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“Turn this car around immediately, Miles Edgeworth.”
“It will only be for a few days,” Miles says, in a reasonable, older-brother tone that sets her teeth on edge.
“Five days,” Franziska corrects. “In the wilderness. Hours away from even the most pathetic excuse for civilization, Los Angeles. And now you inform me that this place has no wifi? No reception and no wifi? How am I expected to remain up to date on my caseload from there?”
“You are not meant to be looking at your caseload. You are meant to be,” says Miles, and she is mildly gratified that he can barely grind the word out, it is so foreign to both of them, “relaxing.”
The car takes a sharp curve as it climbs higher into the mountains. As they continue to drive, the trees grow taller, the landscape wilder, Franziska’s chances of successfully hitchhiking back to LAX grow slimmer. She seethes.
“I tell you again, that this is unnecessary.”
“It is necessary,” he says. “Did the cardiologist not say that you have the blood pressure of someone twice your age?”
“I’ve always been precocious,” Franziska mutters. She deeply regrets telling Miles Edgeworth that little fact. She had only bothered going to the doctor at all because she had briefly lost consciousness at work. Or, as her colleagues described it much to her displeasure, she had “fainted.”
She already knew the cause—stress and exhaustion, not enough sleep and too many international flights in one week. Still, when she had told her little brother about it as an amusing anecdote, he became grave and concerned on the phone. He even threatened to visit her, it was quite troublesome to dissuade him. He loved showing off his ability to charter a private jet, even though it was something any fool with a platinum card could do.
“You need to reduce your stress levels,” says Miles, for the thousandth time.
Franziska sighs. “I’ve already agreed to take an entire week off. What more do you want from me?”
He taps his temple knowingly. Disgusting. “I’m sure that you were planning to spend the week working remotely, on the phone with Interpol the entire time. Thus, my suggestion of this meditation retreat. Kurain Village is very peaceful. Hiking, swimming, yoga are all on offer. I think you will find it the perfect place for rest.”
He pauses, eyes on the road. His smug expression slips for a moment. “And as for what I want from you...I would like for you to live a long life, Franziska.”
Which isn’t fair at all. Only he would be so brazen as to bring sentiment into an argument with her. Especially when they both already know that he has won, that she has already agreed to go on this stupid, stupid meditation retreat for his sake, because she can’t stand to hear his worried voice on the phone.
“You want me to live a long life? I could be eaten by a bear,” she says, just to get the last, petulant word. “I could be eaten by a bear in the wilderness. Then wouldn’t you feel stupid.”
~~~
“Enjoy your stay, Franziska!” Miles calls. Ridiculous, like she is a child being dropped off at summer camp.
The garish red sports car pulls away. She’s overdressed for the mountains in late spring. She feels hot and sticky. Stifled.
Kurain Village doesn’t exactly fill her with positive associations. It brings to mind murder, death, the first spot on her perfect record. She wonders if this place is any different, now that Maya Fey is the master here. Franziska has to admit that she is curious. She hasn’t seen Maya Fey in several years.
A cheerful acolyte meets Franziska at the door of Fey manor and leads her to a small bedroom in the annex, chirping away excitedly about how wonderful the retreat will be.
“It is such a peaceful, spiritual experience. Mystic Maya will help you to move on from your struggles. She will teach you so much about mindfulness, and living in the moment.”
Franziska groans internally. It all sounds like the sort of thing that should be embroidered on a throw pillow. What does any of this have to do with channeling the dead?
She half-listens as she inspects the room she is expected to live in over the next five days. A futon on the floor. A shared restroom. None of the usual comforts she expects, no king sized bed, or soaking tub, or blackout curtains.
At least there is a desk. The most important thing, the only real requirement: a place to work. Franziska begins unpacking, thankful for the case files she has brought to review. She searches for an outlet to plug her laptop in. There is…no outlet.
A lantern sits on the nightstand, battery powered. Good god. Miles mentioned that one of the goals of her visit was to 'unplug' but surely he couldn't mean--there’s no electricity in this room? What about her hairdryer?
“We’ll bring you dinner in your room shortly!” the perky acolyte announces.
Franziska is distracted momentarily from her search for a power source. She’s hungry, she realizes, with the abrupt sensation of being jolted from the world of her mind into her physical body. Skipping meals is common with her busy schedule, and room service is one of the few pleasures of her life.
“Ah excellent. Dinner. I would like to order a perfectly roasted salmon filet with a very dry white wine. And a large piece of chocolate cake for dessert, with a pot of your strongest green tea.”
The acolyte bites her lip. “Unfortunately we have one meal for the whole manor each evening. This evening we’re serving a soothing tofu soup made with herbs from our garden! Alcohol and caffeine are prohibited to those hoping for the relaxation retreat experience...but if you’d like something sweet after dinner, I can offer you some seaweed snacks!”
Miles Edgeworth I will kill you, Franziska thinks.
~~~
She barely sleeps at all. For some reason, the total silence and darkness of the woods around Fey Manor are more distracting than the ambient light and distant sirens of Berlin. Here in the woods, there is no background noise to drown out her own thoughts.
Franziska emerges from her futon the next morning groggy and enraged, her electric toothbrush already running out of power without a charge.
The breakfast delivered to her room consists of a small piece of fish, salad, a bowl of miso soup. Buckwheat tea, which she is deeply grateful for, though it is decaffeinated. She realizes, idly, that caffeine must make up about half of her bloodstream on a normal day.
Her cheerful acolyte guide leads her to the central room of the manor.
“You’re so lucky Ms. von Karma! Today you’ll be experiencing a meditation class with a group of the acolytes here. Mystic Maya will lead you on a beautiful journey towards serenity!”
The central room has been arranged for the class when Franziska arrives. Other robed disciples sit on mats scattered around the floor. The lights have been dimmed, the windows are closed against the heat. Franziska chooses a mat and sits down awkwardly.
There is an air of anticipation in the room. Franziska can’t help but peer keenly towards the sliding door where everyone else watches, waiting for Maya Fey to appear.
Will I recognize her, she wonders, and wracks her brain for the Maya she remembers, the cheerful girl with the easy, confident smile. And then she thinks of her own younger self, tight-lipped with grief and rage, a different person, a person long behind her.
Will she recognize me?
Finally there is a soft, chiming noise, and then a beautiful vision enters the room on a cloud of jasmine incense. Maya Fey, Franziska knows immediately, and realizes that she would have recognized her anywhere. Maya is dressed up in her ceremonial robes, her dark hair pulled into the high topknot of her station.
She looks, Franziska thinks--but her brilliant mind, usually articulate in six languages, stumbles searching for the correct word.
The round, baby face of the girl she knew is gone. Replaced by someone regal and almost otherworldly, taller, the planes of her face harder. Maya inclines her head in an elegant bow of greeting. Her smile, when she smiles, is perfect and serene.
“Good morning,” Maya addresses the small group in the room. Her voice is warm, sweet and rich as caramel. “I would like to lead you in a meditation,” she says.
One of the acolytes in the corner of the room strikes the chime again. Franziska feels the deep, metallic reverberation in her chest.
“Listen to the sound of my voice and empty your mind of thoughts,” says Maya. “If you feel comfortable, lie back and close your eyes.”
Franziska complies, lying back on the floor mat. She hears the other acolytes shuffling and shifting around her.
“Inhabit your body,” says Maya. “Feel everywhere that the ground holds your body up. Now, imagine a river…”
Maya paints a picture of a river. She paints a picture of moonlight. Her voice is soft but clear, hypnotic, it reaches inside of Franziska and paints image after image until Franziska’s mind is truly empty of thoughts and all she can hear is the sound of her own breath. After what feels like a long time, she realizes that Maya has stopped speaking. Everyone in the room is silent, deep in meditation. Franziska falls asleep.
~~~
When she wakes up in the training room, she is the only one there. All of the other mats have been put away, lined against the wall. Franziska feels a hot, guilty flush of embarrassment. She doesn’t believe in any of this meditation nonsense, obviously, but she hadn’t meant to be rude. Did she snore? Drool? She had tried to stay awake but she was very jetlagged and truthfully, she hadn’t had a proper sleep in months.
And now, she feels...better. Rested.
When she exits the room, an acolyte is cleaning up in the hallway. The girl smiles at Franziska.
“You’re free to do whatever you'd like for the rest of the afternoon,” the acolyte informs her. “Perhaps you’d like to explore the grounds.”
Foolish, Franziska thinks dismissively. She has always been easily bored by nature. She chooses instead to spend the rest of the day getting through as much work as she can.
She returns to her small room in the annex, where she squeezes every last drop of battery power out of her laptop. There is no wifi, but she drafts emails and savors every document with relevant case facts, memorizing as fast as she can read. When the laptop eventually dies, she hears herself make a small, distressed sound along with it.
It’s late afternoon. So much of the day still remains. Franziska supposes that she has no choice but to ‘explore the grounds’ after all. She ventures out, blinking in the sunlight.
There are walking paths. Acolytes tending a large garden. Franziska chooses one of the trails leading into the surrounding woods at random, and walks for a while.
The trail makes a large, circuitous loop around Fey Manor, but there’s a little deer trail--hardly cleared and rarely used--branching off the main path. Franziska, though unenthused by nature, is unable to resist a mystery, and decides to push through the underbrush to see where it leads.
The small trail is rocky, narrow, lined with thorny brambles that grab at her hair and clothes. It's unpleasant. But after about a mile of Franziska shoving through, furious and muttering to herself, the trail opens onto a clearing.
The clearing is green and soft. At the center of it is a pond, fed by a small waterfall. Sitting in the grass, in the midst of it, is Maya Fey.
Maya sits alone, in a golden beam of late afternoon sun, her head bent forward, perfectly still. At first, Franziska thinks that she must be deep in some sort of mystical meditation. She doesn’t look up or acknowledge Franziska’s presence in any way. But as Franziska moves closer, she can see that Maya is holding something in her lap, hunched over it like a loafing cat, and when she gets closer still, she notices that Maya is wearing earbuds. She’s listening to something, looking down at a sticker-covered laptop in her lap.
When Franziska’s shadow falls across her, Maya finally looks up. She smiles brightly, not startled, seemingly aware that Franziska has been there all along.
“Hey,” Maya says. “Um, welcome to the sacred waterfall.”
“What are you doing?” Franziska asks suspiciously, glancing over Maya’s shoulder at the frozen image on the screen. “Are you watching Steel Samurai: Director’s Cut in this meadow?”
“Yeah,” Maya says. She at least has the grace to look slightly embarrassed at how ridiculous it sounds, but then she starts laughing. “Would you like to join me?”
“Is that–is that allowed?” Franziska sputters. “Isn’t the point of my coming here to get away from technology? To be cut off from the outside world? Or is there some other reason why power to my laptop is being held hostage?”
“The point of you coming here is to rest,” says Maya evenly. “To relax. Also, you can charge your laptop at the front desk.”
Franziska hadn’t thought of that. Maya pats the patch of grass beside her. Franziska sits down, uncertainly. This is all very unusual.
“Well, I don’t feel relaxed,” she grumbles. “At all.”
“Did you have a nice nap earlier?” Maya asks innocently, the old, mischievous twinkle in her eye, and Franziska sees another flash of the girl she remembers, when Maya reaches one hand up to push her hair back behind her ear. Her hair has been let down, loose and long.
“Just play the episode, then,” Franziska says, feeling herself flush.
Maya unplugs her headphones and hits play. The little clearing fills with the sounds of battle, the tinny blare of the animated theme song. Franziska has already seen the entire series, thanks to her foolish brother’s obsession, and she finds her mind wandering at first, taking in the meadow, the waterfall burbling in the background, Maya Fey’s warm shoulder pressed close to hers.
Maya is deeply absorbed in the show. They watch in silence. Soon Franziska’s concentration returns to the plot as well. It’s been a long time since she has been able to just sit and watch a television show with her whole focus, even something so silly. She slowly allows her mind to settle back, not working or whirring with thoughts or arguments or conclusions.
They watch two episodes before it starts to get dark. Maya closes the laptop, and Franziska finds that when she returns to looking at the world around her, it looks clearer, sharper. Maya leads them out of the clearing. She steps nimbly over the rocks and holds the brambles aside, and this time, on the way back, Franziska notices the lacy patterns that the trees make, the way the sunset light paints Maya’s cheeks red.
“Thanks for watching with me,” Maya says, when they’re about to separate at the entrance to the manor.
“This was a very strange evening,” Franziska replies.
“Yeah,” Maya says, with a little grin.
"Why were you watching your show alone in the middle of a forest?"
Maya laughs. "I can't always do the things I want, here," she says vaguely, gesturing at the manor. “But the waterfall is kind of--my own place. It was nice to have some company. I had fun.”
“I also…” Franziska starts to say, but trails off as a young acolyte rushes up from the manor to meet them.
“Master Fey!” the acolyte calls, breathless and winded. “You’re needed by the elders in the training hall!”
“I’ll be there in just a moment,” says Maya, her back straightening, her smile fading, tucking the laptop away behind her. Her transformation is sudden. Now that they are back here, she is abrupt, authoritative. The Master.
But as she follows the acolyte down the hall, she looks back over her shoulder, and gives Franziska a quick, secretive wink.
~~~
Franziska doesn’t sleep well that night. She cannot stop thinking about it. That wink. Every time she remembers it, she feels too warm, overheated. It bothers her. Unexpected and incongruous–she does not appreciate the unexpected, or things that she cannot explain. Eventually she falls asleep, sheets kicked off in frustration, and wakes up three hours later to the chiming of a morning bell and a bowl of chia seed porridge at her door.
It doesn’t help her mood that the morning’s scheduled activity is a meditation led by Mystic Maya. Maya is back in her ‘Master’ persona, giving instructions in her calm, melodic voice, her face impassive, her manner serious. All of the other acolytes are closing their eyes, seeing rivers and moonlight, but all Franziska sees when she closes her eyes is the meadow, and the way Maya’s rich, dark hair spilled forward over her shoulder.
After the meditation, Franziska goes back to her little room. She thinks about charging her laptop but instead she opts for the few physical case files she brought along. As she pages through them, she finds that she cannot focus at all. The words swim and blur on the page. The heat of the room stifles her, sweat standing out under her starched collar.
She tries to read until dinner. It arrives at the usual time, some kind of foraged stuffed mushrooms and a clear broth. Franziska is so desperate for a sweet dessert that she tries the seaweed snack tucked carefully under her plate. It is better than nothing, but not by much.
After dinner, she wanders the grounds again. Her feet carry her up to the waterfall, but the clearing is empty this time. Franziska is startled at the depth of her disappointment, not to catch a glimpse of Maya again.
Foolish, foolish, she chides herself, with a mental finger wag. You have no time for such distractions.
But as fate would have it, Franziska descends the hill to return to the manor, just as the sun begins to set over the treeline, and she catches sight of Maya at the manor gate.
Maya is still wearing her ceremonial robes, the shining hairpiece pinning her bangs out of her eyes. She is standing with an elderly woman. The woman is crying, and holding onto Maya’s hand.
Franziska feels caught out, like a lumbering forest creature crashing into this intimate moment.
“Thank you,” the woman says, still weeping. She brings Maya’s hand to her lips and kisses it. “Thank you for letting me speak with my son again.”
“I’m sorry that he was taken from you, too soon,” says Maya. She looks over her shoulder, furtive, as though waiting for someone to chide her, and then she moves forward, pulling the elderly woman into an embrace. Her long sleeves drag on the ground as the woman sobs into her shoulder.
This is not something that she is supposed to do, Franziska realizes, because she knows the feeling well, from her own experiences chasing after kidnappers and trafficking rings, the way the case sometimes gets too close, and too personal.
Maya looks up. Her eyes skim momentarily over the forest, her face revealed, open and clear, turned towards the last of the fading sun. And Franziska sees that Maya is crying too, silently.
Maya and the woman bow to one another, and Maya slips back into the depths of the manor. Franziska stands there, until the light is gone, thinking about how all this nonsense she doesn’t believe in suddenly feels very real.
~~~
The next morning, Maya is the one to knock on Franziska’s door instead of the usual acolyte guide.
“Good morning!” she says, cheery and bright, like she’s informing Franziska of the best thing in the world.
Franziska winces, both at the volume, and the strange contrast between this cheerful Maya and the serious one she saw last night.
“You cannot greet people that way at dawn without offering them caffeine,” she says.
Maya smiles, unperturbed. “This morning, we’ll do a walking meditation. Just the two of us. I’ll give you some time to get ready.”
Franziska is intrigued by that, so she laces up her hiking boots and meets Maya a few minutes later at the trailhead. Maya is standing and stretching. She lifts one arm over her head, then the other. She is wearing yoga pants and a tank top today, her hair in a simple ponytail instead of the complicated topknot.
“There’s a mountain lake with a gorgeous view at the crest,” Maya says. “But it’s a seven mile uphill hike. Think you can handle it?”
“Easily,” says Franziska, never one to be intimidated by a challenge.
Maya raises an eyebrow. “Try to exist within your body,” she says, “and empty your mind of thoughts. Before we leave, do you have any questions?”
Franziska’s prosecutorial instincts kick in. She always was the first to raise her hand in law school.
“When will we be back?” she demands. “What SPF is recommended? How does one recognize and respond to poison oak?”
“In three to four hours. SPF 50 if you have it. If not, I have some. Leaves of three, let it be.”
Franziska points to the side of the path, where some small, purple wildflowers are gathered.
“What variety of flowers are those?” she asks, quizzing, just to be spiteful.
“Fuck if I know,” says Maya.
It startles Franziska into laughter, and Maya too. Maya has a bright, easy laugh.
“But they are pretty,” says Maya, “aren’t they?”
“I suppose…”
Abruptly, Maya takes Franziska’s hand in her own. She turns her palm up, running a finger over one of the lines there.
“Less facts, more feelings,” Maya says. “Facts are important, but there’s more than what you know in your mind. There’s what you see, with your eyes. What you touch. The way you feel. Knowing something and observing something, these are two different skills. I want you to observe. What are you feeling right now?”
Maya smiles, looking at her closely, her hands warm on Franziska’s, and Franziska feels unexpectedly comforted, she feels noticed and seen, seen through. Nobody ever asks her what she is feeling. She never asks herself.
“I’m feeling bored,” she says, snatching her hand back. “Let’s get this walk over with.”
Maya hums, amused. She gestures up the path. “It’s all straight ahead,” she says. “After you.”
Franziska starts walking. Maya lets her set the pace. At first, Franziska goes too fast, her competitive spirit pushing her forward. But seven miles is a considerable distance. After a while, Maya starts to interject with little facts about the area, stopping to point out interesting views or pretty plants–delicate ferns and wild mushrooms.
Sometimes the trail narrows, so that they have to walk single file. Franziska walks first with Maya behind her. She listens for the sound of Maya’s step, her uneven breathing as they climb the hill. It makes Franziska think of the myth of Orpheus. She listens for the signs that Maya is still there.
Maya seems happier, lighter, the further they walk into the woods. Her chattering becomes more frequent, and it’s not always about their surroundings. She asks about Franziska’s life in Europe, she tells funny stories about her friends in L.A., she talks wistfully about her cousin Pearl, off finishing her training and seeing more of the world. She seems more like the girl Franziska used to know, bright and loud and uncontained.
“You’re very different, out here,” Franziska observes.
“Less serious, you mean?” Maya asks. “The elders like me to behave a certain way…”
Franziska considers what that must mean. How Maya must feel, suppressing so much of her personality, always acting a part. A young woman living in this lonely place, communing with the dead. Real magic running through her veins.
”It’s not forever,” Maya adds, off seeing her expression.
“Did you ever think about doing something else?” Franziska asks, because it seems like it would be easier just to leave.
But Maya shakes her head, walking beside her on the path.
“No,” she says. “Did you?”
Franziska doesn’t have an answer to that. She has her own family legacy: the law and what it means to her. What she’s had to be, and what she’s had to become.
“No,” she admits. “There was nothing else.”
Maya half-smiles in understanding, shoves Franziska’s shoulder with her own.
“Look,” she says, “we’re nearly at the top!”
She breaks into a run for the last, short distance, whooping and cheering, and Franziska finds a laugh pulled out of her, as she breaks into a run as well.
When they reach the crest of the trail, they stand still. The view is gorgeous, just as Maya promised. A mountain lake, clear and blue, reflecting the sky. And all around, an entire field of the little purple flowers that Franziska noticed at the base of the trail, waving in the breeze.
“There are so many,” Franziska says, wondering.
“It’s another drought year,” says Maya, “but they’re tough, you know, little mountain flowers. They survive.”
They sit down in the grassy field to rest, a sea of purple all around them. Maya pulls water, sandwiches, and granola bars out of her backpack to share.
“Thank god!” says Franziska, snatching up a granola bar. “Sugar! Carbs!”
“You should see my secret stash back at the manor,” Maya giggles.
“You don’t really follow the rules,” Franziska observes, opening her granola bar packet and starting to chew, savoring the sweet taste of chocolate chips on her tongue.
"I'm not the one here for a 'meditation retreat experience,'" Maya says.
“Do you even believe in it?” Franziska has to ask. “All this meditation?”
“It’s helped me a lot, actually. With my focus. With living in the moment, and putting the past behind me.”
Franziska thinks of all Maya has been through in her life, she thinks of what she witnessed just last night, the weight on Maya’s shoulders.
“We all do what we can,” Maya says, as if reading her thoughts, “and then we just have to accept what is.”
Franziska looks at her, and wonders if Maya is putting on the spiritual master persona. But she is smiling faintly, looking out toward the lake. She is just herself. And Franziska wonders when, and how, she became so wise.
“Meditation was supposed to reduce my stress levels,” Franziska admits. “It was recommended by my cardiologist. But I can’t say that I really believe in it.”
Maya looks at her thoughtfully.
“Close your eyes,” she says.
Franziska does.
“Lie back.”
Franziska lies down, and she feels Maya settling into the grass beside her.
“Now try to feel it,” Maya says. “Everything around you.”
So Franziska tries her best to ignore her racing thoughts. She lets herself feel her own hands, in the grass, the soil below, the earth supporting her. She feels the sun on her face. She listens to the wind rushing over the field, and the lake lapping at the shore. She still tastes the lingering sweetness on her tongue. And Maya is there, beside her. Franziska can feel that too.
“Now open your eyes,” says Maya, softly.
Franziska rolls onto her side, and when she opens her eyes, Maya is looking back at her, smiling, and so beautiful, lying down in a field of purple flowers. Franziska feels her breath catch. She feels it, everything, but she’s not sure yet whether it will really be good for her heart.
~~~
The final day comes too fast. Franziska thought it would take forever to arrive, but five days passed in a blink.
No meditation classes today. Maya invites her back to the waterfall. When they arrive there in the morning, there’s a rainbow umbrella stuck into the ground. An inflatable flamingo floating in the pond. Bright pieces of Maya, here in this secret place, and Franziska feels touched that Maya brought her here, set things up this way, like showing a hidden part of herself.
They spend the day swimming, laughing and splashing.
“I used to have to stand under this thing, you know,” Maya says, and demonstrates beneath the waterfall, coming out with her hair flattened and drenched to the skin.
Franziska refuses to try it.
“I’ll stick with the flamingo, thank you,” she says, floating lazily on the pond’s surface.
“Very ‘lady of the manor’ of you,” says Maya, and swims underneath, dumping Franziska into the freezing water where they both laugh and scream and chase each other like foolish children.
Franziska has to admit that it is...relaxing. Maybe she needed a vacation more than she knew.
They spend the afternoon napping under the umbrella, taking well-deserved rest after their long hike the day before. In the evening, it’s hard to separate, so they remain in each other's company. They eat dinner together in the dining hall, and Maya introduces Franziska to some of the acolytes, shows her off, Your fancy European lawyer friend, they call her.
Maya walks Franziska back to her room, and then Franziska invites her in, so that they can sit up a little while, talking. Maya leaves and comes back with an armful of sugary snacks from her secret stash.
“This feels almost like sleepaway camp,” Franziska says.
They’re in Franziska’s room, sitting on her futon, half eaten chocolate bars and cookie packets scattered around them. Outside, there’s only the sound of crickets singing. A soft wind.
“I can imagine you at camp,” Maya giggles. “I bet you were very fun in high school. Probably the belle of the ball.”
“Whereas you must have been such a shy, retiring wallflower,” Franziska says, rolling her eyes.
“I was an ugly duckling,” Maya says, without any trace of self-consciousness. “Mia was always the pretty one.”
There’s a beat of silence, during which Maya chews on her cookie thoughtfully and Franziska studies her.
“You are very pleasing to look at,” Franziska says, suddenly, into the silence. “Beautiful, in fact.”
“Who, me?” Maya asks, her eyes going wide, dropping half of a cookie down the front of her shirt.
“Yes,” Franziska laughs. “Yes, you.”
“Oh,” says Maya.
The wind picks up outside. The crickets hum. They consider each other in the glow of the lantern light.
“Do you ever date?” Maya asks.
“No," Franziska replies honestly. "I don't have time.”
“Me either,” Maya says quickly.
“But if there were someone…” says Franziska. “I would make time.”
“Me too,” says Maya.
Maya looks serious and thoughtful. Franziska wonders which version of her she’s talking to. Which is the real Maya, the lighthearted girl or the powerful mystic? They both are, she supposes. The many facets of her like a gemstone held up to the light: powerful, beautiful, funny, excitable, endlessly kind.
“I don’t always get to have what I want,” Maya says, solemn, the side of her bound by duty and destiny. Then she breaks into a shy smile, reaches forward and takes Franziska’s hand. “But I know that I want you.”
She moves forward, tentative, careful. And there’s nothing else for Franziska to do, then, but lean forward and kiss her, and kiss her, and feel each kiss, her lips against Maya’s and her heart pounding at the touch, her fingers twining with Maya’s on the bedspread, bright and sharp and full of joy, just feeling this moment she’s living in.
~~~
They fall asleep together, and wake up early the next day. The sun streams in, the birds call.
“Good morning,” says Franziska, like it’s the best thing in the world.
She will have to leave, soon. There will be phone calls and texts and international flights. She’ll have to tell her brother and rearrange her schedule and she has five cases to prosecute in the next few months but for now, there’s this.
Maya leans in and kisses the corner of Franziska’s mouth. Franziska lets herself feel it all–the softness of the sun slanting into the room, the creak of the floorboards underneath them, how warm Maya’s lips are against her own mouth, where she feels the beginnings of a smile, slowly blooming.