Omake: Goodbyes

"If you love somebody, let them go.
If they return, they were always yours.
If they don't, they never were."
-Anon.
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“Why can’t you stay here?”

I gave her my best puppy dog eyes, but over the years I think she developed immunity to them, and instead of giving in, she reached over and grabbed me none too gently by the ear. Ow!  I growled at her, a deep threatening sound, but the effect was ruined by another hiccup.  I’d been plagued by the stupid things all morning, and she broke out into laughter that chased my scowl away.

“He has a home already, a good one.  It wouldn’t be fair to him.” 

She was playing with my hair now, weaving wildflowers into the long blonde mass like she used to when we were younger. I used to mutter and protest at being her little dress up doll, pointing out how very un-masculine it was to have flowers and ribbons in my hair, but the truth was I enjoyed those moments together.

“What about us?  It’s not fair to us,” I insisted petulantly.  “He’s being selfish, that’s all.  I hate him.”

“Oh Terz.”  Her arms wrapped around me and held me close.

 It wasn’t true, and she knew it.  I didn’t hate him; in fact, I liked him.  All his family looked down their fine noses at us, but he loved my sister, and she had but to ask and he’d leave it all behind and join the Family, but she was right.  His was a good home, and it was a good place for her to settle down and start a life of her own, but it hurt.  I didn’t want to be left behind.  We weren’t blood related, and five years separated us, but she was my confidant, my conspirator, and my closest family. 

“One day you’ll meet someone Terz, and you’ll know.  Then you’ll understand.” 

She tugged on one tufted ear playfully, and I laughed arrogantly. “I doubt it!” At fifteen girls were no longer “icky” to me, and I’d stolen my share of moments with what my Uncles labeled “the fairer sex”.  But she spoke of something I didn’t believe in, and I thought myself above such frivolous things.  I was young and naïve.  In some ways I still am.

“You’ll always be welcome in my home.”  The breeze picked up its pace and nipped at the flame of the campfire.  One hand scratched under my chin, and I purred, sparking another ripple of her delighted laughter.

It was an old joke between the two of us, you see.  When she was a child and I not more than ten summers old her favorite cat had died.  It hurt me to see her hurt, so as she sobbed in a corner of the camp I crawled over, nudged her cheek with my nose, and let out a most pitiful meow I could muster without breaking out into laughter. To see me, the independent, wild child of the camp crouched down in that form with my ears back and tail – yes, I’d even swallowed my pride and sported a tail -- swishing behind me was quite the surprise.  I could do anything some silly kitten could do, chase mice, play with yarn, or sit on her feet.   I just wanted the tears to stop, and they did, replaced by delighted giggles.   Since then she never tired of reminding me of how I so completely humiliated myself, but I didn’t mind.  She always smiled when she teased, and I always smiled back when in return I left a “present” of a dead mouse or frog in her sleeping bag. Good kitty.

In silence we passed the rest of the evening. The time for words was over.

The wedding was a fortnight later.  When the day came, I stood dry eyed and proud of the beautiful woman she’d become.  I basked in that radiant smile.  She was happy, and that was all that mattered, but after the wedding train left for her husband’s keep, I ran off, shrugging aside the condolences of Family with a false smile.  I ran beneath the moonlit sky and howled my loneliness to the stars. 

I miss you. Be happy.

I haven’t seen her since.