Love Over Moon Street

by Saxon Bennett

  “It’s okay,” Sparky said. “She got pulled over for running the stop sign on the corner and at the rate things are going she might get cited for resisting arrest.”

  This seemed to delight Vibro. “Really? You’re not making it up?”

  Sparky held up two fingers. “Girl Scout’s honor.”

  Vibro pumped her fist in the air. “Wanna have a Bloody to celebrate the infinite justice of the universe?”

  Sparky nodded.

  “What is a Bloody?” Cheryl asked, wondering if she wanted to know.

  “It’s a Bloody Mary without the alcohol, which makes it merely a Bloody,” Vibro said. “It’s our new drink, for special occasions.”

  Cheryl was thankful for nondrinkers. During moments of personal upheaval, getting drunk and staying drunk were not good ways of dealing with problems.

  “Well, don’t overdose on vitamin C,” Cheryl said.

  “We keep to a three-drink limit,” Sparky said.

  “That’s very responsible of you,” Cheryl said.

  “I smell bread,” Vibro said.

  Cheryl did too and as if to substantiate the fact, Lexus popped her head out the apartment door. She wore a blue-and-white-checkered apron and had flour on her cheek. “I thought I heard voices out here.”

  “Are you baking?” Cheryl asked.

  “Yes, Pen and I are making dinner rolls for the Spring Festival of Worldly Delights,” Lexus said.

  “It’s for the potluck at Shady Meadows,” Pen added, peeking around the doorframe.

  “Shady Meadows as in the rest home on your bookmobile route?” Cheryl said. “How many buns are we talking here?” She envisioned Lexus turning their kitchen into some sort of bun factory.

  “Not that many,” Lexus said, breezily.

  Cheryl glanced over at Pen, who shrugged. “They’re really good buns. All the families of the old people are bringing food too.”

  “C’mon, Sparky, let’s go,” Vibro said, pulling at her arm.

  “I’ll send up buns,” Lexus called out.

  “Great!” Vibro said, and she and Sparky tromped upstairs.

  “Will you relax? It’s not a big deal,” Lexus said as Cheryl came inside. The kitchen was a big deal actually. It was covered in a light flour dust. Every surface was covered in bun stuff—buns in baking pans, buns not yet formed, buns fresh out of the oven, buns in the bowl.

  “That looks like a lot of buns,” Cheryl said, about to put her shoulder bag on the kitchen bar stool. She changed her mind after seeing the state of the stool and hung her bag on the hat rack by the front door instead. This gave her a moment to collect herself. She glanced in the hallway mirror next to the hat rack. Her face had that animal-in-a-corner panicked look. She tried to smooth it out. The buns would be made, the kitchen would be cleaned up and the world, which was currently spinning madly out of control, would go back to normal.

  “I think I’ll go take a shower.” She hadn’t managed to get the panicked look off her face. It had been a rough day. Kids were harder than she thought. In the ER her nurse Shirley, who had four kids of her own, was adroit at ordering them around, getting them to behave and comforting them. Cheryl had felt awkward like she was the maiden aunt who peered at the children as if they are another species.

  “Okay, we’ve still got another batch or two to go,” Lexus called out.

  “We’ll clean everything up, don’t worry,” Pen said.

  She was such a sweet child, Cheryl thought. Anyone would be charmed and delighted by her. As she got undressed she thought about the meeting with Agnes, the hospital social worker who had helped Cheryl get temporary custody of Pen. Agnes had asked how it was going.

  “Pen is great. I think she’s happy. I mean I know happiness is relative, but she seems to be acculturating.”

  “How are you doing?” Agnes asked.

  “I’m okay. I still feel kind of restrained. Lexus is so much better at it. She’s taken to motherhood amazingly well.”

  “But you still feel weird?”

  Cheryl nodded.

  Agnes smiled kindly. The wrinkles around her eyes seemed to radiate generosity. “Do you want to keep her?”

  Cheryl got into the shower with that big question weighing her down. She let the hot water beat down on her aching shoulders. Whenever she got stressed it built up in her shoulders. Did she want to keep her? The question sounded like Pen was a dog or a cat needing a good home.

  “Because if you don’t, we need to do something about it,” Agnes said. She didn’t say this in a mean way.

  “What?”

  “Cheryl, the machinations of the foster system are slow but not that slow. You have temporary custody. If someone else wants to adopt her or if another permanent foster care family has room for Pen, then the CWA would place her there.”

  Cheryl felt her throat constrict with the proverbial lump. “Oh, I didn’t realize that.”

  “Do you want to make this commitment?”

  “What about the gay thing?”

  “I have a social worker friend in the adoption department who is gay friendly. If the child is of reasonable age to decide if this is the kind of household she is comfortable in then it shouldn’t be a problem. The other thing in your favor is that Pen has no living relatives to contest her placement. But if you’re going to do this, I would eventually go for full adoption because fostering doesn’t guarantee that she won’t be adopted between now and her eighteenth birthday.”

  Cheryl’s face must have looked stricken because Agnes said, “I know this is a lot to think about, so give it some time. Just not too much time. If you decide to adopt I will help you get it all set up. No worries. But for now you need to commit for full foster care.”

  And with that Agnes released her. Cheryl had been wandering around a bit dazed ever since. She soaped up and thought some more. Lexus would want this. Pen, at the moment, would want this, but could either one of them understand the long-term ramifications of it?

  If the “gay thing” weren’t part of it, then she wouldn’t be having such a hard time with it, she thought. What if in five years, as a snotty teenager, Pen hated having two mommies? Would she wish she had a father and would not having a father make her seek out the approval of males, which would lead to a life like Martha Sue’s of taking men to bed? She washed her hair and felt nauseous. This was all so big. Being a doctor with all its stresses didn’t even begin to compete with this parenting thing.

  She got out of the shower and dried off. Why did having a baby not seem so big like this thing did? Was it because it had been an out-there abstraction? Was bringing a baby into a gay family different because the baby didn’t have a choice and Pen did? What if Pen didn’t want to be part of a gay family but was too polite to say so? Cheryl sat down on the bed and put her head between her legs.

  She was having a panic attack. She took several deep breaths and tried to conjure up thoughts of ocean waves. She’d learned this technique from an intern who had psych training. Sometimes people came into the ER thinking they were having a heart attack when it was actually a panic attack. She got herself under control.

  “Baby, are you all right?” Lexus said from the doorway.

  Cheryl pulled her head up from between her legs.

  “You know, I’ve tried to give myself a lick job and it is physically impossible,” Lexus said, sitting on the bed next to her.

  “I wasn’t…doing that,” Cheryl sputtered.

  “I was just kidding, relax,” Lexus said, sitting on the bed and rubbing her back. “Rough day?”

  “Yes. How are the buns coming along?”

  “One more batch to go,” Lexus said. “Come out and sit with us while we finish up.”

  “Okay, let me get dressed first.”

  Lexus smiled. “Before we had a kid you could’ve come out naked.”

  Cheryl grinned. She was comfortable with this “Lexus.” It was “Mom Lexus” she was having trouble getting used to. It just seemed that she didn’t quite
have a place in the mix yet and Cheryl wanted one. Lexus left. She dressed. She put on faded chinos and a white T-shirt—her comfort clothes. She went out to the kitchen, walking right past the Crocs she’d slipped off by the door. She didn’t pick them up and take them right back to her closet and line them up. She needed to be less OCD if this parenting thing was going to work. This particular proclivity showed itself more frequently when she was stressed. Let it pass and the thing would go away.

  She sat at the kitchen island and observed. The buns smelled heavenly. “Wow, do we get to have some?”

  “Here,” Pen said, pushing a plate toward her. “Try them with butter. They’re fabulous.” She got the butter out of the fridge and put it next to the plate.

  Cheryl tried a bun still warm from the oven. It melted in her mouth. “Oh, my God, these are fabulous. I didn’t know you could bake,” she said to Lexus.

  “Neither did we,” Lexus replied, putting her arm around Pen.

  “We got the recipe off the Internet,” Pen said.

  “Okay, one more batch, then we’re done.” Lexus said, putting ingredients in the bowl. She sifted the flour, which explained the flour dust everywhere. Cheryl didn’t know they even had a sifter.

  “Oh, crap, we’re out of baking soda,” Lexus said, shaking the empty box over the bowl of flour.

  “No, we’re not,” Pen said, taking the measuring spoon and dipping it in the urn, which was sitting on the shelf near the breakfast nook. Pen often moved Martha Sue’s urn around. There was no telling where it would show up in the apartment. It made Cheryl anxious.

  “Perfect, I completely forgot about that. We’ve got a stash,” Lexus said.

  “No sense wasting it,” Pen agreed. She stopped and stared at Cheryl, who sat openmouthed. “Oh,” Pen said.

  Lexus turned around. “Whoops.”

  Was this really happening? Cheryl thought. Could this really be happening? They’d known all along and she was the only one blundering around in confusion and guilt? “How long have you guys known?” she asked.

  “Well, I had my suspicions when I found all the orange baking soda cartons in the trash,” Lexus said.

  “Pen?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Pen said.

  “We’ve got time,” Cheryl said.

  “Well, remember how the social worker said I should start a journal, you know about feelings and stuff? I just couldn’t do it. So I started a smell journal instead. I got the idea from Vibro. She has an amazing sniffer.”

  “A smell journal?” Cheryl said. She could only imagine what the social worker would think about that.

  “Yes. I went around sniffing things. It’s not easy to describe a smell. I started with things in the bathroom like the conditioners and stuff, then garden smells—bathroom stuff does not smell like they say it does. The conditioner does not smell like real sweet peas.”

  “Isn’t this grand?” Lexus said. “It’s like a hands-on science project. I had no idea that Vibro was a scent aficionado.”

  Cheryl gave her the stop-interrupting look.

  “Sorry, carry on, Pen.”

  “Then I did stuff in the fridge. I smelled the baking soda, ketchup and celery and lots of other things. My journal was getting pretty full. And then, well, I wondered what Martha Sue smelled like so I opened up the urn.” Pen looked away. “I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I wondered if she’d smell like she used to. She smelled like the stuff in the orange box. I got it out of the fridge and compared the smell. Lexus came in and…” Pen looked shamefaced.

  Cheryl had her head in her hands.

  “It wasn’t like I didn’t trust you. It wasn’t like that,” Pen said.

  Lexus came over and put her arm around Cheryl, who was now crying softly. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she sniffed. “I couldn’t find Martha Sue and it meant so much to you.”

  Pen got Cheryl a box of Kleenex from the bathroom. “Thank you,” Cheryl said, taking a tissue.

  “It’s all right, really. I know you were just trying to make me feel better,” Pen said.

  “You don’t hate me for lying?” Cheryl said, wiping at her nose.

  “Did you lie?” Pen said.

  “Well, yes, of course I did.”

  “No, you never actually said Martha Sue’s ashes were in the urn,” Pen said.

  “It’s lying by omission,” Cheryl muttered. She looked over at Lexus. “How come you guys didn’t call me on it?”

  “Because we knew it meant a lot to you,” Lexus said.

  “I lied to you and you pretended not to notice. This is horrid especially for a newly formed family. We’ve violated the social contract. This is not good,” Cheryl said.

  Pen and Lexus simultaneously hung their heads.

  “We should have called you a liar,” Lexus said.

  “And I should have told you that I couldn’t find Martha Sue.”

  “Okay, are we square now?” Lexus said. “Because I have buns to finish.”

  “But I still feel terrible,” Cheryl said.

  “Get over it,” Lexus said.

  “Have another bun,” Pen said, pushing the plate of buns toward her.

  “Will it help?”

  “Yes. And I want you to know that I still have Martha Sue in my heart and we’ve got a canister for baking soda now. Does it get any better than that?” Pen said.

  Cheryl felt a surge of love for this child. She didn’t know if it was mother love, but it was close. She grabbed Pen’s shoulders and looked deep and long into her big brown eyes. “I love you. I want you to know that. I want you to feel it in here.” She pointed at Pen’s heart.

  Pen smiled big. “I do feel it.” She wrapped Cheryl in her arms. “I love you. And you,” she said over Cheryl’s shoulder to Lexus.

  “I’m on the love train,” Lexus sang and did a little jig.

  Pen laughed.

  In that instant Cheryl knew. She knew she loved Pen. She knew she couldn’t live without her. That was mother love. Now, she just had to convince the rest of the world that she was worthy—starting with the adoption board.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Half and Half

  “Do you have a chain saw?” Vibro said, from the doorway.

  Sparky was working on Apartment Number 4. She was painting the walls ecru, and after doing all the necessary drywall patching the place was beginning to look much better. Mr. Agassiz would be pleased. She glanced up at Vibro. “A chain saw? Are you doing some tree trimming?”

  “No, I’m going to cut my living room furniture into pieces.”

  She said this so matter-of-factly that Sparky thought for sure she was joking. “Why would you want to do that?” she said, thinking she was playing along with the game. She set the paintbrush down.

  “Actually, I only need to cut it in half so I can give Jennifer her half. So ‘cutting it into pieces’ isn’t a true statement of my intentions.”

  “What happened?” Sparky said, seeing now that Vibro was serious.

  Vibro took a wadded-up piece of paper from her back pocket and straightened it out. It appeared to have been wadded and unwadded several times before and was getting worse with every perusal. “I got this served to me by special courier this morning and I’ve been stewing about it all day.”

  Sparky thought “stewing” was probably a rather light choice of verbs for what Vibro had been doing. She looked pretty serious about the chain saw thing though. She was wearing a brand-new set of coveralls. “Nice outfit.”

  “Thank you. I think they’re a little large in the rear end, but that’s probably a good thing—it allows for growth.”

  “You have anything but a big butt.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She blushed.

  Vibro smiled coyly. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

  Sparky looked away. She studied the walls. “The place is starting to look better, don’t you think?”

  Vibro didn’t respond. “I need that chain saw.”
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br />   “What does the letter say?” Sparky inquired.

  “It says,” Vibro snapped the paper, “that half the living room furniture is hers, that I must allow her to retrieve her clothes and personal items and that I must pay her back her portion of the damage deposit on the apartment.”

  “Did she pay for half the furniture?” Sparky asked, wrapping her brushes in a wet rag.

  “Of course not. I already had the furniture before she was living with me, as well as the apartment. She didn’t contribute any money to either thing.”

  “So you either get a lawyer and fight back or give her half,” Sparky said, taking the letter and straightening it out enough to read it. She read it carefully. “Hmm…it doesn’t say anything about the condition of the furniture.”

  Vibro smiled. “That’s the spirit. It would cost me more to get a lawyer than to give her the stuff, but it’s the point that matters. She isn’t on the lease so she can’t do anything about the damage deposit.”

  “I’ve never sawed up furniture before.”

  “It can’t be that difficult. In hard times and during wars people used to burn their furniture to keep warm. They had to get it in small enough pieces to fit in the fireplace.”

  “You’ve got a point, but I still don’t know. You might change your mind later and then you will have ruined all the furniture,” Sparky said.

  “Have you ever divided up a furniture set?”

  “No, I wasn’t allowed, remember.”

  “Well, if I give her the coffee table and keep an end table, can my end table be used as a coffee table?” Vibro said, her arms akimbo.

  “Well, no, not really.”

  “How about I keep the couch and give her the love seat, does she still need a couch because a love seat is really nothing more than an oversized chair? All she’s doing is making us both buy new furniture because you’ll never get things to match again.”

  Vibro did have a point. “I’ll get the chain saw from the shed,” Sparky said.

  “This will be fun.”

  “I don’t know about that, but it will be different.”

  “I’ll clean up the brushes and seal up the paint,” Vibro said, gathering up the roller and brushes. “You know, I could help you with the painting.”