosing."
Rapunzel gave me a very dark look and pointed to a chair near the counter. "You wait there; I feel your future wife may benefit more from a private consultation—I mean, if you weren't expecting me, and you're not looking at all sick, one of you kind of has to be here for my business so—hey, I said you wait there. Elsa will be fine."
How I wished that could be true.
As they walked off, Elsa turned just enough for me to see her face. She poked her tongue out, and then seamlessly resumed her conversation with Rapunzel.
I sat in one of the old, high-backed chairs and waited, playing a game on my phone as the chameleon seemed to track my every move.
–∞–
"So, what's auntie Rapunzel up to these days anyway?"
"Retired and having fun, as far as I can remember," I force myself upright from the slouch I've fallen into. "She and Eugene did eventually find that pirate treasure, about a decade later, and in the middle of some jungle. They retired to become full-time adventurers. And maybe something about running adventure parks. We haven't talked in a while."
"They're kind of off-grid, aren't they?"
"Yeah, the whole princess-in-a-tower kind of thing, but in a good way."
"Sometimes I wonder about that—it'd be nice not having to worry about anything else."
"Except food, water, medicine, people to talk to, fancy toilet paper…"
She's just giving me a look, then shakes her head ruefully. She's already seeing other flaws in the plan. Like you could. So much like you. Like us. It makes it all worth it—worth more, because you were worth it all on your own.
