Love Finds Its Pocket

by Mary Scarpelli

  Her nearly sleep-deprived mind was growing accustomed to a mere four hours of nightly slumber. The restless, sleepless, sweat-soaked nights forced upon her a new self-image, one in which vanity was replaced with humility, restlessness with contentedness, cliff-jumping rashness with a measured approach to decision-making. Even if pressed, she would not have been able to identify the moment at which those personality modifications manifested or were allowed to overtake her previous incarnation. She was, simply, a different woman, better, happier, with an outlook that was far more optimistic than she thought possible for someone whose default reaction had been cynical dismissal.

  When she ran across the news article during her daily internet-scouring routine of a lunch break, that Governor Cuomo had finally managed to convince the narrow-minded curmudgeons of the New York State legislature to pass same-sex marriage, she opened up the password protected Word file in which she had been organizing her plans to marry Toni, and made a few additional notations. She had already purchased dresses, ordered flowers, secured the chapel along with a Unitarian minister friend, boldly optimistic moves that she attributed to being yet another side effect of having survived breast cancer, contacted the restaurant at which the wedding party would be directed, post-nuptials, to assist them in their celebration by partaking in an early-bird dinner, to secure the date. She then called Antonia; Marcella was on deck.

  She made the Mangiarmi women swear a blood-oath to tell no one of her plans to propose to Toni. She made an exception for Gene as Marcella knew that her face, manner, evasions, her every secret would be detected by him anyway, so why not just tell him upfront. From personal experience, she knew him to be the best secret-keeper ever so she had no problem brining him into the fold.

  She didn’t quite understand what had happened to her personality - hadn’t realized that she’d been harboring so much animosity and negativity over the years, the accumulated resentment of a childhood misspent, neglected, emotionally abused, unloved. She’d believed herself to have risen above that tragedy so it wasn’t until those negative emotions washed away from her that she was able to recognize the difference. A weight lifted, she thought, but then wanted to conceive of a different metaphor, not wanting to sound trite.

  She thought about how people came across to outsiders when they would admit to having found god, the light, their raison d’être after experiencing a rather cataclysmic, life-altering or bottom of the barrel scrapping event. She certainly had more compassion for the revelation and conversion process now that she had firsthand experience with something similar, but knew that unless someone went through their own cathartic life event, they would never truly understand the intensity and clarity that ensued. The concept was too esoteric to be properly, convincingly conveyed to just anyone, so except for Toni, she shared that revelation with no one. However, her friends and colleagues noticed, mentioning her transformation as being a positive metamorphosis.

  Push, Pull, Prod, Plead

  Kat accepted the invitation to have lunch at Marcella’s and Gene’s place without first checking with Toni, assuming she’d say yes, jumping at the chance to play with Dylan, a child whose energy and attitude were seemingly without end. She couldn’t have been more precocious, which elevated her status as a play companion ten-fold. Kat and Toni continued to keep her a few days per month, having resumed that task one month after Kat’s second surgery. Kat was excited to be living her life to the fullest extent possible as she now realized that time was no longer a commodity to be wasted. Regaining her previous energy level took longer than she initially anticipated but from that point forward, she felt invigorated, having been given a second breath of life and she did her best to live every day without retaining stress, animosity, anger or any other negative sentiments that she was convinced had been the culprit behind her having succumbed to cancer in the first place.

  She had no family history of breast cancer as the BRCA1, BRCA2 results were similarly negative, so the cause had to have been one of the following: the air that she breathed, the water she drank, the food she ate, the stress she had been accumulating – all environmental, some of which she could control going forward, other factors she’d just have to cross her fingers and hope wouldn’t target her again.

  As it was explained to her by her oncologist, a distant metastasis would most likely result in a death sentence, and since her genetic tests concluded that she did not possess the gene, a second, unrelated to the first, cancer in her other breast was not likely – back to the original odds of fear in which all other women live. However, since her first breast cancer had also been considered unlikely to strike, she decided to ignore most of the statistics and simply live her life to the best of her abilities, not dwelling too deeply on the probable circumstances of her eventual demise. There’d be enough time to worry about death once she was dead and then she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore because, well, she’d be dead. That rationalization sounded better in her head which is why she only verbalized it once but she knew that, conceptually, she had the right idea. Life was short enough without wasting time fretting about the number of ones remaining days.

  She was most ecstatic that her new, improved outlook had been contagious; Toni softened up considerably and ironically, was able to write more code and finish her and Elena’s planned projects well under budget and at a tidy profit. The contracts that they negotiated during the first few months after establishing their new consulting firm, Innovative Solutions, provided Toni and Elena with ample opportunity to prove their worth and build their business to a healthy level in record time. Word of mouth travelled quickly; their reputation as reliable, competent software developers made them a hot commodity in the banking arena. Kat opined that once they were able to clear their minds of emotional debris, clarity was unearthed, which allowed them to take a straighter, more focused path than ever before.

  Toni’s favorite play-date activity had become hanging out with Dylan and teaching her fascinating, fun facts that would be sure to keep her parents busy answering questions for days, as Toni would smile broadly upon leaving the apartment knowing exactly what she had unleashed. Being the fun aunt was a wonderful experience that she treasured more than she thought possible. The quality of love that she felt for Dylan was immediate, unconditional and eternal. She became awed and humbled with the realization that her mother and sister must possess that quality of love for their own children by a few more orders of magnitude. The responsibility of parenting seemed so overwhelming and only then did she fully appreciate the impetus underpinning her mother’s strong, protective bearing over her children. Both Antonia and Marcella were equally weighed-down with the burden and overjoyed with the possibilities that motherhood presented.

  Once that realization implanted itself, Toni never again looked at her mother in quite the same way; their relationship became far more compassionate, understanding - closer than ever before. When she would tell her mother that she loved her, Antonia could feel its truth resonate through her. She would acknowledge with an appreciative nod then pull her daughter close, so grateful for the opportunity at a new beginning.

  Kat had been working almost non-stop, having decided to add one more checkmark next to her list of lifetime to-do’s. Her literary agency was doing well, having taken on a few dozen additional, influential writers. She was able to sell one hundred plus titles for publication. She found that the non-fiction self-help tomes and the tell-all biographic weep-fests were the genres that garnered the highest readership and although she would never categorize herself as a sell-out, also respected the need to remain viable and support a reasonably comfortable lifestyle. The few fiction authors that she agreed to represent were the ones whose tales touched her deeply, although she knew that most publishers and readers alike were not yet ready for their brand of introspective, deconstructive writing style. Plot-based fiction always fared better than did ones built on and driven by character development but since her business was doing so well and her blog and
twitter followings were significant, i.e., in the mid-six figure range, she allowed herself and the poor starving artists that she’d agreed to represent, as her gift to an otherwise artistically impoverished population.

  “Zia Toni! Zia Kattie!” Dylan practically screeched her salutations with her infinite reserves of youthful exuberance.

  Dylan ran over to greet them at the door, as she always did, knowing that Toni would be picking her up first and planting several kisses on her cheeks and forehead and not putting her down until they shared a massive bear hug. Toni taught her the fine art of the two-cheeked air kiss as a joke, advising her that that type of salutation was more appropriate for non-family, but then when Dylan started employing that greeting with her friends and their parents, Gene simply gave Toni a mock headlock, accusing her of trying to turn his daughter into a superficial snob.

  “Apologies, Gene. It must have slipped my mind that you’re not on the ‘right’ side of the park for that brand of greeting,” was Toni’s snarky retort.

  Kat was on deck, patiently waiting her turn. Dylan also brought to her surface a gush of maternal love, nurturing feelings that she would have bet her last penny she didn’t possess. They’d watched Dylan before her cancer diagnosis, a timeframe in which she preferred the designation of B.C., but their overnights had always been perfunctory fare: go a few rounds of play-acting, read to her, chat about whatever was going on in Dylan’s mind, maybe watch a movie, feed her then tuck her in for the night. In the morning Toni would make breakfast of oatmeal with fresh fruit or challah French toast with a fruit-based compote – Dylan’s favorite, then off she’d go, back into Marcella’s loving arms.

  Kat decided early on that Dylan was so well behaved, she’d be a natural with the brunch crowd; it eventually became an event with them. Dylan grew to adore the accolades she received from the waitstaff and other patrons, remarking on her perfect table manners and how well behaved she was, complimenting Kat and Toni for their exemplary parenting skills. The activities in which she was included continued to expand. Kat remarked with surprise about how much she looked forward to Dylan’s visits. Even so, she thought of Dylan with more of a general type of kindness, she never felt a powerfully emotional need to be around her or to protect her. She understood Toni’s undeniable, unconditional love because Dylan was her niece so her strong reaction of familial bond was expected.

  Kat had written several children’s books, what she fondly referred to as her bread-and-butter projects, using Dylan as her muse. Initially, Toni was incensed that Kat would objectify her niece in that manner until she read the first draft of the first book and was so impressed with the morality tales that she quickly became a member of the converted. The illustrations looked similar to Dylan and the protagonist’s temperament was closer to Dylan having a bad day, but as Kat explained, she meant for her children’s books to provide valuable lessons and what lessons could be gleaned if the child were drawn as perfect?

  “Kattie! Kattie!” Dylan nearly screamed as Kat picked her up.

  They looked at each other for a moment before Dylan grabbed onto her hair and hugged her fiercely. Kat looked over at Toni but then cast her gaze down as tears began to accumulate in her eyes. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening to her but her emotions were becoming more acute, more intense and pure than anything she’d ever felt before. This new post-cancer Kat was almost unrecognizable even to herself. She decided to ride it out and observe her own metamorphosis, along with everyone else, in real-time. Kat rocked Dylan in her arms and looked over again at a surprised Toni as she raised her eyebrows in a questioning gesture. Once Toni finally caught on, she nearly gasped and mouthed ‘no way, no way’. At that moment, Kat would have done anything to get Toni pregnant and start a family with her.

  “You wouldn’t love this, my love? Go ahead and tell me you wouldn’t love to have one of your own so I can call you a liar.” Kat smiled and put down her little bundle, then proceeded to share a partial air kiss with both Gene and Marcella.

  Dylan, in her chubby-cheeked, curly haired, wide-eyed splendor, took Kat’s and Toni’s hands and walked them over to her play area, so neat and organized, and showed them her latest endeavor. Apparently, at six years old, she had somehow managed to acquire the skill, manual dexterity and patience to fabricate several small structures with what appeared to be a burgeoning cityscape using a combination of Lego building blocks and other materials Gene had given to her.

  “My god, she thinks we’re her peers – just bigger than all of her other friends,” Kat whispered to a laughing Marcella although she could have spoken at a normal volume as Dylan was so totally focused on setting up her experiment to show her friends, that she had already zoned out any and all external noise.

  Kat settled in for her standard thirty-minute play date with Dylan and Toni while Marcella and Gene proceeded to prepare lunch. They collectively agreed to eat in that day as trudging around in the incessant rain while fending off the pervasive chill in the air would have ruined their respective good moods. Marcella had selected one of her more light-hearted Pandora stations to help offset the inclement weather but short of moving to the southwest to absorb some much-needed vitamin D, they were doing their best to keep their spirits from becoming similarly drenched.

  “But hon, we’re both too old already. I think that ship has sailed. Isn’t it good enough to enjoy the company of someone else’s child?” Toni asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

  “Oh, stop already! Don’t look at me like that, okay? I mean, who would the father be, anyway?”

  Kat smiled broadly knowing that patience would yield fruit as Toni was beginning to entertain the concept. Step one – get her engaged in the conversation. Check!

  “First of all, you’re not too old – well, not yet anyway but we’d better get moving because you’re already thirty-seven and are getting older by the minute.” Kat stopped to respond to Dylan’s question and assist in securing the Lego blocks that Dylan had requested, the complexity of the structure requiring two pairs of hands.

  “I see, so I’m supposed to just agree to this because as you’ve said I’m approaching antiquity status and you’re menopausal so geeze, Kat. That’s quite a responsibility you’re putting on me.

  “Ah, stop looking at me like that, already! Where’d this all come from, anyway? You were always perfectly happy being free-spirited; we both were. Our lives will change irretrievably, you know that, right? No more freedom of movement, like not at all, okay? It’ll be a life-changer, that’s for sure.” Toni went away again into her zone of the void.

  Kat resumed her observation of and interaction with Dylan, watching, mesmerized, at how she had drawn a three-dimensional sketch of the objects she wanted to construct, a new kind of livable city – a hybrid home, work space, with an attached greenhouse. ‘Perfect living’ is how she described it. Kat’s wheels began turning rapidly as she started making mental notes for her next book, this time about a little girl who saved the planet and humanity in one fell swoop by designing futuristic living quarters that allowed its denizens to be self-sufficient by growing their own food and harnessing the sun’s energy to power their electronic devices while creating a minimum of waste.

  “I wish the three of you could see yourselves from my perspective. You’re writing your next installment of The Little Genius, Toni’s, well, she’s god only knows where and Dylan is creating her masterpiece. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes, ladies.

  “Dylan, honey? You have five minutes to reach a stopping point – that’s right sweet pea, make a notation of where you left off then go wash your hands and get ready to eat lunch.” Marcella looked at her sister, worriedly, as she knelt down and ran a hand through the hair of a very dazed Toni, refusing to return to the kitchen until Toni acknowledged her. Toni never could keep anything to herself so Marcella hoped that her sister would share over lunch whatever weight had just descended upon her.

  “Pass me the bread basket? Thanks. I will beg
in my statement with a reminder of who I am – not an apology, but a reminder that I analyze, I note incongruities in everyone and everything which is why my nickname is the human lie detector. So, forgive my intrusion but I must concur with Katherine, Toni. She is absolutely correct and her suggestion is the best, most perfect decision that you will ever make either individually or as a couple.” Gene resumed devouring his meal.

  ******

  Gene and Marcella were complimentary as a couple, alternately taking the lead or stepping back and allowing the other to steer as necessary. Gene possessed a more comprehensive intelligence but never sought to diminish Marcella’s contributions by asserting his superior analytical skills over hers. He shared his gifts with her without recourse. Their compatibility in life extended to the kitchen so Gene chose not to balk at his wife’s specificity as within that particular domain, she was always the more knowledgeable one.

  Deference had taught him many lessons about power, authority, masculinity that he hadn’t realized fully until Dylan came along. He was already shaking hands with retirement, a few years away from bidding adieu to his career as a structural engineer working for the City of New York, ready to elevate his side projects to full time status while collecting a pension and living out the remainder of his days being creative, loving his family and eliminating the most egregious miscreants from his daily existence.

  Gene was already fast-tracking his daughter, having enrolled her in a second-tier prestigious grade school, their collective funds precluding anything better, but not lamenting the loss as she would have excelled wherever she attended – his main concern was that of protecting her from the mediocrity that pervaded the public school system, fearing that too much exposure to it, until of course she found and secured her own voice, could have a detrimental impact on her life choices. “Poor people are in their predicament precisely because they make poor life choices”, Gene was fond of remarking. He didn’t want his daughter exposed to people who insisted on clinging to irrational precepts until her intellectual filter learned to distinguish bullshit from brilliance.