"I met Greta at church. There were a lot of university students attending Sunday evenings at St. Mark's. Greta was not a Christian, but she was already starting her PhD at UBC and there was a girl there who was almost desperate to see people saved, so she befriended Greta, who obliged her by visiting church with her. By that time I was working in the palliative care unit at Vancouver General Hospital. Dad, as he often did, invited everyone home for coffee. Before she left, Greta asked about seeing me again. I didn't know what to make of her. She was a bit on the small side, intense, and very very pale. Her eyes could just hold you, and hold you, and dissect and examine and scrutinize you then leave you with the onerous job of having to reassemble yourself long after she had lost interest in you and left. For some reason she seemed to hit it off with my dad, who seemed extremely interested in her work and research in shoreline habitats.
Greta lived in a small one bedroom apartment with a short-term boyfriend, who after a major blow up bailed on her, leaving her stuck with the rent. By this time I had become a regular visitor there, all very innocent, the priest's son popping in for an afternoon cup of coffee.
Carl says, smiling, "I don't suppose it would take a genius to guess just why her short-term boyfriend became even more short-term."
I ignore the quip. "Greta asked if I would like to live with her for a while, to help her pay the rent. She also did seem to rather like me. Dad and I talked about it, and as dim a view as he had on men and women cohabiting outside of matrimony, gave his reluctant blessing. It turns out that his paternal and very heterosexist desire to see his son engage in a normal relationship held more weight with him than his progeny shunning the appearance of evil..."
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