Who's ever had the thought "I'm not good enough"? (page 70)
Continuing from page 58 (All Wilhelmina could feel sitting alone on the cold, wet rock):
The human heart, flexible as a muscle, metaphysical as a bird, intractable as a shooting star, she did not know what to do with hers, or with his.
So she waited on, in the dark, with her thoughts, for him to return from saving the girl who was there before her. Who didn’t even want him.
Her mother, Tang Lili, all the way in the soft climate of Jiangnan in Cathay, who had traveled the world and would do anything for her, could not protect her from this personal, private heartache and self-doubt.
On the Prince of Denmarke’s wedding ship, the little meer-maid was holding her stone knife, and Emil Hering was climbing out of the water, and searching for her eyes with fear.
He approached her, and reached out his hand, slowly, to not startle her.
She could feel a wild rebelliousness rising almost uncontrollably within. Had he not come, or had he not looked at her with that intensity in his eyes, she might have dropped the stone knife on her own, so conflicted and ashamed and scared was she over the whole thing. But a contrariness was building in her, and the closer he got, the harder it became to suppress.
Emil Hering was terrified. She couldn’t die. And she couldn’t be allowed to kill the prince. So he would do it for her. The thought already brought nausea to his lips.
He looked at the little meer-maid, the prettiest girl he had ever seen. He had loved her for so long, so hopelessly, admiring her to the depths of the sea. He had given what he could to her, offered each time in his shy, ashamed way. As if he was not good enough, as he was. And she saw it, how he loved her, and she luxuriated in it. She was not cruel, or at least she was not trying to be. But she kept him near her all the same, through their swims to all the places she wanted to go. She took his gifts lightly, and put them aside. And that was already a gift to him: her acceptance of his.
The night was dark, but the few stars reflected in the paleness of his hair, wet and summer cold. And Emil looked so earnest, as he always did, even when he smiled. The way he couldn’t lie, couldn’t hide, could only be.
So he reached out his hand, terrified, steady, and offered his everything.
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