“One strong cat can pull the cart alone, but it will always be outpaced by a team.”
—Vanir Proverb
The baby was restless, kicking every organ within reach. It hurt to sit and to lie down, so I opted for something more active. I grabbed the broom and swept the floor in slow, rhythmic motions, hoping to somehow rock him to sleep with the sway of my hips. I could hardly blame him though; my mind was churning with thoughts so loud and upsetting that it kept me awake as well.
I was in the middle of singing him a lullaby when a ruckus came from the other side of the front door, followed by shushing, quiet, and then a knock. Broom in hand, I tottered over to the door; some days it was the only speed I had, and that was as frustrating as anything else about being pregnant. When I opened it, I found a host of gods on the other side.
Idunn was at the front with Bragi. “Good evening!”
“Umm, hello?” I moved aside, not sure I had any other option. They filed in, first Thor, then Hod, Eyvindr, Frey, and even Lofn, each one passing with a greeting. They gathered around the table and sat down as Bragi began to pull food and drink from an enormous bag. Thor set a full-sized keg of mead on the floor.
Idunn took the broom from my hand and nudged me toward the table. “You refuse to come to supper, so we brought supper to you.”
Eyvindr was pulling platters and cups from my cupboards while Lofn put water over the fire to boil. Frey was passing food down the length of the table until Bragi had emptied the bag. It was enough to feed a small army, clearly smuggled straight from Valhalla’s kitchens.
“This is too kind.” I was suddenly very aware that I was in an old nightdress and hadn’t bothered to do anything with my hair.
“Everyone needs a little company.” Lofn set a cup down in front of me with a wink.
I stared at Frey. “You’re…out of place, aren’t you?”
“Admittedly, yes. Your husband scares the hel out of me, and my sister would have my head on a pike if she knew, but I’m not one to say no to an invitation.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I appreciate the honesty.”
After everyone had settled in and taken their share, the stories began. Lofn told us about her most recent trip to Svartalfheim where she officiated over a secret wedding between three Dwarves. Thor spun a tale about an enormous Jotun he’d killed, which was what most of his stories were always about. Hod gave us a story that had been told to him by a young boy from Midgard, whose father had been an inventor of sorts. Each story was a distraction, something to take up space in my mind so that my own wasn’t front and centre.
I winced as the baby kicked and sent pain spider-webbing through my side.
“Are you alright?” Lofn leaned over the table.
“Just a kick. He’s a strong one.” I tapped my fingers on the table until the pain subsided.
“I bet he’ll be wily and sarcastic, just like his father.” Thor was grinning from ear to ear.
Everyone grew quiet for a moment, the unbearable silence that comes when someone finally brings up the one thing they were trying to avoid.
“More than likely.” I smiled and gave my stomach a rub. “He’s just as strong-willed, I can tell you that much, and when Loki gets back, he’s going to be so proud.”
Frey looked at me with such pity that I could hardly stand it. “How can you be so sure that he’s coming back at all?”
“Because I know him.” But it was clear that wasn’t enough for him. “I hear the whispers. Everyone says he doesn’t want to be a father, but they haven’t seen him, the way it’s changed him. He put a ring on my finger and made me a promise. If something is keeping him away, it’s got nothing to do with us.”
“It’s brave,” Bragi said. “Keeping such high spirits.”
“No, it’s not.” I stretched my fingers, resisting the urge to slam my fist on the table instead. “Just because people keep saying he’s run off doesn’t make it true. Loki is coming home. I just need to be patient.”
But I could hear my own desperation even as I said it.
“You’re right.” Hod nodded, a pained but compassionate look on his face. “Patience is difficult when it comes to the heart, but it’ll be worth the wait.”
A slow trickle of affirmations turned into stories about Loki. Things he’d done, trouble he’d caused, kindnesses he’d given. It was nice. Beautiful, even. But there was something about it that bothered me. I listened and listened, and the realization crept over me like a cold chill.
These stories…it felt like a wake. The reminiscing about something that was over and would never be again. Like the funeral pyre was burning outside and no one was ready to admit that he was already dead.