Frigga (Valentines Sweethearts)

Chapter 2

The next day, I woke to the warm hug of my snood knotted tightly around my lean body, The TV blaring, and an empty bowl of noodles balanced on my lap, the starchy smell musty in the air. I grabbed the bowl, placing it safely on the table before it could tip over. Stretching, I went about my usual routine before turning the kettle on, its low rumble like the presence of a calming purr as I waited as patiently as a decaffeinated person can. I fished my phone from my pocket, checking my messages and scrolling over the junk mail that seemed to evade my filters.

There, hiding at the back, was the email I had been waiting for. I clicked it open, my heart racing at one thousand miles a minute. I crossed my fingers like a child. This was it. My finger hovered over the touchscreen. Click .

Dear Miss Frigga Smith,

We are happy to invite you into our folds here at the museum. We look forward to working with you. Sam has assured me your interview was very productive and I look forward to meeting you on Monday.

Yes, yes, yes! I wanted to scream, but ended up doing a happy dance between the sofa and table in the form of the world's worst wiggle. I was definitely not cut out to be a dancer of any kind, no matter how many ballet lessons I had been marched to as a child. In the productions I was always the elephant whilst the other girls leapt around like delicate swans. I unwedged myself and put on the coffee. Sipping it, I could not help the smile that spread across my face. I am free from my parents. At least for a little longer. I will make this job work. I have to.

Butterflies flapped around in my stomach as I grabbed another coffee and headed to the wardrobe in the small single bedroom covered in pinkish rose wallpaper. It smelled like old must and cigarettes which was why I mostly slept on the sofa. My aunt had been a chain smoker for a long time and the yellowed marks on the wallpaper and ceiling could attest to that. Opening the window by the safety latch, I chewed my lip in thought. Since leaving home for university, I haven’t needed a suit, but I always kept one in my wardrobe just in case. Especially where my parents were concerned. You never knew when they would drop a family occasion on you or one of my siblings hosted a charity event. Shaking the mothballs from the stiff grey cotton pant suit, I smiled. I had really done it and now I would show everyone how well I could do on my own. Hanging it up to dishevel the creases of time, I headed into the shower, washing. I changed into sweats, one article of clothing my mother could not abide, before grabbing my laptop and getting a head start on the whole Norse mythology theme. It wasn’t like I had much background on it so it was a blessing I had the weekend to prepare. But unfortunately the weekend went faster than I could have imagined. I was studying up on all the Gods and their purposes in the Norse religion, but I also had a stonking headache. Before work tomorrow, I had to get rid of this. I thought it was an early night for me. I packed my laptop and stylus away, set my phone to charge, made sure I turned the alarm on and had a thermos flask ready for my morning coffee. Then I slumped into bed, covers pulled tight, a silly panda eye mask pulled over my eyes to soothe them as I slept amidst a splay of overstuffed plushies and pillows. Although I considered moving away from my family’s riches, the comfort of a luxurious bed was a luxury I couldn’t let go of, regardless of my age. I twisted my hair up into the hello kitty scrunchie my brother had gifted me years ago and sighed as I felt my body melt into a relaxing puddle in the bed. I heard my soft snores before I felt my body drift into weightless sleep.

Beep Beep Beep!

The alarm woke me, my hand swooping out from under my fluffy cloud of pillows to smack it off. I groaned and stretched out fully. Hearing my muscles pop with satisfaction, I crawled from the nest of my bed. Pulling off my scrunchie and securely fastening it to my wrist where it settled like a sixties bracelet.

Whether it went with the stone grey pant suit or not, the scrunchie was staying. It gave me courage. I could feel it as I combed my mid-length hair, leaving it down… for now. Too nervous to eat, I grabbed my thermos, filling it and slung my bags on my shoulder, my purse reachable and ready for the bus ride. I left home, forgetting my Mac as I hurried to the bus stop, the butterflies in my stomach burning the nearer I got to the museum, until I was finally there, not a five minute walk from the entrance.

The building stood intimidatingly. It had a huge glass window, and I watched the footman as I clicked closer to the wide entrance in my heels.

You can do this. You got this. I pulled at the scrunchie, letting it snap back into my wrist. We got this. I stepped inside, the musty smell of old, stony artifacts tickling my nose.

‘Frigga sweetie!’ It was the sunshine woman at the desk who greeted me as I quickly sipped an ‘oh my God give me strength’ sized gulp of coffee.

“Good morning, Mrs Anton”

“Oh Jessy… it’s Jessy, sweetie. No formalities here, we are all family.” She grinned. “Well, not literally, but you know what I mean. Don’t you?” As she babbled, her frizzy red hair bobbed.

“Of course.”

“Oh good. Here I was thinking I put my foot in it again and you thought we were all...”

“Can you tell Mr Wallace I’m here? Please?” I couldn’t help my abruptness.

“Oh sure.” She swung on her wheel chair. “Let me just.. and... yes there he is. Oh yes. Hello sir. Why no, I mean yes, she’s right here and I… Oh, yes of course, I’ll send her in. W…where are you again? The Blue Room? Okay, Sir, yes sir. Cheerio.” Putting the phone down, she giggled. “He is such a naughty old man, charming the likes of me like that when he knows I don't like it.” She blushed peruse and I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. It sure looked like she enjoyed it to me.

Sweeping my hazel hair from my soft toned face, I pulled my stylus and laptop from my bag, switched it on, the bright light glaring blindingly in the afternoon ambiance of the museum cafeteria, and began sketching up a floor plan with the use of the interior measurements Mr Wallace had sent me.

The job was not the one of my dreams, but by God I would do my best to make it the best it could be. If that meant I spent every waking moment slaving over the sketches then that was what I would do and by the end of it I would have a spectacular piece for my portfolio. Yes, that was the plan. I paused, sticking the stylus over my ear before reaching for my now lukewarm coffee. I cringed inwardly as the eggshell blue mugs chip scratched my lips, a bead of blood blooming from its inappropriate kiss.

Hissing, I put the cup down, searching my pockets for a tissue to dab at my swelling lip. Just my luck , I thought as I pulled out a receipt for the bus, a penny, and a bent paper clip. With a deep sigh, I scooted my chair back to stand but before I could a caramel hand presented a white cotton handkerchief before me, its edges neatly folded.

“Here, you have a little something…” I looked up to see Mr Wotan stroke the bottom of his lip, his doe eyes gentle as he gave an encouraging brief nod. Feeling my cheeks heat at the hesitation, I quickly swept up the handkerchief and pressed it firmly to my lips, staving off the flowering crimson.

“Uh, thank you.” I pulled the stylus back from behind my ear and started sketching single handedly, the cotton pressed to my lip. But burying my head in my sketches seemed to have the unaverred effect of drawing Mr Wotan’s attention more deeply as he leaned over me to point at the screen.

“Hmm. Is that where you're thinking of putting Odin's sword?” I turned to look up at him, the space between us a mere three prickling inches. A sharp nod said what I couldn’t. I hated men getting this close. Ever since my ex forced his intentions upon me, the mere sight of men this close to me sent shivers down my spine. “Are you cold?”

“Huh? N…no.”

“Hmmm. Maybe a hot cup of coffee? Yours looks barely drinkable.” Chewing the inside of my cheek, I conceded.

“Fine. Thank you.” I tried desperately to concentrate on my sketch as Mr Wotan placed a steaming cup of coffee next to me and pulled out a chair. Sitting, he reached over, turning the screen. Instantly, my back stiffened. I grabbed a sip of my coffee to cover it but the slight tilt of his lip betrayed his notice.

“Okay, talk me through this.” He pointed to the museum entrance.

“Well, I was thinking of starting with some facts like the ‘did you know’ style bubbles you slide to reveal answers.”

“Hmm, like, did you know the famous tale of the three billy goats gruff started out from the Norse fairy tale of the bad tempered beast?” I blinked, never taking my eyes off of him as he practically became one with the design I had sketched.

“Yes, interactive slides of the mischievous Loki and facts brought through to the Marvel characters we see now.” He tilted his head, sliding his large rimmed spectacles up his sharp nose to frame his almond doe eyes. “You did your research.”

“Of course,” I snapped, slightly offended he would think me inept when it came to job preparation, but then I supposed that was what many people prejudged recent graduates of. He leaned in closer and I fought not to back away as his knee gently nudged mine sending shockwaves of warning through my system at the same time as stirring something foreign within the depths of my soul, something restless and fluttering.

“But do you know the tale of Frigg and her beloved son?” He grinned. I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not completely unaware of the origins of my name, Mr Wotan.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He leaned closer. “And call me Sam.”

“I.. I…” Sliding my chair back, I stood suddenly. “I was a December baby and they said they couldn’t think of a name until one day they spotted mistletoe. They kissed beneath it and wanted to remember the special day so they named me after the goddess who created the mistletoe in remembrance of her son.”

“It figures. But your parents must have been very into Norse mythology or Vikings. Maybe they were even…”

“They are deep in the belly of this country's business network. Wealthy beyond dreams and, yes, I'm sure my father wanted to relay that power and wealth by affording all of my siblings and I status even within our names. I've broken from them. This is to be my new start, a chance at life without their guided intentions.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “Sometimes within wealthy families their daughters and sons are used as commodities to further enhance the family's status and that was me with my ex who turned out to be… awful. So, from now on, I will make my own decisions and show them I don’t need their approval to be happy.” Sam arched towards me, his gentle fingers stroking my forearm softly.

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you. I respect your decision, it is a bold and noble one.”

“I assume they named me after a goddess on purpose. I suppose I prefer to think that it was purposeful that they viewed me as their ‘little goddess’.” I shrugged, my turtle-neck sweater sliding up to cozy my ears and hide my mouth like a child left out in the cold.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. It was not my intention. I was just… curious.” He sat up straighter, rubbing a caramel hand through his fine obsidian hair. “Maybe I should go.” Stuck in my own traumatic dissociation, I remained silent, a single tear slipping from my eye. Not a year had passed since I felt on top of the world, fulfilled and happy but now…

Sam braced his hands on the table, readying to stand before changing his mind and placing his hand on mine. “You know I like to think that my parents are in the halls of Valhalla right now, feasting and drinking with the warriors, looking down on me, watching over me, pride glittering in their eyes.” He smiled softly.

I turned watery blue eyes as deep as the bottomless ocean to the warmth of his earthy brown ones like a moth to the flame. I was drawn back from my disposition, back from the deep trauma of my past to the comforting kindness in his almond shaped eyes and the easy smile on his thin lips. I smiled in return, for once grateful that someone had stayed with me instead of abandoning me in my flashbacks of the past like so many of those people who could not possibly understand did.

“Are you feeling a little better?” His smooth soft voice wrapped me in a comfort blanket I didn’t know I needed.

“Yes. Thank you. It happens sometimes when I disassociate and end up stuck in a void of my past.”

“I imagine that can be hard. I wasn’tsure at first. Thought that maybe you just needed to be left alone, but then your eyes…”

“My eyes?”

“They reminded me of how my sister’ would glaze over when she had one of her fits as a child. She would seem almost blind to the world.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, she’s fine. She was content living in Cornwall. The fresh sea air is supposed to help that kind of thing.”

“Cornwall? Wow. I hear it’s pretty down there.” He nodded.

“It is. You should go sometime.” My eyes darted to his, a small blush creeping along my cheeks as the intensity of his gaze burned into mine.

“Sometime,” I barely whispered, earning a wide grin that showcased his double dimples, making my internal feminine side sigh with appreciation.

At the sound of clinking dishes, we both looked to the canteen desk where staff stood busily wrapping and packing bits away.

“I guess they are closing,” he muttered. I sighed, shutting my laptop, and placing both it and the stylus carefully in my bag. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“Oh, I don’t drive,” I chuckled in embarrassment. I never really had to when I was younger. I always had a driver take me wherever I wanted.

“Oh, do you live close, then?” he probed

“Oh no, I caught the bus here. I live on the outskirts.” He raised an eyebrow at that.

“Can I drive you home?” he asked, shuffling on the spot. I slid my silky hair from the little cat scrunchie and placed it on my wrist.

“Alright. Thank you,” I conceded, a ride in a car would be much faster and smoother than the bus and I was already desperate to get out of my suit and into my fluffy cozies with a steaming mug of chamomile tea. I sighed.

“Come on, you look tired.” I noticed his fingers twitching before he pulled the car keys from his pocket. Smiling softly, I got up, tucked my chair in and packed away my laptop. The main lights of the museum shut off when we exited and the night guard bid us a peaceful evening, with a conspiratorial wink aimed in Sam's direction. He shook his head gently in reprimand. “Its open.” He slipped into the old sedan and started the engine. As the engine purred to life, I shivered. Suddenly, the heater thrummed to life and I inwardly grinned, appreciating the attention he paid to my comfort.

As the car pulled off, my heart gave a little skip. I had done it. I was finally putting my masters in design to use and loving it. Even if it was only at the town’s local museum.