No. Essos wouldn’t—at least, not the Essos I’ve come to know. I might not know who he was when Galen says he killed me, but I know who he is now.
“What’s it like?” I ask, trying to push away the weight that has appeared on my chest. That line of thinking isn’t going to get me anywhere, and I need to enjoy this time with them while I can.
“It’s like a Utopia. The sun is shining, and you get to be with the people you love who have moved on. If they haven’t moved on yet, you get to watch them and see—”
Essos holds out a hand to stop my father from going any further. “I’m afraid that’s enough detail for now.”
It hits me then, when Essos cuts off the conversation, that I’ve spent all this time in the Underworld and I never considered being able to see what the Afterlife has in store. Here I am, sitting with the answer to life’s biggest question—what comes next—and I’ve allowed myself to be distracted by dresses and boys. It makes me want to kick myself.
Essos moves the conversation along with the appearance of food before us, but it’s hardly touched except for a piece here and there. We start talking about the cheese and how my parents fell in love over how to set up a charcuterie board.
“It was a little like fate, I think, getting to meet this beautiful creature,” my father says. “We both happened to be in London for different reasons. I had a work thing, and your mom was visiting friends, and we both wound up getting invited to a masquerade party. Someone called my name, and when I looked in that direction, I saw your mom, and it was over for me. I almost didn’t talk to her, either.”
“No, I got lucky, someone bumped into me, and I spilled my drink all over his white tux. Red wine, too. It wasn’t a great combination.”
“There I was, trying to work up the nerve to say hi, and this knockout is standing next to me, glancing at me from the corner of her eyes. Then some woman in what I think was a peacock mask bumps her without an apology before walking off with her own drink. Never could figure out who it was, but I still need to send her a thank you card.”
I’m soaking in every word, trying not to let my mind dredge up questions, because I want to hear them tell their story the way they would have when I was a kid.
Mostly, Essos and I sit there while they reminisce, making comments about how they’ve seen me do certain things, proving that nature plays a huge role in who you become. Dad points out that my love of 80s hair bands is thanks to my mother, and my sarcasm is definitely from him. My parents tell me about their parents and how they grew up, and I just lean against the table, my head in my hand, listening to all the tales I wanted to hear growing up.
They tell me how they fell in love and how to know that I’m with the right person. That I’ll feel safe and at home in that person’s arms, man or woman. They tell me that no mess is too big to fix and to never go to bed angry.
“Don’t wait for your ship to come in—row out and meet it,” my dad says, as if this is the ultimate advice he can pass on. I cherish it like every other word we have shared this day.
The sun never gets low in the sky, so it’s not until my mother stands up and pulls me into a hug that I realize the day must be ending. I look around and, at first glance, Essos is nowhere to be found. My father steps in behind me so he’s holding my mother and me at the same time.
“This was so special, ladybug.” My mom cups my face after we break apart. A tear must be rolling down my cheek because she wipes it away with her thumb. “We love you and aresoproud of you.”
“And you picked a real winner here—steady job, reliable. You could certainly do worse,” my father says, nudging me with his elbow, nodding at where Essos is now standing near the door. I see a flush creep up his cheeks as he pretends to fiddle with his watch.
They both hug me one last time, then open the door they came through and step back into their Afterlife.
I stand there, watching as the door disappears, and I’m left in this beautiful meadow on what feels like the perfect summer day, feeling emptier than I ever have before.
Essos watches me for a moment before walking to me and wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. I start to pound on his chest, to push him away, but it’s a halfhearted attempt at best, and soon I’m clinging to him, crying until I can’t cry anymore.
* * *
We step into his office, and he hands me a handkerchief. A glance out his window shows just how much time has passed. I don’t remember noticing a window the first time I was in his office… I pause. Actually, there was a shelf of books there before. Now, there’s a large window with a bench underneath it covered in pillows and a cozy throw. It’s not something I would have expected from the God of the Dead, but maybe having a houseful of women has opened him up to changing his view.
It’s twilight, casting the gardens in a romantic light. I didn’t think his office would have a view of the gardens, but I can’t think over those logistics right now. I sit on his couch for a moment, drawing my knees into my chest. The fire roars to life, and Essos sits next to me and hands me a drink. I take it and knock it back in one gulp, then shudder.
“What was that?” I ask, making a face as I hand the glass back to him.
“Very fine aged whiskey, meant to be sipped, not shot,” he says with a laugh.
“Then why did you hand it to me now? I’m hardly in the mental state to appreciate fine liquor.” I set my head on my knees and stare at the fire before me, watching the flames lick up the chimney. I sigh. “That was both wonderful and awful. Thank you.”
I glance at him. He has one arm slung over the back of the couch, facing me, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring into the flames.
“I’m glad I could give you this gift. It’s unfair that they were taken from you when you were so young.” He takes a sip from his glass.
“It wasn’t fair, but life rarely is.” I pause, then reach over and take his glass. I sip from it and hand it back to him, this time experiencing the warmth and bite of the fine liquor. It’s smokey with a sweet undertone of caramel. It’s how I imagine Essos would taste. “Is what my mom said possible? For me to have children?” I never thought much about having them before that moment, beyond the vague notion that I would someday. For some reason, this is the thing I’m most hung up on. There’s nothing like having the possibility stripped from you to make you want something.
Essos stands and goes to the bar cart, complete with a crystal decanter and matching glasses. He refills his glass and stills with his back to me before he drains it. There is a tension in his shoulders that remains there as he refills it a second time before refilling mine.
“It’s a complicated question with a complicated answer. To keep it simple—as my consort, yes, you can. In the Afterlife, it’s much more difficult.” He turns to me, holding up a hand. “Before you ask why, it’s because you are dead, a shadow of your former self, and new life isn’t possible in the world of the dead. There are, however, other ways to become a parent in the Afterlife. Very sad ways that someone else came up with. It was something I had overlooked until my eyes were opened.” It doesn’t feel like he’s talking to me, but I wait for him to continue. Essos remembers himself and finally meets my eye. “It’s an atrocity, which is why I never thought of it. Children who are unwanted in life are often unwanted in death as well. The solution was for families that wanted children but could not have them to welcome them into their homes. I’m surprised I was able to tell you this much without triggering a nosebleed. You haven’t had any more of them, have you?”