59. Helena
Helena
Helena’s plan worked!
Bertram agreed to go out with Diana, meaning he was now unavailable for Helena, which meant that Helena no longer needed to pine over him!
Hooray!
The reason Helena was pacing the floor waiting to see if Bertram would stay out all night had nothing to do with jealousy or regret.
It was just that totally normal burst of energy she always got at one-thirty a.m.!
Plus, Lovey was following closely at Helena’s heels, and she had to make sure Lovey got her exercise!
Helena could tell that Bertram was trying to be quiet as he snuck back into camp, but she heard his footsteps, nevertheless. She popped out of the tent with what she hoped was a sufficiently cheery but casual smile.
“Hey!” she said. “How did it go with Diana?”
“Is the plural of pegasus ‘pegapodes?’ ” Bertram asked, and he sounded slightly tipsy.
Helena blinked. “What?”
“It’s all I’ve been able to think about. Is the plural of pegasus ‘pegapodes?’ Because it’s Greek, right? Like ‘octopus’ and ‘platypus.’ Right? Or not right?”
“Um.” Helena swallowed. “In those cases, the Greek suffix is ‘-pus’ means ‘foot,’ so ‘octopus’ being ‘eight-footed,’ ‘platypus’ being ‘flat-footed.’ So, the plural of ‘pus’ as in ‘foot’ is ‘pode,’ but it’s pegasus with an ‘sus,’ not ‘pus’ with a ‘p’—”
“So, would it be pegasodes?” Bertram asked. “Or pegasi?”
“I think it’s Latin from Greek, so I don’t . . . I think ‘pegasuses’ is probably just fine—I’m sorry, what the fuck are we talking about?”
“I told you,” Bertram said, “it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”
Helena’s mind whirred. Did this mean that he and Diana hadn’t .
. . done anything? Not that she would care if she had.
And also, maybe that isn’t what that meant at all.
Maybe he and Diana did have sex, and the sex was so good it completely erased his brain and wiped his memory of everything since that moment that she had given him that helpful-and-not-at-all-condescending lesson in pluralization.
Or, if she was lucky . . .
“Did you not have fun with Diana?” Helena asked. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for his answer.
“I did,” Bertram said, and his tone didn’t reveal much of anything as to what kind of “fun” that may have been. “You know Diana. She’s great. We had a lot of fun.”
Helena swallowed. She could walk away right now, without ever knowing exactly what had transpired between Bertram and Diana.
Maybe that would be easier for her. But curiosity infamously killed the Pallas’ sailer cat—not literally, though—as a whole, the species was thriving in crevices and burrows.
For that matter neither the Pallas’ sailer butterfly nor Pallas’s cat had ever made it past “Least Concern” by IUCN.
But Helena was far from experiencing the least concern, and her sanity was trending toward “Critically Endangered.” And so she forged ahead, with yet another question she probably didn’t have the right to ask and didn’t actually want to know the answer to.
“Did Diana show you a really wild time, as promised?”
Bertram smiled. “She did.”
“Good for you,” Helena said, and her sanity officially crossed into the “Extinct” threshold.
Nevertheless, she hoped that sounded sincere and not at all vitriolic, because it would be very unfair to be vitriolic when she was the one who told Bertram to go on the date in the first place like the stupid fucking idiot she was.
“Good for both of you!” Helena added, with a serene smile, just to reaffirm how unbothered and supportive she was of the consequences of her own goddamn stupid, stupid actions.
“It’s the name of the bar,” Bertram said. “T-H-Y-M-E. Wild thyme—it’s an herb with little purple flowers.”
Helena felt a surge of relief, and she hated herself for it. “Oh.”
“You would love it, actually. Lots of flowers, music was low enough for conversation . . .”
“I’m glad you two had fun,” Helena forced out as her sanity slowly experienced population growth back from “Extinct” into “Critically Endangered” territory (which she supposed meant that her sanity had only ever really been “Extinct in the Wild”).
Her heart had stopped racing, at least, and she felt like she could breathe again.
She really, really hoped Bertram hadn’t noticed how her breath had caught in the first place.
“It would be weird if you weren’t glad,” Bertram said, casually, “seeing as how you’re the one who told me I should go.”
He was smiling, but there was a knowing look in his eye. He had definitely noticed, Helena thought.
Unless he hadn’t, and she was projecting because of her own paranoia.
“So, are you going to see her again?” Helena asked, which definitely didn’t help make her seem less invested, but at this point it was too late.
“Presumably,” Bertram said. “Merry Wanderer is the only service that delivers to the Folio Mountains.”
“But are you going to see her again, you know, romantically?” Helena plowed forward. “Like, did you two even—how did you two end things?”
Bertram raised an eyebrow. “Very nosy.”
“Sorry,” Helena said, quickly. She mentally kicked herself.
If Bertram hadn’t been suspicious beforehand, he would certainly be now.
“You don’t have to tell me. It just sounds like you had a nice time, but also you’re here so you didn’t go home with her—so I wasn’t sure if—I mean, just because I set the two of you up doesn’t mean I’m entitled to any of the details of your personal sex life, not that there was sex, or will be, I mean, you haven’t said, which is fine—I’m just, you know, being a friend, wanting to know what’s going on in my friend’s life, but I totally respect if you have a ‘don’t kiss and tell’ policy. ”
“I do,” Bertram said.
Helena blushed. “Oh, well, in that case—”
“But there was no kissing to tell about.”
“Oh!” Helena said, and she wasn’t at all overjoyed to hear this, because she had no right to be overjoyed. “Oh, really?”
“She didn’t want to have sex with me—”
“Oh, really?” Helena’s voice rose higher, but not because she had any opinion whatsoever on whether or not Bertram and Diana had sex.
“She wants to have sex with us.”
Helena choked. “She what?”
Bertram laughed. “She said I’m cute and all, but if she had to pick just one of us it would be you. She felt the ideal solution for everyone might be a threesome.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“I have no idea if you’re fucking with me or not,” Helena said.
“I’m not, but Diana would like me to be.”
Helena buried her face in her hands to hide her deepening flush.
“I told Diana there was almost no way you would be interested in a threesome—”
“Um, excuse me!” Helena said haughtily. “You don’t know that!”
“ ‘Almost no way,’ I said, but I also told her that I’d pass the message along.
” Bertram shrugged. “I know you wouldn’t have anything on it morally; you’re just bad at multitasking and easily overwhelmed, so I assumed a threesome wouldn’t appeal to you.
If I’m wrong, I’m happy to text Diana and tell her as much. ”
“You’re wrong,” Helena said.
Bertram reached for his phone.
“WAIT! No. You’re not wrong. I just . . . didn’t want you to be right,” Helena mumbled. “You make me sound boring.”
“I promise I didn’t,” Bertram said. “I told Diana you were more likely to accept her invite to go out just the two of you. So, do you . . . do you want to go out with Diana?”
Helena’s heart pounded in her chest. Something about the query felt incredibly dangerous.
“Yes?” It came out more like a question than an answer, probably because it was.
“Yes?” Bertram echoed.
“Yes,” Helena corrected, turning it into a strong statement. “Yes. Yes, she’s very lovely and as long as you don’t think it would make you jealous, then yes.”
“Which of you would I be jealous of in this situation?” Bertram asked. “I’m not with either of you. You’re both lovely, attractive, smart, funny women, and if you think you might be interested in her, by all means, you should go for it.”
“Right,” said Helena.
Because she wasn’t with Bertram. And she couldn’t let him think she was pining for him, when he was so ready to go with Diana, and it was Diana who rejected him.
“Yes, I would love to go out with Diana. At some point,” Helena added, quickly. “I don’t think Lovey is ready to be without me yet, with the imprinting bond and everything, but when she is—yes, I’ll go out with Diana.”
Helena’s phone buzzed, and she was glad for a reason to hide her face.
“Diana making her move already?” Bertram asked, and there was something strained in his voice.
“No.” Helena shook her head. “Just your mom.”
“Ah yes.” Bertram laughed. “Another woman who chooses you over me.”
Helena’s head snapped up.
“I was kidding,” Bertram said, quickly. “My feelings weren’t even that hurt by Diana—”
“First of all,” Helena said, “it sounds like Diana didn’t want to choose me, per se, her ideal situation is both of us, and your mom also wants both of us—in a very different way than Diana does, sorry! That sounded weird. It’s late—”
“Yes, it is,” Bertram said. “So, forget I said anything. Please. Like you said. It’s late, and I’m drunk.”
“Sure, but do you really think your mom would choose me over you?”
Bertram shrugged. “You’re the one she’s constantly texting, right?”
“Because she’s been checking in on Lovey, because I’m the one Lovey imprinted on,” Helena said. “But she always asks me how you’re doing.”
“Why doesn’t she ask me?” Bertram said.
Helena fell silent.
“I’m not saying my mom doesn’t love me, but . . .” Bertram shook his head. “Helena. She invited the woman who broke my heart to come live on a remote mountain with her and me, while giving me no warning. Don’t you think that’s kind of fucked?”
Helena swallowed. “I don’t think she meant it to be—but—you’re right. That’s fucked.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Hel. I really am. I’m more glad than I ever expected to be. But she should have at least given me a choice.”
“Yes, she should have. And—I didn’t know that you didn’t know,” Helena said, desperately.
“When I agreed to take this project, I thought you were aware—if I knew she hadn’t told you, I would have at least reached out to see how you felt about it, or I wouldn’t have come at all.
I didn’t—I didn’t mean to just—just surprise you like that—”
“I know you didn’t,” Bertram said, his tone gentle.
As always, his softness was a balm to Helena’s whirring mind.
“I’m not mad at you,” Bertram said. “I’m not even really mad at my mom, I just . . .”
There was a moment of silence, broken only by Lovey’s soft snoring from within the tent.
“Maybe I am mad at my mom,” Bertram finally said. “I can see why my mom loves you, Hel, of course, but I don’t know why I’m not . . . sometimes I feel like . . .”
“What?” Helena asked, gently.
“I’m everyone’s second choice,” Bertram admitted. “At best.”
Helena felt her heart break.
How could Bertram think that?
It took her right back to their high school days, where Bertram always felt so out of place, so unwanted, even when he was so admired and liked by many of their classmates.
Even when he was absolutely adored by Helena.
Sometimes, Helena thought no one ever really aged past fourteen years old.
Here Bertram was at twice that age, and she saw in him the same insecure boy who worried he would never be good enough.
The same sweet Person who couldn’t see what Helena saw: that he was the most wonderful Person in the world.
That he deserved to be loved—that he was loved—by so many.
“Hey.” Helena took Bertram’s face in her hands.
Whether he meant to or not, he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.
“That’s not true,” Helena said, fiercely.
“Your mom loves you more than anything. And really, I’m Diana’s second choice, since her first choice is a threesome, and, yes, I guess that bumps you down to third but”—Helena leaned her forehead against Bertram’s—“you’re my first choice, okay?
I mean, when it comes to what we’re doing.
For whatever it’s worth. And it may not be worth anything at this point.
But if I could pick anyone in the entire world to be here with—your esteemed mother, Syr Hippolyta Duke, any of the all-time magizoology greats—I would still choose you, Bertram. ”
Bertram smiled. “I’m being overdramatic. I’ll sleep it off. Forgive me.”
Bertram started toward his tent. Then he turned back—
“It does mean something to me, Hel. What you said. It means—it means everything. Thank you.”