Finding Joy - 1. Finding Joy

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Chapter One: Staring Blankly

 

As the handheld wand tracked contact jelly across her midsection, Fuchsia Khan gripped her spouse’s hand. Shifting slightly to get comfortable again on the cold examination table, she commented almost as a distraction, “My wife’s a doctor too.”

The ultrasound operator peeled a brief look from the readout screen. “Oh, really?”

Leigh and Alex, who stood close to Fuchsia’s shoulder on her other side, glanced at her wife; as the donor couple, the men also held hands and watched the moving black and white shadows on the monitor with excited interest.

“Well,” Alice Weeks hastened to correct, “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

Dr. Judith was focused on locating the eight-week-old fetus. “What kind are you then?”

After a moment of silence, Fuchsia grinned, saying through it, “Go on, tell her – or I will.”

As always, seeing her wife’s smile placed Alice in a happier, more contemplative state. While she stroked Fuchsia’s long, almost blue-black locks, Alice executed a quick compare and contrast between them. She thought of her own hair, mousey as it was, and which she kept short and ‘professional.’ Fuchsia’s eyes were soulful, a nature enhanced by the lady’s judicious makeup skills; Alice’s pale eyes seldom got done up, because feeling clownish was not good for the doctor’s credibility. Overall, her wife’s beauty was exotic, while Alice thought her face was forgettable/ordinary. But she was willing to consider their figures and apparel might have something to do with that: her wife had South-Asian shapeliness; Alice, fence-post sameness; Fuchsia felt confident in form-hugging-sexy, and Alice liked trousers and blazers. Alice was most herself in a lab coat; Fuchsia, in yoga pants.

Alice told their obstetrician, “I’m a medical research doctor, a specialist post-doc candidate—”

“About to finish,” added Fuchsia with pride.

“Congratulations!” Alex exclaimed. “In which field again?”

Alice’s tummy whinged slightly. “In CDD.”

The ultrasound wand ceased its movements. Judith stared blankly at Dr. Alice Weeks, as did the men.

Alice hated to explain it each time, but she launched into it. “CDD – Childhood Disintegrative Disorder. It used to be called Heller’s Syndrome?”

“Never heard of it,” the other doctor in the room said, returning to her task.

“I’m not surprised,” admitted Alice. “It only affects one in about 75,000 children. And then, more often than not, it’s completely misdiagnosed.”

“As what,” inquired Alex.

“Autism, which it’s not, but resembles in some ways.”

Leigh inhaled slowly. “Ah, poor kids.”

“Yeah,” Fuchsia agreed, “but they’re lucky they’ll soon have Dr. Weeks on their side. It’s something parents of young kids should be aware of.’ The gel squiggled again, the expectant mom tightened her hold on Alice.

The slight ache in Dr. Weeks’ stomach shifted into higher gear. She hated being on the spot, especially as this was Fuchsia’s big day.

The obstetrician slightly bobbled her head in admiration, moving the wand back to an ‘old’ area. “Post-doctoral study, that’s commitment.”

“Tell me about it,” Fuchsia said with no shying from the irony of it.

Leigh asked, “Does it take a long time, Alice?”

“I’d say it’s a lengthy process. Four years pre-med; four years medical school; four years post-doctoral training/certification, so now, age thirty, I’m about to start my first real job.” Her attempt at a self-deprecating humor fell flat.

“Then she’ll be a Research Fellow at the University of Illinois, Chicago. One of only a handful in the country, isn’t that right, sweetie?”

“I’ll be able to move on if a research subject comes through. CDD children are rare as hens’ teeth.”

Fuchsia shifted again. “There’s that one girl. What’s her name again?”

“Lynsey Smart. She about fifteen now, and was stricken seven years ago. I’ve never met her, and if her parents give an okay to the University, they have to drive two hours each way to get to Chicago. It’s a big commitment, and her folks aren’t sure. Until I find someone, I’m in a bit of a limbo.” Her stomach ulcer flared again, no one noticing but her wife.

Alex did a mental tally. “Twelve years of school and certification…? How could you afford it?”

Fuchsia replied first. “We manage. Of course, we have my mom and my work at the preschool, but Alice has grants.”

“Do you?” Dr. Judith asked, leaning forward on her stool as she zoned in on an area of the monitor.

“Yes. Not to get too geeky or anything, but I’ve done my post-doc work on a National Institute of Health grant. The U.S. government covers most post-doctoral candidates in fields of biomedical, genetic, biochemistry, developmental biology and neuroscience research.” Alice let slip an accomplished smile. “And CDD is covered under developmental biology.”

Leigh, following a notion from earlier, asked, “Stricken? You used that word…to describe—”

“Yes,” Alice explained, “CDD kids start out like all the rest, and undergo standard periods of development. That includes both learning and social skills. But somewhere between the ages, of say, three and ten, these kids have an attack. Over a period of months, weeks, or sometimes even days, they not only stop developing mentally and emotionally, but regress, losing many of the skills they’ve already acquired. This period of onset is difficult for parents and children alike.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yeah.” Leigh agreed with his partner. “Poor kids. Poor parents too.”

At that moment, Alice glanced down at Fuchsia and forgot to mask her feelings.

“So,” Dr. Weeks changed the subject briskly. “It’s nice you boys could take time off work to be here.”

“Are you kidding!” Alex chimed. “We wouldn’t miss first sight of our godchild for the world.”

Leigh nodded, slipping an arm around Alex’s waist. “That’s true. We’ll always be here for you two.”

“Aww, that’s sweet of you guys.” Alice looked to Fuchsia again, but saw her diversion tactic hadn’t worked.

The beautiful twenty-seven-year-old turned to the boys. “Good to know, as apparently I want kids more than the good doctor here.”

“Fuchsia—”

“I’m only halfway joking. Besides, Alice wants kids; she just doesn’t know it yet!”

Fuchsia and the two boys laughed, letting Alice off the hook.

“Speaking of kids,” the obstetrician announced, “I just found yours.”

Faces gathered as close to the monitor as they could. The shadows morphed slowly in and out of an anthropomorphic form.

Alex asked breathlessly, “Boy or girl…?”

The doctor was just about to say, when the hospital door flew open. Hurricane Azra Khan came in, all a swirl of mink, Prada and excessive Chanel No. 5. A commanding Pakistani accent then filled the little room. “You have better not already found the baby’s sex. The grand-ma-ma to be must be present.”

She swept up to her daughter’s bed, Alex and Leigh parting like a Gay Red Sea at the gesture of Azra’s godly hand-wave.

The fifty-year-old woman came in close, embracing Fuchsia with a cheek-caress and words of “How is my precious little mahjabeen doing?”

“Fine, Mom. You know Leigh and Alex?”

“Yes, yes – of course. The boys making it all possible.” Azra gave each in turn an airy cheek-kiss.

Alice watched, knowing the guys were in awe of such a naturally gifted queen as Fuchsia’s mother. Then Azra came around the end of bed and planted a kiss on Alice’s cheek as well. “You are looking well, my dear. You always do, even without makeup, as I so often see you au naturale, as they say.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment, I guess.”

“Not at all, my dear; not at all.” Azra pretended to inspect the room more closely. “But was Christine, your dear mother, too busy for such a momentous day, as this one so clearly is?”

“Mom…” Fuchsia protested, a warning rumbling underneath.

Alice gathered herself. “She couldn’t drive from Indianapolis today, and besides, this is not…the…first pregnancy—” Dr. Weeks cut herself off, but not before inducing a deal of sadness for the boys, Azra and Fuchsia.

“Well,” Azra Khan said at last, “give Christine my best, dear.”

Alice nodded, tight-lipped.

The ultrasound operator re-acquired the image, scrutinizing it, and injecting into the general quiet: “It’s a boy.”

All gathered around, this time Alex and Leigh giving Azra no special deference, crowding out her fur with nary a qualm.

As the obstetrician ran off several prints of the sonogram, everyone else in the room stared contentedly at the monitor. There a freeze-frame image of the developing human in Fuchsia’s belly stayed in focus.

Again, a sharp pain ached inside Alice’s stomach; and again, only her wife noticed the familiar little wince.

“Oh!” Azra Khan cooed. “It’s so beautiful, my little grandson.”

The boys clenched hands in contentment. “Our godson.”

Fuchsia wiped the clear conductive jelly off her abdomen and told her mother, “Listen to you, as if you don’t already have four grandkids from my brothers.”

Azra helped her rebutton her top. “But, moon-face, you are my youngest and only daughter – your child will always be special to me.”

As the statement sounded at least halfway sincere, Fuchsia allowed a matronly kiss on the cheek before sitting up on the examination table.

‘Ooos’ and ‘Ahhs’ immediately sounded as Dr. Judith started passing out sonogram snapshots like congratulatory cigars.

Alice did not get one, for just at that moment her phone vibrated with an incoming text. “It’s my mom,” she announced, “wanting to know how things went.”

The room was now awash with giddy laughter and familiar chitchat on whom the ‘baby’ resembled.

“I’ll go take it in the hallway.” Alice departed with only her wife acknowledging it with a nod.

As soon as the door to the little examination room closed behind her, Alice felt she could breathe. She preferred the sterile, clinical air of the public corridor over the claustrophobic, laughing and joking party atmosphere of the ultrasound room behind her.

Here, under the fluorescent lights, Alice knew she was in her element, a logical and matter-of-fact Research Fellow to be. Going to a nearby bench, Alice sat and began texting her mom in Indiana.

 

Everything went gr8. Fuchsia’s fine, the doctor found the fetus, and all looks good, so far.

She sent the message, already regretting she might have ‘said’ too much.

I’m glad, Alice, dear. But you don’t sound too happy. Want to talk about it?

 

Alice fumbled with her phone. Shifting it back and forth between her palms, she debated coming clean or brushing off her mom’s invitation to honesty. She stopped with a sigh, and began to type.

 

It’s all so hard, Mom. I’m worried – again – that Fuchsia is setting herself up for a fall. It might be the biggest one yet.

 

As doctors, nurses and patients passed by her bench, Alice Weeks stared at the screen of her phone. The little rectangular thought-cloud, where “ • • • “ should appear if her mother was tapping out a reply, was still. She’d put Christine Weeks to a mental test.

 

Never mind, Mom. I’m sorry—

Alice, please. Let me type this.

Okay.

Darling, for some women, getting and staying pregnant is a challenge. But on the other hand, motherhood is a rewarding goal, despite the hazards and heartache along the way. Do you see that?

Logically, I do, but how much pain can she, can we as a couple, bear? If this time doesn’t ‘stick’ again, what will happen? I’m afraid and stressed, Mom. I don’t Fuchsia unhappy, but there’s only so much I can do right now—

Baby—

I mean, with the postdoc coming to an end; with the uncertainty of securing a test subject—

Alice

Yes

Hugs. I may be just someone’s mom, so all I can tell you is: what will be, will be. Fuchsia loves you, she won’t blame you if—

I gotta go, Mom.

 

Alice could read no more. Uncertainty piled on top of uncertainty overwhelmed her, and now even the clinical atmosphere of a hospital’s public hallway aggravated her ulcer.

 

 

Chapter Two: The Aroma of Gingerbread

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw a white flash head through an open door. It resembled the ruffled dresses worn by a little girls.

Aware she was dreaming, Alice slowly made her way through an unfamiliar house, surveying quizzically the fixtures and furniture. Their character might best be described as quaint.

The sunlight beyond the door invited, and Alice stepped directly into a cobblestone street. It sloped down to her right, and she was immediately struck by the scene: houses in pastel colors were on both sides of the thoroughfare, and she imagined she was in some fairytale village clinging to a hillside; a warm sun shone in the plate-glass sky overhead. Birds streamed by, cheerily playing and singing as they went.

She crossed over. The cobbles under Alice’s shoes were clean – immaculate, in fact – and of fritted chunks of white marble.

Alice heard laughter and followed the sounds of the little girl uphill a house or two, but found the ‘right’ dwelling with no problems. It stood out because this one’s stuccoed walls were fitted in a colorful mosaic of glass, mirror, broken plates and tiles, all pieced together in the plaster.

It looks like a house of imagination and play, Alice found herself thinking.

All at once, a smell hit her wondering senses. It was a warm, undeniably gingerbread aroma.

Buoyed by how inviting it was, Alice mounted the curved, narrow steps, up to the front door, which was a series of window lights mounted in grass-green muntins. She cupped her hands around the side of her eyes to peer inside. Not seeing much, Alice moved to look through the left sidelight.

Although dim inside, another frilly streak of white skipped across the room heading to the right. Alice again heard a child’s free and easy laughter ring out.

The woman’s hand fell to the fancy door lever, where a brass dolphin cavorted in ocean spray, and the portal opened.

Now truly wonderful waves of holiday baking scents overtook Alice as she entered and closed the front door behind her. The entry hall had more of that European charm evidenced on the exterior. A staircase rose in front of her, while off to the left, an open back door let light wash the white walls above more grass-green woodwork.

“Hello?” Alice asked, surveying the homey space.

“In here!”

As the voice had called out from a space to her right, she rotated that direction and saw an open doorway. She had to duck a bit to do it, but Alice stepped through it.

She met a little girl of perhaps eight or nine brushing her dolly’s hair. The room was not large, and the corner closest to the street-facing window was her play area; dolls, teddy bears and various stuffed animals were seated around a child-sized table.

The little girl jumped up, and together with dolly in her arms, went to say hello to Alice.

The woman asked first, “Who are you?”

“My name’s Joy.” She held her hand, and Alice noticed the girl’s white summer dress had a small red pattern on it. Her hair was a fairly bouncy light brown, about the length to cover her ears.

“Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“I know who you are, silly!”

“You know my name…?”

The girl found that question smile-worthy. “I know all about you, Alice Weeks, M.D.”

Alice did not challenge the girl to ‘prove it.’

“But what does M.D. stand for, anyway?”

“Medical doctor.”

“What about Ph.D.?”

“Well”—Alice blanched—“that’s a Latin term: philosophiae doctorem.”

“So you’re a philosopher?”

“Um, no. In this case, the sophiae means one who is learnèd – um, one who knows a lot.”

It was another obvious thing for Joy. “I know what learnèd means.”

Alice laughed a little. “Beg pardon.”

“Sure. Do you want to join us for tea?” She grabbed Alice’s hand before a declining reply could arise.

Soon enough they were seated with the animals around the little table, and Joy poured a dark-red liquid into doll-sized blue and white tin cups.

“But,” Alice asked, looking around, “where are you from, and what are you doing here?”

“Two questions, silly.” Joy served a cup and saucer to Alice, and then the rest. “The first question, I can’t really say. I don’t know. The second, I’m here to have a little fun, and help out a friend.”

Alice had a sinking feeling she was ‘the friend,’ but she raised the cup, curious about the contents. She sipped and was amazed. “It’s cherry Kool-Aid! It’s what me and my sister used to serve at our tea parties when we were kids.”

Joy didn’t have to vocalize her ‘I know’; a half-grin said it well enough.

Alice sipped the concentrated brew, feeling instantly like a girl herself again. She hadn’t tasted this in more than twenty years. She wondered how Joy knew, but a naggingly cogent thought interrupted to say the girl was a figment from her own head, so of course she ‘knew’ every detail about Alice. She quieted down and enjoyed her cupful of childhood happiness.

“Oh, there you are. It is time?”

Alice glanced to where Joy had directed her comments, and on the floor were two upright mice. They wore little suits of work clothes and carried miniature farm implements to announce they were country mice.

“Come on, Alice! It’s time to go visit another friend of mine.” Joy leaped to her feet and tugged on Alice, who left her little cup and saucer behind.

The mice led them back to the entry hall, and headed to the rear door.

Fresh air and delicate scents greeted them in a paradise of delights. Low hedges and blooms of every color – snapdragons, lilies, cosmos, blue bells, hollyhocks and sweet peas – lined paths leading out to the garden walls.

Those same walls suddenly melted away. Open country appeared with cotton candy clouds wafting across wide-open skies.

The mice headed to a copse of plane trees, and Joy led Alice with them.

They followed to a sun-dappled clearing where an unusual sight awaited, for in the center they encountered an eight-foot-tall kitty condo. With many intricate levels and cutouts, and entirely clad in pink carpet, it was people-sized. As they approached it, Alice noticed contented chickens rootaling-n-tootaling through the leaf litter at the tower’s base.

Joy called out “We’re here,” and to her astonishment, Alice saw something stretch and claw itself awake on one of the condo levels.

A half cat, half human creature, she lit a cigarette and smoked it from the end of a foot-long, rhinestone-encrusted holder; she had a crystal ashtray nearby. Around her neck, a diamond collar had a slender chain attaching her to the kitty condo.

Once she’d taken a refreshing drag, she exhaled a thick Hungarian accent, saying, “Aannd, so I seee, you’ve brought her.”

“Yes.” Joy patted her new friend’s elbow.

The Cat Lady lengthened her tired muscles once more and positively purred towards Alice, “So, dahhling, are you ready to accept your identity crisis?”

The technically psychiatric term threw Alice for a moment. She wondered if she did have a crisis of ID. It seems all so…clinical.

Cat Lady tapped ashes, making the crystal tray ring a moment. Extending her long lower limbs, she announced: “Not yet, I see. Vhat do you tink, Joy, dahhling – do you tink ve should riddle Alice to help her along?”

Joy clapped her hands; hopped in place. “Yes! Let’s. Let’s.”

Cigarette holder glimmering and clenched between her teeth, Cat Lady stuck her arms forward and gradually lowered herself to a lower level of the kitty condo. Having more room here, she lay on her belly, fingers supporting her chin.

 

“Stretch me; pull you

Tussle me do

But still all through

I’ll remain true.

 

“Vhat am I, dahhling?”

Joy tugged on her sleeves like it was an easy one, but Alice was confused. She shrugged.

“Marriage, silly!” the girl blurted out.

Alice cracked a grin. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” When she glanced back to the pink-carpet tower, the Cat Lady was sitting on the edge of a lower level, now almost eye to eye. The cigarette was gone, and instead, one of the hens foraging below was wearing the diamond collar and getting petted as she roosted in Cat Lady’s lap.

“Now, dahhling, I have another one for you. Tell me, vhat am I:

 

I’m sometimes round;

In more shapes found;

Often quite hard,

My contents I guard.”

 

Some childlike determination to succeed and win approval triggered Alice’s unconscious thought process. She listed the facts: ‘something round…’; ‘in other shapes found…’; ‘hard’; ‘guard.’

“It’s an egg,” she announced, stunning even herself.

“Aaabosolutly correct, dahhling. Joy, you ver right.”

The little girl slipped her hand in Alice’s before telling Cat Lady, “I know.”

Still feeling proud, birds flitted song across the sky, which Alice watched for a moment. A gentle tug on her sleeve eventually caused her to look down. Joy gestured to a cute pair of squirrels at their feet. Both had on bowler hats and well-appointed pinstripe suits; little monogrammed attaché cases were clutched in their pedicured claws. One of these ‘city squirrels’ had his pocket watch out and tapped on it while making a tiny cluck-cluck sound with his buck teeth.

“Time for us to head back.”

Alice took Joy’s hand, and together followed their guides back through the magical garden to the house. Once indoors, the girl proceeded across the hall, past the remnants of their earlier tea party, and under another doorway.

In this room, Alice was confronted with a long fairytale bed. Its brightly painted headboard stretched the entire length of the room, with white sheets and pillows only ending on the wall to the right where a window faced the cobbled street.

It looked so warm and inviting, so hospitable to Alice, who was feeling fatigued, but still….

A barefoot Joy now leapt on it, jumping a few times with infectious laughter and holding her hands out to Alice.

The woman hesitated to join her for some reason.

Joy stopped, reassuring her new playmate, “Come on. There’s plenty of room for Fuchsia too!” Then she plopped down and resumed her giggling, rolling around.

Alice relented, and now barefoot as well, climbed and sat on the bed with legs folded underneath her. She relaxed when Joy handed her a brush and sat cross-legged with her back to the woman.

Alice rose to a kneeling position. Feeling giddy and like a little girl again, she brushed the child’s hair, which had suddenly grown shoulder-length.

While Alice worked, Joy told her softly, “I know you feel pulled in many directions; I know you have your troubles and worries, but just understand life is a rich and rewarding experience, no matter the struggles or setbacks; no matter how short it turns out to be.”

As the woman brushed and smoothed the girl’s hair with a flat palm, the warm, inviting gingerbread smell once more overwhelmed Alice with a sense of wellbeing. It instilled a calm regularity to Alice’s actions. And then suddenly, a sharp pain in her gut told the woman she felt guilty at letting this happiness in.

A loud wail erupted from outside the window. Both glanced towards it in quiet shock.

Slowly, as if coming out of a pleasant fog of light and laughter to a dark nightmare reality, Alice opened her eyes.

The wailing was real. She bolted upright in bed, reaching in the blackness for her wife, but first felt Fuchsia’s moist hands. Hugging her, Alice forced those hands and arms down. When Fuchsia’s siren cries morphed into sobs, Alice switched on the lights.

It was then she could see the bloody sheets; see the blood on her wife’s nightgown and fingers too.

She picked her phone and dialed 911.

 

What’s your emergency?

“Please send an ambulance. My wife’s just miscarried.”

Hold, please.

 

Without another word, Alice put her phone on speaker and knelt on the bed. She rocked her crying belovèd from behind, gradually letting “It’s all right” slipped from her lips over and over. But it was something not even Alice could believe.

 

 

Chapter Three: Family Luncheons

 

Two months later, after the emotional dust of the loss had settled, duo lunches occurred: Fuchsia at her mom's suburban home, and Alice at a downtown hotel.

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

She had to smile. Her mom expertly bribed two of Fuchsia’s young nephews and nieces with half a cookie each.

“Here you go, my preciouses. Take your treats and leave me and your Auntie Fuchsia to talk, all right?”

A pair of little nods, cookie-halves attached to lower lips, accompanied Fuchsia’s head-patting smile as both filed out of her mom’s marble and ebony kitchen.

Small moments like these, and a myriad of similar ones traipsing across her workday at the preschool, reminded Fuchsia how much she loved kids. She’d always seen herself having a family of her own, despite the setbacks that kept cropping up along the way.

“Now, mahjabeen, my lovely moon face beauty, how have things been, since – you know.”

“Oh, Mom.”

“I worry about your health. Your health and spirit.”

Fuchsia brushed hair from her eyes. “The miscarriage was eight weeks ago. I’m not made of glass, you know.”

Her daughter’s flash of pettishness caused Azra to retreat to the warm comfort of her half-full Hermès coffee mug. “I only meant—”

“I’m sorry. But, I get a bit tired of all the looks and questions assuming I’m a wreck, on the verge of a crying jag just because it or babies in general get mentioned. Hear me, Mom – I am fine.”

Now some of Azra Khan’s old self re-emerged with a smile. “I’m glad to hear it, mahjabeen.”

As Fuchsia took her own sip, she was forced to listen to her mother say “I’m glad to hear you’re put it behind you. Time to get back in the saddle!”

            

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Christine Weeks always liked to “Lunch at the Palmer House” when visiting Chicago.

Alice glanced around at the opulent bustle. She and her mother nursed whipped-cream-laced Vienna coffees at the bar in the venerable hotel’s lobby while they waited for their names to be called, then they’d gather their things – including her mom’s Loop shopping bags – and grandly mount the marble steps to the Lockwood, the hotel’s fancy eatery. Alice shook her head a bit, knowing the same Indiana-reared blood flowed in her veins. She wasn’t as fond of ‘elevated’ theatrics as her mom.

While people bustled about the lobby, Christine asked, “How is your ulcer, dear?”

That snapped Alice to the present. “Um – it’s doing okay.” She gauged the degree of plausibility in her mother’s face; the older woman with the perfectly coiffed and highlighted hair hadn’t bought it, but decided to let the ‘okay’ statement stand unchallenged, at least for now.

That didn’t prevent her from confronting her daughter in other fields. “Jennifer has the cutest little haircut these days. I have it on my phone, if you’d like to see….” She started digging.

“Mom, you know, I don’t really want to be reminded of what my kid sister is up to.”

“I just thought,” Christine said after a swallow. “Well, never mind, although you could get some fashion tips from her. She found this new store in the mall where everything is just precious—”

“Mom.”

“What? You could do with a little precious in your wardrobe, dear.”

“I prefer practical clothes.”

“Yes, from Sears’ Big and Tall section, for men.”

“Mother!”

“Don’t tell me I’m being ‘fussy’ again about your appearance. If you let yourself be helped with a bit of fashion advice, and a dab or two of makeup, why, you’d feel more confident; I guarantee it.”

“I appreciate your interest, Mother, but I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree.” She picked up her coffee cup and drank, deep.

“Funny, but I don’t feel all that appreciated, dear.”

The cup clinked in its saucer, Alice trying to change the subject from her apparent childish ingratitude. “So, how was the drive up today, Mom?”

Christine Weeks dabbed foam from the corner of her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “Fine. Days like this are why I prefer to come visit you in May, once the roads are clean, and I can at least have a decent chance of a rain-free trip, to and from.”

“Yes—”

“So tell me dear, I don’t understand the arrangement you have with these boys.”

Alice puzzled a moment. “You mean Leigh and Alex?”

“Yes. How is it again that you all know each other, and decided to…to, well, as even the men say these days, ‘to get pregnant’?”

“Alex’s mom is the director of Fuchsia’s preschool. When Fuchsia mentioned she had plans to start a family, Alex’s mom said he and his partner did too, and we should all meet.” Alice sat back and laughed. “Introductions of this kind in the Gay Community are far less impersonal than going down to the local sperm bank and standing in line for a withdrawal.”

“Very amusing,” Christine, sans humor, said.

“So, on a serious note, the four of us socialized a bit, avoiding mundane topics, like jobs, and focused on overall compatibility: health, goals in life, expectations about parenting, etcetera. We certainly clicked, and went ahead with the extraction procedures, much to the joy of Alex’s mom.”

“Well, that’s interesting, dear, but I actually meant, what about the arrangement itself. I understand how the bees and birds interact and then the stork delivers a precious bundle and all, but how involved will they be? Will the four of you exist as a polyamorous commune or something?”

Alice chuckled. “No, Mom. Our respective relationships won’t change if-and-when Fuchsia and I have a kid. They will be in the baby’s life as godparents, and when they are old enough to make head and tails of the birds and bees, as you so eloquently quoted it, Fuchsia and I will tell them Leigh and Alex are their donor fathers.”

Christine took a sip of coffee, saying beforehand, “That still sounds rather ‘modern family’ to my ears.”

“You’d rather the child not know, ever? Well, we don’t – and that goes for all four of us. Because when the time is right for the boys to start their own family, we’ll be donors for them and godparents to their kids in the exact same way.”

The elder Weeks set her cup down skeptically. “Times do change, don’t they?”

“They certainly do.”

“You know, dear”—Christine’s tone suddenly got sly—“speaking of babies, if Fuchsia can’t have a one of her own, you’ll just have to step up to bat and take one for the team.”

            

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Azra returned from the microwave with a bowl of popcorn for herself and her only daughter to share. “Too bad Alice could not be here today.”

“Mom, you know Christine is on a daytrip. My wife can come up with me to Highland Park any weekend.”

Azra Khan set the china bowl down with a thwack. “Can, but doesn’t.”

Fuchsia slowly swallowed a sigh. Some battles were not worth the contest of wills. “She’ll be able to and will very soon.”

“What do you mean, moon-faced beauty?”

Fuchsia took some steaming popcorn. “When she’s finished and secure in her Research Fellowship.”

Her mom scowled.

“Don’t give that ‘If she finishes’ look.”

Azra’s hands rose defensively. “Who, me? No, never.”

Fuchsia chewed, moodily waiting for it, and it came right away.

“I just don’t know, mahjabeen, why you married that eternal student. You could have married up in life. Think of that! The wife of a corporate CEO, or better yet, a politician’s wife! It’s so on-point right now too, with people all abuzz in the highest circles—”

 

Fuchsia braced for something caustic.

“…maybe if you’d played your marital cards right—”

Here it came.

“…you could be First Lady of Chicago by now, like Amy Eshleman. Think of that!”

 

It was so awful, Fuchsia simply wagged her head. “Not interested in being a politician’s wife, Lesbian or any other kind.”

Azra chuckled, at least enjoying the chance to ‘vent’ in her inevitable style.

“We’re different people, you and I, Mother.” She bit down on her acrimony. “But I can guarantee you’ll be proud of your daughter-in-law once Alice publishes and makes CDD a household concern. You’ll be proud to mention her name, so you might as well change your opinion of her right now.”

In the face of her daughter’s loving determination, Azra Khan feigned a South-Asian comme ci comme ça hand-wiggle up by her temple. “As you say, my precious.” She leaned over to give her daughter a cheek-hugging embrace. “All I want is your happiness.”

The tone’s dripping disingenuousness caused Fuchsia to Hmmm in her matron’s ear.

Azra pushed her back to hold her eyes. “Well, that of course, and a baby.”

            

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Seated at their table in the Lockwood, the almost too-white tablecloth felt uninvitingly clinical to Alice. Although she usually preferred sterile environments, being with her mother precluded much sense of control, especially on where the conversation would head.

“I do hope they cook the chicken properly this time,” Christine Weeks was saying.

They had ordered and been served glasses of zinfandel to nurse.

“If it isn’t, Mom, you’ll just have to send it back.” Alice lifted the red liquor to her lips, muttering, “Like you always do.”

Innocent as a lamb, Christine asked, “You don’t think I’m difficult, do you dear?”

Alice nearly choked. She grabbed her napkin to hide her blush.

“Well,” continued the elder Weeks, “if I’m known for determination, I’m proud to say it’s a trait I’ve passed along to you.”

“And to my sister, I suppose.”

“Oh, dear – Jennifer has her own unique qualities, but you and I are both Snakes on the Chinese Zodiac so we are determined, and more often than not – we succeed at whatever we set our minds on.”

Her mother had a point there.

Christine’s hand came out to land on Alice’s. “Tell me, dear, the stresses of work and family are a lot, aren’t they?”

Alice was ready to admit they were. “We’re both stressed. Fuchsia, because – you know why. Me, because I wish I could do more for her – for us – but…. I don’t know, with my ten-year struggle still up in limbo – it’s a lot.”

“That young woman you mentioned? She’s still not decided to come to the University’s study program?”

“No, and it’s her parents making the call. But I don’t blame them for being cautious. Their first priority has to be Lynsey’s quality of life, and whether dragging her two hours to Chicago twice a month will help or hurt.”

“It’s for the better good; surely they can recognize that.” Christine drank.

“Logically, yes. But when viewed as a practicality, it’s a different matter.”

“They should still recognize what’s best for their daughter. Every parent should.”

Alice sighed, playing with the base of her glass. “You haven’t seen prodrome firsthand, and I have. I can understand their fear of hurting her more.”

“Seen the what, dear?”

A waiter appeared with their Chicken Marengo. He set it down, and Alice smiled politely once he’d finished.

“The prodrome,” she told her mom. “With CDD, the onset is often accompanied by a period of time the child knows something is wrong. They will hold their head, complain of pain, and most likely say they are afraid over and over. This helplessness both kids and adults face is life-changing. There is so much fear experienced, and no one has answers. The average doctor sees the child, draws blood, maybe – if the caregiver is able – orders a CT scan, but none of the data show anything. Then the kid changes. Could be overnight, loses social skills, regresses mentally, sometimes like Lynsey Smart, speech goes away.”

“That is awful, dear.” Christine had started to eat, first cutting down to the bone looking for blood.

“It’s hard to watch, helplessly, and all I want to do is help. I know the answers are out there.”

            

˚˚˚˚˚

 

The popcorn proved not enough, so Azra had ordered in some poke bowls for them, and pizza for two of Fuchsia’s brothers and their kids watching basketball in the family room.

Fuchsia poked at her yellowtail, moving some of the salty masago off to the side. She had her doubts and worries.

Her mother picked up on it, apologizing, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I know Alice is bound for greatness. With you by her side, how can she fail?”

It all – the stress, the longing, the tenderness her mother had suddenly shown – combined to bring Fuchsia to the verge of tears. “Am I being selfish, Mom? Maybe I should set this…baby business, aside. Alice is so stressed out right now. Her fate is not in her hands, and she is such a good person. Such a loving soul.”

“Yes, I have no doubt about that, mahjabeen.”

Fuchsia had to chuckle a bit; rare it was her mother became unquestionably sincere. “Did I ever tell you how we met?”

“No, dear. I don’t think you have.”

“Mutual friends introduced us. Alice was already doing her residency at the University Hospital and incredibly busy. During one of her mandatory twelve-hour downtime breaks, we met at Grant Park and walked around, looking at the Lake and the summer afternoon rolling by. We felt at home with one another – I mean – really clicked. It started to rain, so we dashed into the Aquarium. There, in the half-light coming down through the massive central tank, the mysterious movement of large life behind the bullseye glass mirrored what I knew was moving within both of us.”

“Love moves in mysterious ways, precious.”

“It’s a moment I will never forget, and I never want to spoil our connection.”

“I can understand that, dear.”

Fuchsia was skeptical. “Can you? Really.”

“Of course!”

“Then, stop being something like a bully to Alice. She doesn’t deserve it from ‘family,’ does she?”

“Me, a bully…? Fuchsia, really.”

To her examining eyes, Azra’s stroking of her own long hair told her daughter she was being partially defensive and partially open to change. Fuchsia decided to try and grab on to the awakening half. She snapped the clear lid on her poke bowl. “Around six months after we moved in together is when it happened.”

“What it?”

“The moment CDD entered our life. Still doing her medical residency, one day she had parents come in with their ten-year-old son. The boy complaining that his head hurt, and that he was afraid. He couldn’t sleep at night; wouldn’t take time to eat; only paced ceaselessly. His parents were besides themselves.” Fuchsia started to cry. “But there was nothing Alice or the other doctors could do. That bright, articulate, smart and funny little boy, he went away. He stopped looking at people, he reverted to two or three word sentences – it was like his light just went out.”

“I’m sorry, darling.”

Fuchsia brightened a moment. “You know, she has a theory. It’s not so much the light goes out in these kids, it’s just it gets trapped behind an impenetrable wall of non-communication. Alice wonders if their personalities are there, stuck at the age the condition struck, but behind a veil they can’t get through.”

“Reminds me of that movie Awakenings.”

“Yes, exactly! Or like those accounts of people locked in vegetative states where the doctors say they are ‘dead’ except for the heartbeat – and then, they wake up. Boom. They talk, they are the same person, just confused.”

“I’ve heard of those. Poor people. Wasn’t there one in Missouri, ‘asleep’ for nineteen years and just opened his eyes one day and asked where he was?”

“Yes, I remember that case too. Anyway, for Alice not being to help the parents understand what was happening to their beautiful son, she’d come home night after night, letting go and sobbing. She was a doctor, and powerless to stop the process of CDD robbing him from the world.”

Azra was visibly moved. “She is a good person.”

“Yes.” Fuchsia wiped her tears defiantly. “But she will make a difference; I just know it! She’ll make things better for CDD kids and spread knowledge about the condition.” Then she smiled confidently as her mom, threatening, “So no baby for you unless you start treating Alice better.”

            

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Christine would not let go of her daughter’s hand. “Tell me, Alice – are you afraid of having a baby?”

Alice had nothing to hide anymore. She’d come to a classic ‘mommy moment,’ where she acknowledged that no one in the world knew her better. “It’s not that so much as – all this baby business is changing her. The failures. It’s changing me too; how could it not change ‘us’? Now she talking about trying again, and naturally, Leigh and Alex are all for it, but….”

“But not you, dear?”

“I just wish Logic would visit our house and stop this cycle of depression punctuated with sadness. I wonder if it will destroy our marriage and end in shattered dreams anyway.”

“Oh, Alice. I wish I could do more.”

“And on top of that, I keep having these odd dreams.”

Christine Weeks puzzled. “Nightmares?”

“Um, no. Actually, they’re the exact opposite.”

Her mother sat back on her chair, unsure.

Alice explained, “They leave me with this feeling…of happiness. I wake up, feeling trouble-free, like a girl again, and then instantly experience guilt, for what do I have to be happy about?”

“Are these dreams, are they always the same?”

“Mostly. I’m in this fairytale-type house, and the girl is there—”

“Girl?”

“Yes, Joy – that’s her name – she is always there, and we spend time playing with her animals, or she takes me out on adventures”—Alice nearly giggled—“so we have fun.”

“That is…a very curious thing to dream about, dear.”

“I know, right? But what’s more—” Dr. Weeks stopped herself in mid-thought.

“But what’s more…?”

Alice leaned on the table, over her barely touched Chicken Marengo, saying low, “The little girl, she seems real to me.”

The mother, well tutored in the ways of confronting childish speculations, sputtered dismissal. “In dreams, they’re supposed to, dear. It’d be wrong if they didn’t seem real to us.”

Alice uneasily let the subject drop.

            

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Fuchsia and Azra’s ‘quality time’ had drawn to the inevitable open pint of ice cream, shared back and forth between two spoons.

The container in Fuchsia’s hand suddenly hit the marble counter hard. “Oh, Mommy! I’m scared. Do you think me pursuing having a child will break Alice and me up? Am I dooming us?”

“Fuchsia, dear. Ask yourself one question: does Alice really want kids or not?”

“She’s afraid, Mom.”

“And she should be. This is a big step. Everyone should go into it with open eyes. And you have told me over and over: ‘Alice is ready.’”

Fuchsia relaxed a bit. “She is. I know she is.”

“Then, my dear, in the end, it will be worth it. Alice will melt the first time she holds her child – her perfect child – in her arms. Trust me.”

 

˚˚˚˚˚

 

The Lockwood served great brownies, but Alice knew she’d tine off a small corner with her fork and take the rest home for her wife.

Her mom, on the other hand, had nearly polished off hers; it was getting time for her long drive back to Indianapolis.

In a moment of despair, Alice blurted, “So many things can go wrong. If Fuchsia wants to try again, and even if she carried it to full term this time, even if a healthy baby is born, it’s still like playing Russian roulette.”

Christine Weeks rose from her chair. She walked over and gave her daughter an honest hug. When she was done, she sat on the arm of her chair and brushed hair from Alice’s forehead, telling her, “You overthink things, get too analytical about matters that can’t be analyzed. The first time you soothe your crying child, you’ll realize nothing else matters as much.”

 

 

Chapter Four: A Carrot and a Peppermint Stick

 

Now Joy’s sleeping arrangements were a room-sized four-poster bed, ruffled canopies and curtains.

Alice and the girl were in pajamas, chatting casually, when a medium-sized poodle jumped up on bed. The dog ran over to lick Joy’s face.

“Henrietta! You came! I’d like you to meet my friend Alice.”

The cute little white dog did a head-bounce and tail wag in Alice’s direction.

“Nice to meet you too, Henrietta.”

Like all her dreams involving Joy, the woman felt content; each encounter uncovered more memories of her own trouble-free girlhood and how Jennifer had idolized her.

Joy settled with the dog curling up in her lap. “So, you were saying, about your lunch at the Lockwood?”

Alice’s mind scrunched a moment. “But that was months and months ago.”

Joy shrugged. “But you were saying…?”

“Oh, yes.” The woman suddenly recalled. “My mom said if Fuchsia can’t have a baby, I should take one for the team.”

“And….” Joy drew out leadingly.

“And how does that make me feel?”

“Yep.”

“Horrified.”

“I know, but why?”

“Look at this world. Misery, heartache, disease and hunger are everywhere. Worse yet, so is greed and carelessness: either a ‘me first’ or a ‘who gives a damn’ attitude about social programs. And….”

“And what?”

“What if my daughter doesn’t like me? What if she blames me if and when things go wrong?”

“If she’s born less than perfect, you mean.”

“Yeah, that too. What if? A hundred, a thousand what if’s, all crashing together in my head.”

“I think you need to remember what’s important.”

“What’s that?”

“That life is a gift. What we do with it is our choice, that’s all.”

Alice felt less than sure of that sentiment.

Joy shrugged again. “Family can help.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

Even though it was a strange answer, Alice envied her. “Sometimes I think those without sisters or brothers have it lucky.”

“How come?”

“I have one sister, who’s younger. When we were young, Jennifer would follow me all around, nagging yet fun. We had fun. I enjoyed my role of big sister and instructor; protector.” Sadness came to Alice Weeks. “But it all changed.”

“Why’s that?”

“After I went away to college and premed, she fell in with the wrong crowd at school.”

“Who?”

“The haters hiding behind a pair of mis-quoted and mis-translated bible passages. Those walking around saying ‘I am saved; I am saved,’ and gleefully damning everyone else. So, needless to say, when I brought home my first girlfriend for Thanksgiving, it was a bad scene.”

“Your sister sounds like a jerk.”

Alice smiled, reaching out to stroke Henrietta. “Since then, Jennifer’s treated me as if I’m already dead to her – gone from hero worship to rot-in-hell, and I thought family’s supposed to be forever.”

“It is.”

“Jennifer has two kids, my niece and nephew, who I’ve never been allowed to see in person, but my mom keeps me updated with stories and pictures of them.” She stopped petting the dog. “My sister is more like a shadow to me now – she broke my heart, so what if my child grows up to judge me and Fuchsia? What if I love another who turns her back on me?”

Joy placed Henrietta in Alice’s lap. The dog’s soft brown eyes looked up into the woman’s as she listened to Joy’s answer.

“Did you stop loving your sister because she decided to pretend she does not know you?”

“No.”

“No is right. Love doesn’t just go away, and even though she buried it within herself, neither did Jennifer’s. You did the right thing – are doing the right thing – because as long as you nurture that family love, there is still a chance for your sister to come back to you. Extinguish that torch, and it’s over.”

It made sense to Alice. “So with a child, the same holds true.”

“It does. My parents love me…despite….”

For the first time, Alice saw a hint of sadness move across her young friend’s face. “What is it, Joy?”

“My parents loved me, even through my bad period.”

“What do you mean? I can’t imagine you being a bad girl.”

“I was.” Her shoulders raised once more in resignation. “But my parents continued to love me, and that’s all that matters.”

Alice didn’t press for more details, instead she glanced around the bed canopy, feeling a bit down again.

Joy’s tone brightened. “I’m sorry about your sister, but here, I have a present for you.”

“What is it?”

“A poem. Remember it. Someday you might need it.

 

Once a girl was lost

In a push-me, pull-you thrall,

And stayed tempest-tossed

Till she got above it all.

 

Then fair sunshine beamed

When she sailed on like a cloud,

As free as all seemed

The first breath they took our loud.

And a bow she tied

In sorrows once thought a knot,

Looping them in pride

To show her what joy begot.

 

So once this star-crossed

Girl learned to run from a crawl,

All the pain it’d cost

In contentment only seemed small.”

 

“Wow,” said Alice. “That’s a really nice poem.” It moved something shadowy inside of her, but Alice’s sleeping consciousness was far too removed to think what.

Joy took her hand a moment. “Did you notice what you were doing?”

“No. What?”

“You referred to your baby as ‘she.’”

“Oh,” Alice chuckled. “Just a guess, cuz I don’t know.”

“No?”

“No. To save some of the potential heartache of losing it again, this time Fuchsia and I decided not to know the baby’s gender till much later in the pregnancy.”

Joy nodded knowingly, again shifting something inside the woman’s heart.

As Alice’s sad eyes surveyed their surroundings again, she suddenly noticed the proliferation of stuffed animals along the headboard. Horses stood next to lions, giraffes, elephants; and at Joy’s snapping fingers, they came alive.

Marching to the little girl, Alice and Joy stood, the center of the bed expanding into a circus ring.

The poodle got a tiny pony crop and married its snap to whistles. The animals lined up and started tricks: the white ponies balanced on a single front hoof; the elephants sprightly jumped through hoops held by the lions; and the giraffes danced, twisting their necks together like candy canes.

Alice and Joy jumped for joy, bouncing all the performers in the ring. The motion seemed to make the animals float and giggle too, and then a moment later, Joy, Alice and the poodle were on a slide.

Down and down they went, twisting this way and that, making Alice laugh out loud.

One final twist, and light reappeared.

Their feet landed on the wooden floor of a candy shop.

The bunny-faced proprietor cried “Welcome!” from behind the counter, and gestured to waiting baskets. “Help yourselves.”

The Alice noticed up and down the aisles, there were barrels and barrels of candy of every hue and description and within a child’s reach.

The two went along happily, placing handfuls of various sweets into their carriers. Henrietta had now gained a leash and trod contentedly behind Joy’s lead.

Once satisfied with their haul, they took baskets up to check out. Only now, the bunny person looked a bit shady to Alice. There was a certain hangdog droop of eye, and a lazy flop to the ear that made the hardworking woman think ‘stoner.’

He first took Joy’s basket and dumped the contents into a pan on the scales. Just as he was about to read off the weight, Alice spotted something. “Hey. You’ve got your thumb on the scale.”

The rabbit’s big front teeth flashed as he pulled out an enormous carrot from under the counter. “Mind your own beeswax, and besides”—he started waving the root vegetable over Alice’s head—“you should be sucking on this anyway, not some sour-mint gunny drops!”

Joy and Henrietta stood up to the fur-bound bully. “Alice has the right to choose what she loves for herself.”

The carrot swung. The girls ducked. Henrietta barked and nabbed the weapon by the greens.

Suddenly the store was gone, and lions, giraffes, ponies and elephants chased the dismayed bunny man away.

Alice and Joy grabbed one another, laughing at the sight.

Soon they were strolling in the magical garden behind Joy’s house.

“So, how far along is she,” Joy asked.

Alice was brought closer to reality. “Oh. You mean Fuchsia.”

“Yes. She’s pregnant again, right?”

“She’s five months along, and so far so good. The doctor put her on strict bedrest. Fuchsia hates it, but she suffers it, looking forward to the birth.”

“I don’t blame her.”

Hearing an odd little noise, Alice glanced down, to the base of the hedge. To her surprise, Henrietta had transformed from a white poodle to a pink piglet. Soon the three of them were wandering in and out of lovely flowerbeds. Sweet scents arose, and merry birds chirped from the tree branches reaching across the pathways overhead.

“Why did Henrietta change?” Alice asked lackadaisically.

“Silly. Pink is for girls, you know that.” The girl smiled warmly.

Trying to puzzle out what it all meant, Alice’s thoughts became distracted by Henrietta. She had stopped by an agapanthus and indulged in a baleful screech, which did not end, ever after Joy had bent down and scooped up her up into her arms. Suddenly the little porker was swaddled in diaper, onesie and baby blanket. Joy did her best to try and quiet Henrietta.

In frustration, she gave the crying bundle to Alice to deal with. Still squealing, the woman cooed, hummed and bounced it a bit in her arms. Once it settled down, Alice noticed Joy was gone.

When she looked again to the bundle in her arms, it was a beautiful, wide-eyed baby. She – Henrietta – sucked contentedly on a pacifier and started up at her, drinking in every detail of her face.

Suddenly, Alice was overcome with emotion and started to cry.

She woke up in a peaceful bed, Fuchsia sleeping by her side in the night. Alice felt indescribably happy, like she’d been given something precious.

Through her tears, she remembered Joy having recited a poem to her, but could not summon a single word of it.

 

 

Chapter Five: Tiff at a Baby Shower

 

They’d reserved the upper seating of their favorite Persian restaurant. But as Alice surveyed the sideboard already groaning with gifts, she wondered if they’d have enough room to eat.

Reza’s occupied the ground floor of an old River North neighborhood warehouse, so the ceilings were high, the front windows light and plentiful, and the atmosphere unpretentious. The elevated party area was fully open to the seating of the main restaurant, but those of the scant Saturday afternoon diners did not seem too put out by the gaggle of celebrants a mere three steps up and beyond the handrail.

About a dozen of the couple’s friends, family and coworkers were present. Fuchsia, to Alice’s left, busily chatted with her coordinator boss from the preschool; Alex’s mom. Finger food lined the center of the table, waiting for the arrival of all the guests and the placing of the entrée orders.

Christine Weeks sat across from her daughter, and Alice on more than one occasion caught her mater glancing at the large wrapped box forming the central display of baby shower gifts. She knew the woman was proud and not afraid to show it.

At that moment, the restaurant doors opened, and in came the other ‘happy couple.’ Alex led the way with boxes in his arms, followed by Leigh making quite a clatter. He pushed a four-wheeled carriage over the restaurant’s brick floor. The object attempted an adorable coverup: jewel-toned gift paper encased the upper part and was pasted on top with an oversized bow.

Alice stood and met Alex at the top of the stairs to relieve him of his packages. While she was making room for them on the collection buffet, he went down again. Both godfathers-to-be hoisted ‘the mystery’ present up to the party.

Alex streamed over, and gave his seated mom and Fuchsia a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, my God. Look, Leigh. She’s absolutely glowing! It must be true what they say about pregnant women.”

“Flatterer,” Fuchsia sputtered, obviously delighted.

Leigh leaned down in front of his spouse and gave Fuchsia a kiss as well. “So,” he said with a homeboy grin, “how close are you to popping?”

Alice rejoined them and re-took her seat next to her wife.

Fuchsia chuckled. “Soon. Looks like it’s going to be a full-term, healthy baby.” She took Alice’s hand.

“Can’t wait!” the boys said in unison and then drifted to their seats, saying hello and introducing themselves as they went.

Once the boys were happily ensconced among the women’s guests, Fuchsia gave a fleeting pass at her watch. She started to get up, telling her wife, “I think I better use the facilities before the final folks arrive.”

Alice was up and holding her chair. “I’ll go with you.” Then she announced generally to the assembled, “Bladder the size of a chickpea these days.”

Fuchsia playfully nudged her with a smile, and the pair were off. First down the steps, and then across the restaurant’s brick flooring. Down the hall and to the left, both ladies used ‘the facilities,’ and met again at the sinks. Alice was already washing her hands when Fuchsia joined her. She smiled at her in the mirror. “Alex is right, you know. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

It seemed Fuchsia was toying with the idea of laughing it off, but only smiled in return while she turned on the faucet. “How is your ulcer doing today? Not too bad?”

“You know, it’s be been bothering me less and less these days.” She began drying her hands, pulling out extra towels gallantly to hand Fuchsia when she needed them.

In the mirror, Alice could see on her wife’s face that her statement was not 100% believed. “I am getting better, you know.”

“It’s been years, so I hope so. What’s changed?”

The question stunned Alice. Joy flitted across her mind. “Hmm, I guess it has something to do with those dreams.”

“The little girl ones?”

The faucet went off; Fuchsia was ready for the towels, so Alice handed them over. “Exactly. But you know, I just can’t shake the feeling of how Joy seems like an actual person.”

“You’ve said this before, but really? How so?”

“How…? I don’t know – like I’ve met her before, but not really. It’s like she’s here to show or teach me something. But what it is, I can’t figure out when I’m awake.”

“You think she’s here to instruct you?”

“My scientific mind trusts nothing not testable as fact. Our world is solid.”

“But when you think of this girl, how does it make you feel?”

“Happy.”

“Then sometimes make-believe can prove facts quicker than the Scientific Method.”

Alice let that settle in. Her wife’s logic appeared to have merit, so she nodded.

Fuchsia tossed her and Alice’s scrunched handwipes and came back for a kiss. “If it’s true, what you’re saying, then when you need to understand her message, you will. I think it will just be there for you.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Fuchsia chuckled. “Careful, you’re sounding more and more like you-know-who every day.”

Fuchsia executed a playful shoulder slap. “Watch it! Don’t you dare say that.”

“If the Pakistani princess tiara fits, wear it. But don’t worry, my mom’s almost as bad.”

“Glad you can admit that.”

“Have to be blind not to see it, but my sister gets to be her Stepford clone, not me, thank God.”

“Indeed, thank heavens.”

They left the restroom laughing and holding hands. Settled again at their places at the table, Alice leaned closer to remind her spouse, “Great choice. Everyone’s having fun, and ‘Reza’s’ is our place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Fuchsia replied lovingly.

“I just hope she’s okay with Persian food—”

In speak of the devil fashion, Azra Khan made a grand entrance. All patrons in the restaurant were forced to pause as she stood in head-to-toe ermine and whipped off her needlessly large sunglasses. “Where is my gorgeous moon-face beauty?”

As she seemed to ask the ether itself, several helpful Chicagoans just out for a quiet weekend lunch pointed up to the party area.

“Thank you,” Azra said, stepping out of the way, and allowing first sight of one of Fuchsia’s brothers stuck in the doorway.

He was so loaded down with stuffed shopping bags and pushing a stroller besides, he made a sadly comical figure.

Instantly sensing dread, Alice watched her mom. Christine was biting her lip, splitting glances between her present, and the approaching typhoon Azra. Alice could tell fair sailing was at an end; the encounter wasn’t likely to be good, as the two had barely remained civil ‘for our daughters’ sake.’

“Maaahjaaabeen!” Azra came between Alice and Fuchsia to get at her offspring. “You look stunning. Simply stunning!”

“Oh, Mom.”

After a flurry of ear-smacking smooches. Azra planted one on Alice’s cheek. “Darling, so glad to see you looking – well.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Khan.” Alice then unwisely flitted a look towards her mother, forcing Azra to acknowledge her presence.

“Ah, Christine. Such a pleasant – well, you know – we hardly see one another.”

Neither woman attempted so much as an air-kiss.

“Well, as I’m sure you know, Indianapolis is so far away. It’s not as easy as coming down from Highland Park.”

“Yes, and not such a journey from lesser to greater either.”

Oops. Alice could see rings of restraint circle her mother’s eyes.

“Ah, Dawud.” Azra slipped off her coat, dumping it in Alice’s lap, to direct her son. “Put the gifts over there. Let’s see….” She made her way to the sideboard, callously tossing Christine’s parcel to the side as so much rubbish, then unpacked the splendors from her shopping bags.

Christine picked up her wineglass, ruefully telling Fuchsia before taking a sturdy gulp, “Hope your baby has a use for a Tiffany’s teething ring.”

The remark visibly upset her wife, and Alice too for that matter.

Fortunately, Fuchsia’s brother – relieved of his baby gift duty – broke the spell with a kiss. He and Azra settled down in seats, Alex very unhelpfully ushering people down so the mothers-in-law could sit right next to each other.

“Well, we’re all here now”—Alice used peacemaker tones—“shall we order?”

“Yes.” Fuchsia picked up the waiting menu from the table.

“Let me, my moon face beauty.” Azra reached out, taking the carte before her daughter could protest. “This Iran food may be no-where as good as Pakistani, but they probably have copied some of our good dishes.”

“Don’t you think, Azra, dear,” Christine said with clear, clipped tones, “you should let Alice and Fuchsia do the ordering?”

“Why?”

Mrs. Weeks was astounded. “Because it’s their place, and their party.”

Azra glanced at her daughter like she needed a ‘nonsense’ translator.

“Maybe my mom is right,” ventured Alice.

Frustrated and in the middle, Fuchsia waved her hand. “You order, Mom.”

Triumphantly, she did. After the vest-wearing waiter had departed, Azra said, “At least the mint rice should be good – if they do it right.”

“You see!” Alice announced happily. “That is our favorite.” A quick look confirmed the faces of her immediate family were not impressed. Now she was frustrated.

Azra tried one of the finger-food offerings with obvious distaste.

“So, Alice, dear,” Christine said, “are you going to send the baby to your own preschool?”

She meant the school Fuchsia worked for. Alice immediately spoke up. “No! First, that’s a few years off, and secondly, the child will go to Chicago public schools—”

“Maaf kijeah! Why in heavens do that?!” Azra demanded.

A fleeting glance at Fuchsia showed Alice the same astonishment; they had never discussed it, come to think of it.

“Because, being in the state educational system gives him or her priority selection at one of the University of Illinois schools, and they are some of the best.”

“Alice,” Fuchsia said, “we haven’t—”

“No, no, no!” Azra insisted. “No grandchild of mine will attend public school, and that’s final.”

Christine tapped her wine glass for the server to fill to the brim again; she’d need it. “It’s not really up to you, is it, Azra, dear.”

“Fuchsia—”

“Mom, please.”

“It’s going to be public school,” Alice asserted to her mother-in-law.

“What?!” Fuchsia’s tone of astonishment was back.

“I mean, you are right, honey – we haven’t—”

“No, we haven’t, so neither one of us gets to open our mouth and pronounce this is the way it’s going to be.”

“Yes, see?” Azra pursed her lips.

“Oh, why don’t you stay out of it.” Christine took a hearty sip.

“I could say the same for you, Christine. Maybe for Indiana who-gee-ers, public school is the best you can expect, but for—”

Mrs. Weeks’ glass came down with a thump. “I beg your pardon.”

“If the government lunch fits, eat it!”

Alex and Leigh gasped, obviously enjoying and taking notes on the queenly tussle.

“You shouldn’t attack my mom that way,” Alice said to Azra.

“And you shouldn’t attack my mom that way,” Fuchsia retorted.

Neither felt like holding hands with the other anymore. The hard resentment of ‘I can’t believe you’d take her side’ congealed into something like a stony grudge.

Fortunately, a few minutes later, a stream of servers started ferrying dishes from the kitchen.

Groaning platters of kebabs in their multiples landed in several spots along the tables. So did dishes of hummus, olive and olive oil, along with stacks of still-steaming flatbread.

Lastly, grand cloches of hand-hammered tin were lifted away from mountains of redolent rice. Alice inhaled deeply; few things were better than Reza’s mint rice, where the freshly torn leaves were only tossed with plumped and fluffy grains last minute before serving.

“Well,” Azra said, truly impressed, “let us put away this talk of the future and enjoy the here and now. Christine?”

Clearly the matron Khan’s tone had been placating, so Mrs. Weeks replied with a soft “What?”

“Hand me your plate, dear.”

And so, Azra Khan herself served the mint rice to her immediate family with a smile.

            

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Two hours later, with only coffee and a few sweet dishes down the spine of the tables, the rest of the space was littered with open baby shower gifts, which the guests passed among themselves for ‘Ooh’s’ and ‘Ah’s’.

Alice kept herself busy, distracted from even her thoughts, by making sure the pile of torn giftwrapping did not get out of hand.

As Fuchsia revealed the final present, Alice glanced ruefully at her mom and mother-in-law. The women – no doubt assisted by the liberal application of pinot grigio – had become fast friends. They laughed and shared allusions to their ‘back in our day’ comments, but Alice was still concerned about the aftermath of the tiff with Fuchsia. After all, the dueling moms would soon enough retreat to their separate suburban corners, but later at home, would Alice be left in the ring with her wife? She knew she’d have to make it up to Fuchsia.

But already, she was determined to conclude the party with a bit of a sweet ending, like the finger-sized Persian churros glazed in rose and cinnamon sugar awaiting takers.

Alice got to her feet. “Thank you all for coming, and for your amazing gifts. As most of you know, Fuchsia and I don’t know the sex of the baby. So, if you’ll indulge us, we’ll play a little game.” Alice asked softly of her wife, “You have the envelopes, babe?”

While Fuchsia dug them from her purse, Alice explained. “We asked our doctor to take one pink and one blue envelope, and put the baby’s gender in the appropriate one.”

Fuchsia produced the envelopes in question.

“And so”—Alice took and held them high—“we’d like our special guests to open them for us.”

Azra and Christine clutched at each other like giddy schoolgirls. But as if a slow-motion movie scene, their high hopes tumbled like a house of cards as the envelopes at first appeared to be passing their way, but then passed them by. Alice handed them to an astonished Leigh and Alex. “Please, boys, open them and reveal the gender of our baby.”

Alice sat once more, relieved to feel her wife’s hand seek her own again.

Leigh had the blue and Alex the pink; they opened simultaneously, with Alex holding up a card. “It’s a girl!”

Alice and Fuchsia kissed, Fuchsia saying “I knew it was.” Alice wasn’t sure how she felt about the confirmation. She tried to dismiss as unscientific the notion that she could have known it too, thinking it was a random 50/50 shot anyway.

 

 

Chapter Six: Zoloft Lemon Drops

 

Sitting in their fleecy nightgowns, Alice felt totally at ease.

The little girl wondered out loud: “How is your stomach these days?”

“Funny you should mention it; Fuchsia asked the same thing today.”

“She did, when?”

“At the baby shower. She was asking, and I told her it’s getting better. But I don’t think she believed me.”

“But it is getting better, right?”

“It is, Joy. Better and better.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Alice was stunned and felt she had to admit, “Maybe it’s because I’m being less hard on myself.”

“Good. I hope so.”

Alice suddenly remembered, “And you were right! We had the gender reveal, and it’s going to be a girl!”

Joy made another of her patented ‘you’re silly’ expressions. “I was right? You were right, you mean.”

Alice smiled and chuckled. “Yes, I was right – we’re having a baby girl. I’m so happy.”

“Does Fuchsia know this? The you’re so happy part?”

Alice shrugged with a pout. “We sort of went to bed not on the best of terms.”

“Why?”

“Oh, family! Our moms acted childish today, forcing us to take sides, creating a rift between Fuchsia and me.”

“But she needs to know you’re happy about the baby.”

Alice got it. “You’re right.”

Joy’s tone brightened. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time still. Remember, family doesn’t just go away.”

“Yes,” Alice agreed. “What you told me before is true. Like how your parents love you”—Alice followed an informed notion—“even though you had your ‘bad girl’ period.”

Joy slowed her playing with a stuffed zebra. “Yes, that was a bad thing. I wish….”

“Wish what?”

“Wish things could be different.”

“I think everybody feels that at some point in their life.”

“But not like this. This….”

“You can tell me, Joy, if you want to.”

The girl’s eyes roamed as if trying to settle on an unpleasant memory. At last she focused. “One time I had such pain. My head ached so bad, and my folks were worried, but nothing they did helped. And then it got worse because they stopped listening to me…. I was so afraid, I stomped my feet, I yelled at them, I acted so badly towards them….”

“But then what happened?”

Joy shrugged. “The pain went away, and I was fine again. I haven’t acted bad since then, I swear. I’ve been good, and my parents still love me, and that’s all that matters.”

Despair overcame Alice suddenly. “Oh, Joy, I don’t know if I’m a good girl or not. Sometimes I think I’m a mess. I think – no, I know – my upbringing has something to do with it. I get tongue-tied and depressed. I can’t be as open as I should. I feel so much more confident when things are analytical, and, well, clinical.”

“But you want to change…?” the girl slowly inquired.

“Yes!”

“Then I know someone who can help. Come on. Let’s go!”

Suddenly the bed disappeared from under them. They were walking down a corridor with a single door at the end. Getting there, Alice read the name on it: “Dr. T. Tortlemacher, M.D. Psycho.”

“Oh,” the woman exclaimed mildly.

“You ready, Alice?”

“Yes. Ready.”

Joy knocked briefly and opened the door. The office beyond was stark and modernist. Wood panels on the wall added no warmth.

“Ah! My smart little Joy.” A middle-aged man rose from behind a desk. As he approached, Alice noticed his three-piece suit was of a slick gray fabric, and much too tight on him; his white cuffs and socks stuck out. But more strikingly, a giant fox tail flicked above and around his shoulders from behind him. The red appendage grew from his lower back.

“And who, my dear little Joy, have you brought me?!”

“This is my friend Alice Weeks. She needs help, Doc.”

“Oh!” He flared immodest interest, looking the woman up and down, and making Alice a bit uncomfortable.

“Did smart little Joy tell you about me?”

“Um, not quite.”

“Oh! Then let me.”

He led the way to a couch and invited the ladies to sit. He pulled over a club chair and settled down, the end of his tail flicking around his calves. “I’m a Doctor of Psychiatry. And I’m a manic-depressive!” He added with relish, “So trust me, I know a thing or two.”

“Um,” Alice asked, “what do you have to be depressed about?”

“That’s just the thing,” he clucked brightly, “not a thing in the world! Isn’t that great that I’m still such a sour-puss all the time?”

Alice glanced at the door for a split second. She was glad it was still there.

“So, what’s eating you, honey?” the doc inquired.

“I, ah—”

“Is that right! Well, please go on.”

“Well, Doctor Tortlemacher, you see I have a—”

“Fascinating! And how does that make you feel?”

“I, uh—”

“Well, my dear, your days of worry are over.”

“They are?” Alice asked flatly.

“Yes! And you know why…?”

Alice split a quick glance between Joy and the doc. She shook her head ‘no.’

“Because, in the end, drugs are always the answer!”

“Are they…?”

“Yes. The key to sound mental hygiene! That and flossing daily with riddles and limericks.” He popped up from his chair.

Heading to his desk, his tail flicked merrily as he muttered: “There once was a psych-nurse from Tucumcari….”

Alice could not hear the rest, as she’d urgently turned to Joy. “I think seeking this kind of help was a mistake.”

The little girl copped a ‘wait and see’ attitude.

Tortlemacher came back, asking himself, “How does that one go again…? There once was a straitjacket from Alamogordo…. Oh, never mind. Here’s my prescription pad. Now, what shall we try on you first, dearie?”

“Look”—Alice got more forceful—“thanks for your time and everything, but I’m not sure drugs—”

“Please! Don’t think of them as drugs. Think of them as treats for mental cavities. I know I do!” His tail wagged excitedly. He held out a handful of candy canes to the seated woman. He picked an example from the assorted colors. “Here, try a Mirtazapine lavored one.”

“What flavor?”

“Mirtazapine! It’s a dee-lish antidepressant. Or”—he rooted for a second color—”Escitalopram”—a third—”or Sertraline!”—and another—”or perhaps Agomelatine? I have Prozac gummy worms in my desk. I keep those for the angsty teen-moms.” His form leaned closer and loomed over Alice.

Suddenly a drop of wetness soaked through the top of Alice’s nightgown. Looking up, she noticed the psychiatrist’s vixen-like appendage had changed. Now it was a blood-red scorpion’s tail, poised over her head, exuding a clear venom.

Alice put her hands back for support against the sofa cushions while she slowly got to her feet.

Undaunted, Tortlemacher continued, “Or I have Zoloft lemon drops in my pocket… You know, for the iddy-biddy kiddies.”

Alice reached out and found Joy’s hand; she too had stood. The woman did not take her eyes off of the psycho doctor.

“Go on!” he insisted. “Reach into my pocket and get your brain a sweet, pain-numbing treat. C’mon!” he shouted. “Give it a lick!”

“Run!” Joy suddenly said. Both did.

Out the door and back into the hallway, they ran and ran until the sunshine of Joy’s magic garden surrounded them; enchanting birdsong streaked overhead. Coming to a stop by the fountain, both caught their breath through fits of laughter.

Sitting on the gravel, Joy said, “Don’t worry. No one can get us here.”

“You know,” Alice replied, “I never want to become like Tortlemacher; all science and no sympathy.”

“No imagination, you mean.” Joy nodded her head wryly.

The statement caused Alice pause. “I see what you mean. Yes, no imagination to help figure out where the real problems lie.”

Joy beamed. “Well, seems I’ve taught you something after all.”

Alice chuckled. “Oh, you’ve taught me a lot!”

“But you know, he got them completely wrong. That’s why he couldn’t remember them.”

“Tortlemacher?”

“Yes. His mental-floss limericks; they’re supposed to go this way:

 

There once was a straitjacket from Tucumcari,

who’d fit the camel known as dromedary;

over the single hump she’d travel with ease

to bind his nervous twitter, tight as you please –

she could settle him quite to his nature contrary.”

 

Alice was laughing hard, but the little girl held up her finger for silence. “And the second one goes like this:

 

There once was a psych-nurse from Alamogordo,

tweaked with lust for the DiCaprio known as Leonardo;

but being a bit slow, she could never quite surmise

his heart only ever really belonged to the guys –

so if she finds out, it’s sure to make her a desperado.”

 

“Oh, my!” exclaimed the MD, “Turns out my Gay besties were right about him all along. Wow.”

“Of course, they were,” the girl said with artless ease, but then Joy leapt to her feet. “Time to leave all our ‘dark stuff’ behind us – Tortlemacher, your sister, your fears for the future, my bad time with my parents – all of it.” She held out her hand, and Alice stood to take it. “Our time is too short to focus on the negative, that’s what I say.”

“You’re right, Joy. You’ve always been right.” In Alice’s brain, she realized this sweet, wise little girl affected her so much because it reminded her of her sister’s hero worship when they were young. Joy instilled all the confidence in Alice she had so naturally felt when young. It seemed to be back for good too.

“Come on!” Joy started running towards the house.

All at once, they were back on Joy’s original fairytale bed having a pillow fight. Feathers began to fly, and with the smell of baking gingerbread all around them, Alice felt so light she awoke in laughter, filled with the delight of childhood wonder.

 

 

Chapter Seven: Finding Joy

 

Through her waking laughter, Alice opened her eyes to find Fuchsia watching her. She had a smile on her own sweet and lovely face.

“What’s wrong, Fuchsia?” Alice reached up to move some hair out of her wife’s eyes.

“Nothing, Alice. I like watching you sleep these days. You seem so free and happy.”

Alice pulled Fuchsia with her. The two sat up in bed, cuddling close. “I’m so sorry about our tiff today. Let’s forget it and be more mature than our moms.”

“My thoughts exactly, especially now that we’re about to be mothers ourselves.”

Alice nodded. “It’s not our fault the baby’s grandmothers can act so infantile from time to time.”

“No, not our fault at all.”

Alice gently tickled her wife. “Should we send Azra and Christine to your preschool? They can learn from the kids what it means to ‘play nice.’”

“Not a bad idea.” She began to tickle back. “If it’s not too late. My mom once tricked the vet to declare her handbag Pomeranian an emotional service dog so she could take him into the frozen yogurt parlor with her.”

Alice laughed. “That’s nothing. My mom got her doctor to say she has severe hay fever so she could get a handicap placard for her car.”

“No?”

“Yep. She uses it to park outside the gun shop at the mall. Says that’s the safest entrance.”

“Good Lord, why?”

“She thinks no gun violence will dare happen near those who are so armed and dangerous all the time.”

“Oh, my God.” Fuchsia shook her head in amazement. “I guess it’s like they say, you really can’t pick your family.”

“No. You can only love them for their faults.”

“And pray they’re not hereditary.”

“I hear ya.”

Tickling over now, and both comfortably re-settled in one another’s arms, Alice got serious. “Fuchsia, darling, I want you to know that as a doctor I’ve seen more of the problems than the joy, but now I’m ready to bring a child into this world; I really am.”

Fuchsia took her wife’s hand and placed it on her belly. “Maybe I haven’t been good at expressing it either. It’s always been about wanting a child with you. That’s because I never had any doubts you’d make about the world’s best mom.”

Tears appeared in Alice’s eyes. “You never had any doubts?”

“Nope.” She brushed those tears away, ignoring her own. “It’s cuz I love you. I have faith in you, all the way, baby.”

“I know you do. And I love you too.”

As they drew close for a kiss, Alice’s phone lit up and vibrated on the bedside cabinet. She picked it up and brought it over, nearly dropping it after she read the quick text.

“What is it?” Fuchsia asked, concerned.

The happy tears started all over again as Alice did drop her phone; dropped it to bear-hug her wife. “I’m set. Lynsey’s parents decided to do it. I meet her Monday morning!”

“That’s great, honey.”

Before they kissed, Alice held Fuchsia back a bit. “I’m sorry I ever had reservations, but now I am ready to be a mom. Come what may, I can handle it and I’m ready to accept the happiness too. I know I am.”

    

˚˚˚˚˚

 

Bright and early, the newly minted Alice Weeks, M.D., Research Fellow at the University of Illinois Chicago, walked down a clinical hallway to meet her test subject. She knew the teenage girl was non-communicative, so that would be the first hurdle.

Arriving at the examination room, Alice adjusted her lab coat and went boldly in. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Smart. I’m Dr. Weeks, and together we’re going to see what we can do to make CDD better understood, and better known.”

As they exchanged handshakes and first names, Alice tried not to lose her cool. Although the girl sitting in a chair in the middle of the room had yet to look at her, she knew exactly who it was.

Squatting down besides the girl, Alice asked the parents knowingly, “And Lynsey J. Smart, what does the ‘J’ stand for?”

“Lynsey’s middle name,” her dad explained, “is Joy.”

“We call her that all the time, Dr. Weeks,” said the girl’s mother, “because she is that to us; our pride and joy.”

Focusing on her completely, a relaxed smile emerged. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Joy, at long last.” And then, almost without needing thought at all, Alice remembered.

She recited softly:

 

“Once a girl was lost

In a push-me, pull-you thrall,

And stayed tempest-tossed

Till she got above it all.

 

Then fair sunshine beamed

While she sailed on like a cloud,

As free as all seemed

The first breath they took out loud.

 

And a bow she tied

In sorrows once thought a knot,

Looping them in pride

To show her what joy begot.

 

So once this star-crossed

Girl learned to run from a crawl,

All the pain it’d cost

In contentment only seemed small.”

 

When her doctor had finished, Joy glanced at her a moment. A smile of warm recognition flashed briefly.

To Alice, it was about the most beautiful thing in the world.

           

                    

~

 

 

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