Part 1 is here: https://freedomain.locals.com/post/3411608/the-present
Cassie glanced towards the door to the restaurant, and her cheeks suddenly coloured as she beamed. “Oh of course he arrives just when dessert is on its way!”
Rachel glanced up, to see Cassie’s husband Ian striding into the restaurant. The door banged a little behind him, cutting off a sudden cacophony of barking dogs.
Ian carried his two-year-old son Ben on his hip - they both appeared flushed from the fresh air, and Rachel experienced a strange sensation, that the air was pushing ahead of Ian – like powdered snow before a winter train.
Ian and Cassie were already a couple in college – it was the typical pairing of engineer and nurse, although Ian never became a full engineer – he had studied computer programming for a year, then dropped out to join a crypto software start-up run by a Dungeons and Dragons friend he had known since junior high school. He was a solid man – resistant to imagination, often annoyed at speculation, and sceptical to the point of hostility towards ideology. He enjoyed simple social activities (the word ‘simple’ was added in Rachel’s mind), was a self-described ‘weekend warrior’ who played hockey on Sunday afternoons. He battled a videogame addiction – like most men these days – and drank moderately. Only 25, he had developed the slightly dissolving ‘dad bod’ from an unholy excess of sitting and coding. As Ian asked more and more questions, his body less and less resembled a question mark. Rachel found him fairly easy to talk to, as long as she steered clear of the topics he found most stimulating.
Ian had had a dangerous MAGA flyby, and Rachel strongly suspected that he had voted for Trump in that blackest of years 2016, but he was cautious enough to never confirm her suspicions. He was a bit of a political junkie, strolling away from the mainstream consensus with surprisingly little sense of danger. He never went as far as Q-Anon, but was certainly sceptical of any published unanimity. Rachel avoided any political topics like the plague, because she could not stand it when he dismissed her quoted facts with the contemptuous word “presstitutes.”
Of course, Ian was sensitive and intelligent enough – not that it demanded a lot – to ‘kindly’ exclude her from this crass categorization.
They both relentlessly avoided the topic of Rachel’s aunt, who had been a well-rewarded paragon of mainstream media reporting.
Ian worked in the crypto industry, which always made Rachel think of Hedy Lamarr and breaking codes in World War II. To her, ‘crypto’ always seemed like a gang sign, a secret handshake to shaky wealth, full of strange passions and unsettling insights. Ian had once tried to explain to her the advantages of Bitcoin over central banking, using analogies about taking over a city, and communicating invasion instructions in a ring – but she got disoriented at his words, and completely tuned out when he – rather unsurprisingly – got a large whiteboard from the garage.
Rachel was a bit of a shallow water fish – she liked the sunny coral and bright colours and lifting surge of the endless waves. Whenever her inner ambling brought her to the blue cliff edge of deeper waters, she recoiled - watching the sunbeams dissolve into the midnight navy of the inaccessible depths was deeply chilling to her. She knew that Ian swam comfortably down there, always wanting to go deeper, to explore for wreckage and treasure, but when she imagined those depths (and she did dream of swimming down – being dragged down - with him one night, months ago) – Rachel never pictured looking down, but rather up, towards the faint flickering surface sunlight. The sight of the rippling sky shattering the sun made her breath catch in her throat, and in her dream, she actually bit Ian to force him to let her go, and she scrambled and swam with cramping legs towards the surface, her ears popping and aching, her blood and joints boiling with bubbles – and then she broached the surface like the hungriest whale, overjoyed to fall back down – but instead kept going, up and up, beyond the sea, beyond the clouds, beyond the air – into space itself - and in her dream, Rachel turned her eyes towards the sun - undimmed by turbulent oxygen, floating in nothing, breathing only in her imagination – and genuinely wondered why the sun was never called a ‘space heater.’
Of course, Rachel wasn’t allowed to have dreams about her brother-in-law – even ones as transparently allegorical and nonsexual as this one – so she had never told a soul, not even her boyfriend, Arlo.
Rachel did switch from baths to showers for a time, though. One evening, watching Arlo do his endless floor leg-lifts while they watched a monkey documentary together, she thought: If he cared about me at all, he would’ve noticed, and asked…
She immediately felt guilty, though, because he clearly did care about her – he bought her all sorts of moisturizers and loofahs, and nagged her about exercise, and they had done two or three Tik-Tok dance videos together, which had been a surprising amount of fun. Arlo introduced her to surfing, rock-climbing, and the joys of sweet potatoes, eggs, avocadoes, oats and various alchemical powders – and had helped Rachel avoid the seemingly inevitable mid-20s 15 pound weight gain. Thanks to him, her youthful picture on her website was not a total lie – she really did look like her younger self.
When short of meaningful work, Rachel lowered herself to covering business conferences – and was always vaguely surprised – and viscerally contemptuous – at the difference between the pictures of the speakers in the handouts, and how they actually looked onstage. It was like they had published their kid’s pictures…
Looking at Ian striding fresh-faced through the restaurant, his glowing son grinning on his hip, Rachel found herself frowning. He has reshaped himself, she thought. Rachel had an uncanny ability to accurately picture people’s bodies under as many layers of clothing as they cared to wear. Without a doubt, he had lost – what, maybe 20 pounds? Muscle weighs more than fat, Arlo constantly told her when she weighed herself every morning – and so Rachel knew that Ian had lost maybe 20 pounds of fat, and also put on 10 pounds of muscle. My God, he actually has cheekbones!
Most modern men – and this is what Rachel appreciated so much about Arlo’s deviation – were like chubby anime characters, drawn in obsessive rings of concentric circles. They tended not to be significantly overweight – at least, not in Rachel’s circle – but looked like God’s rough sketch for men, before He added muscles. They did not have the definition of thinness, nor the rolly invasiveness of obesity, and their faces always looked the same – high foreheads, square black-rimmed glasses, scant beards, hanging mouths, slightly yellow teeth, darkly ironic T-shirts, endlessly cautious and correct enthusiasms, strange permissions to rage at ‘enemies’ – and unmentionable online addictions.
Soyjacks…
Rachel hated the phrase, but understood its relevance.
Ian sat down heavily, causing Ben to bounce and giggle. Rachel expected him to lean over and kiss Cassie on the cheek, but he put his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a deep and fleshy kiss. Naturally, Ben cried out and tried to pull their heads apart.
Ian laughed. “Hey, kid, this kind of passion is why you’re here, don’t get in the way!”
Who on earth is this? wondered Rachel.
“Hi Rach,” grinned Ian. “How are you? Ben, you remember Auntie Rachel?”
Rachel smiled in sudden guilt – she resented Ian for pointing it out, but she hadn’t spent much time with her nephew at all lately.
“Butterfly!” he shouted.
Rachel laughed.
“That’s right!” said Ian. “She brought you that butterfly wand from New York – from here!”
Ben cried out a Japanese phrase that the wand had burbled when he pushed the button. Something about “This, a guy, a little perfect guy, this, a perfect funny little guy…”
“Exactly!”
“Good to see you,” said Rachel. “What’s new?”
Ian blew through his lips. “Oh, work, as usual – crazy stuff, very exciting. I got a promotion - I’m a project lead now – the project lead.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “I am the one… We’re trying to find a way to lend out crypto for interest, without requiring people to give up their keys.” He laughed. “Sorry, that’s a lot of jargon, you guys have eaten?”
They both nodded.
“Ben, you hungry buddy?”
Ben had always had a supernaturally acute sense of smell. “Pudding!” he cried, his eyes widening.
The waiter arrived and deposited the steaming dessert on the table. “Gonna need a couple of extra spoons I see!”
Ben reached for the pudding, but Ian clasped his son’s hand decisively. “No Ben, not before lunch.”
Cassie smiled. “Oh, come on, it’s just a bit of bread pudding!”
Ben said: “I can eat bread!” The first tones of whining surfaced.
Ian frowned. “Cassie,” he murmured, “what are you doing?”
“It’s just a bite…”
“You know we’re trying to control this sugar thing.”
Rachel laughed. “Oh my God, you’ve become Arlo!”
Ian shot her a ‘you’re not helping’ look.
Rachel recoiled in genuine surprise. Never seen that before!
Giving up on the adults, Ian turned to his son. “What did we talk about with sugar?”
Ben twisted in his father’s lap, as if trying to evade the falling nets of his words.
“Ben?” Ian’s face was stern, solid – but not unkind, Rachel noticed.
Ben scowled. “Not before… food.”
“We made that deal, right?”
Ben eventually nodded, as if hoping his father was blind and could not see it.
“Remember last night? I promised to take you out of daycare so we can meet mom for lunch. Remember?”
Another nod.
“Now you like being able to trust my promises, right?”
After a moment, Ben nodded.
The waiter returned with two spoons. “A small one for you,” he smiled, handing one to Ian, “and a biiig one for the fine young gentlemen here!”
Ian scowled at the waiter – and took the second spoon at the same moment that Ben grabbed it.
There was a pause.
Ben glared at his father, then at the spoon. His cheeks began to turn red.
Ian’s voice was low. “Ben. Let go please.”
Again, the two women saw the waiter wanting to apologize – but he beat a hasty retreat instead.
Ben stared at the steaming bread pudding, gripping the spoon.
Rachel saw her sister open her mouth, surely to say: “Just one bite, don’t make a scene.”
Ian glared at her. She said nothing.
Ian kissed the top of Ben’s head. “How about neither of us have dessert – I won’t either.”
Ben looked from the dessert to his father, then back again.
Cassie’s cheeks were white. She shifted in her seat.
Ian murmured: “Are you thinking of making a scene, buddy? Gonna have a tantrum?”
Ben’s lips curled in an upside-down ‘u.’
“Don’t do it, buddy. We will get up and leave if you try. I want to enjoy taking you out of daycare, Ben. I want to trust your promise about sugar - like you trusted my promise about today.” Ian’s voice lowered. “And I don’t care if you make a scene.” He gestured at the restaurant. “I don’t even know these people.”
Ben’s fierce eyes slowly faded, and he let go of the spoon.
“Sweet!” cried his father. “I mean – good!”
They ordered some more mac and cheese for Ben, and then Ian turned to Rachel.
“I’m sorry about that,” she expected Ian to say – not because he had done anything wrong, but because it just seemed – polite, to apologize for something that made someone else uncomfortable. She knew it was crazy, but it seemed – proper.
Ian made no apologies.
“I’m guessing Cassie told you the great news?”
“Oh yes – congratulations!”
“How are things with Arlo?”
You’re saying that like it has some kind of – direct connection!
Ian’s eyes were clear, curious.
Rachel frowned. “Things are good. Good. He’s looking for a promotion at the – zoo… Things are kind of crazy in the science world at the moment – unless it’s pharmaceuticals. We’re going rock-climbing this weekend.”
Ben started fussing out of boredom. Rachel expected Ian to hand over his phone, but he just asked a passing waitress for paper and crayons.
Ian laughed. “Rock-climbing, that’s cool – ha ha, I vaguely remember having the time for that kind of thing!”
Why is he needling me this way? thought Rachel angrily. “Oh, it’s not just a hobby – he’s entering these competitions – he climbs the walls like a crazy spider – you should watch the videos!”
“Oh? And what does he win?”
Rachel’s neck felt hot. “He’s just really into – physical excellence…”
“For what?”
“Excuse me?”
Ian shrugged. “I’m just curious. What is all this physical excellence for? He’s not an athlete, he’s not a model – good-looking guy though. It’s gotta be expensive, takes up a lot of time - but I’m not sure where it leads.”
Rachel frowned. “But – it looks like you’ve been working out.”
Ian nodded. “Yeah… I realized that play fighting with Ben here wasn’t quite cutting it, so I got some weights and a bench in the garage.”
Cassie smiled. “And he’s changed his diet!”
Rachel laughed and put her spoon down. “Oh, you and Arlo should now have a lot more to talk about!” She ticked off her fingers. “Sweet potatoes, salmon, oats, eggs, avocados, fat bombs. I don’t think I’m even allowed to smell this dessert!”
“When the cat is away…” said Cassie, scooping up some pudding.
“No fair!” cried Ben angrily.
Ian frowned at her. “No, Ben, mommy has already had her lunch.”
“No fair!” he repeated, louder.
Ian said: “Do we really need to eat this in front of him right now?”
Cassie shrugged. “You said making deals would work…”
Rachel could see Ian’s jaw muscles bulge, and had flashbacks to endless Tom Cruise closeups.
Ben suddenly pounded his fist on the table. The cutlery clattered loudly. “Want some!”
Cassie’s full spoon paused in midair.
“Cassie – don’t you dare!” cried Ian. The waiter appeared in the middle distance. People glanced up. “Ben, please don’t raise your voice. You’re not having any dessert!”
Ben burst into tears. “Mommy has some, Auntie has some, I don’t have any… I never get any..!”
Cassie ducked her head. “Don’t hand him to me!”
Ian stared at her incredulously.
She said: “He’s just – winding himself up. You know how this ends.”
Ian jumped up, lifting his son - then realized that Ben’s hands were clutching the tablecloth. The plates, desert and cutlery danced dangerously across the table.
“NOOOOO!” screamed Ben.
Cassie shrank back, staring at her belly in bottomless shame.
Rachel skidded her chair back a little, to get some distance – and signal to the restaurant that she was not the mother.
Ben detached his left hand from the tablecloth, then raised it like a claw towards his father’s face.
“Ben!” cried Ian, grabbing his son’s wrist with his one free hand.
“You promised!” screamed Ben.
“We’re out,” said Ian, his face dark. “Sorry Rachel.”
Rachel shrugged.
Still holding his wriggling son’s wrist, Ian struggled to get around the table. With her foot, Rachel pulled a chair away from his path.
“Don’t want to!” screamed Ben. “You never…”
Cassie leaned forward, covering her face with her hands.
Rachel’s lips were compressed white lines.
Lurching from side to side as his son struggled violently, Ian somehow made it past the table.
Turning to his wife, his eyes dark with passion, Ian cried out: “Can we please pull him out of daycare?”
Cassie shrank back, raising her hands as if to ward off a blow.
The restaurant was utterly silent, as one of the most essential questions hung in the air of every mind and heart present.
No one even got up to open the front door to help Ian – he had to struggle mightily with his son and a latch in order to escape.
Please God let no one have been filming, thought Rachel in desperation.
A supernatural silence had swallowed up the restaurant.
A brief glimpse to a wider world – to reality, in fact – had cracked open the petty cathedral of distraction everyone hid in. Inconsequential differences, imaginary slights, silly details of graying hair, spiky moles and acne scars, minor debts and hangnails – the anger at food served slightly cold, invitations delayed and the petty rejection of three nights prior – all these detritus, details and dust vanished in a sudden interstellar zoom out – a minor but powerful presage of the deathbed regrets that put everything in perspective, far too late.
Hearing about volatile toddlers being pulled from daycare put a chill down the spines of the droning corporate females, who wrestled with slides and spreadsheets for impatient and indifferent men – the true patriarchy of indoctrinated wage slavery – as they rushed to placate the bosses who always rolled their eyes at tales of sick children – the same bosses who would inevitably fade from their lives like the drunken siren of a racing ambulance, into the deep rear mirrors of paychecks long gone…
And a skylight suddenly shattered over that very deathbed they would all face – if they are lucky – where the empty boss-gods they sacrificed their children to are distant or dead, and they reach for their grown children, who find themselves distracted and busy… And all the lost and fossilized spreadsheets and presentations that they sold their future for will never be unearthed, never be reviewed - they have as much value to the future as the dead diapers of infancy…
And all their decades of ambition, postponement and conformity - and chasing dollars to swell their taxes - are all flushed into nothing – while all the seeds of love that should have been planted in the fertile hearts of babies are handed to bosses to be consumed and destroyed…
And all of this is hinted and revealed in the moments of perspective that strike and scald the oceans of distraction like kindly heaven-sent comets.
People listen, or recoil – time moves on regardless, and all is revealed before the end. Perspective is inevitable, morality is inescapable – the glory of the universe is the finger-tapping on the shoulder of conscience delivered on a regular – but declining – basis, until souls either listen and live or…
Rachel paid as rapidly as she could – Cassie was numb, nervous – and they fled the restaurant.
In the warm air, outside, wandering in a daze through the canyon-bowels of grimy buildings, the sisters were silent for a few minutes. Both their hearts were racing, but probably in different directions. They failed to notice how widely the crowd was parting in front of them, so that they barely had to adjust their steps – every stranger’s conscience could see that the two sisters were in the grip of perspective, and so the crowd gave them a wide berth, in order not to give birth to perspective themselves.
Even the traffic lights gave way, allowing them to keep walking, to not delay, to not let the clouds of their perspective infect the huddled masses trapped in their vicinity.
As if one body, the sisters veered to the left at the first sign of a semi-secluded park bench. The bustle of the city continued to part around them, as clouds of fish swirl away from larger predators.
They sat silence for 30 seconds, watching the strutting pigeons, until a loose dog chased the birds away.
Rachel turned to Cassie.
“Cassie, what the hell?”
Cassie regarded the question, turning over the four-letter word in her mind. Rachel could be referring to any number of hells – or any layers within them.
“Mmm,” she murmured finally. “He’s changed…”
Rachel shook her head slightly, annoyed that she didn’t know which male her sister was referring to.
After a few more moments of silence, Cassie continued in a small voice: “He wants me to stay home. Now.” She ducked her head slightly. “Soon…”
“With the baby…”
“And my boy.”
There was another pause.
Rachel said: “What do you want me to say?”
It was Cassie’s turn to be annoyed. “Say whatever’s on your mind!”
“So much…” Rachel took a deep breath, brushing back her hair. “Do you want to stay home.” Do you want to confess your crime..?
“It’s so retarded…” cried Cassie, forgetting political correctness in her passion. She turned to her sister. “You know, when I thought of staying home, the first person I thought of disappointing was – you!”
Rachel feigned surprise. “Me?”
Cassie scowled and turned away. “God above, how the hell are we supposed to be related? We are so different… I used to wonder if mom had an affair…”
“Cassie!” cried Rachel.
“It’s just a thought – calm down…” Cassie bit at her thumbnail. “I don’t know what to think. It’s like when you lost religion, lost God… I’m very confused,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “I know I’m supposed to be empowered, a modern woman, but I miss my boy, and I think he’s being harmed, and I love my husband, and he’s – offering me something, and it feels so good that I’m sure it is bad, somehow…”
“Staying home?”
“God, wasn’t it easier when everyone did it, and there was a community, and you swapped recipes over picket fences and had chicken pox parties and sleepovers where kids sung into hairdryers and hid candy wrappers in the vents? Do you think mom was happy?”
Rachel blinked. “Mom? What?”
“Rachel, keep up!” said Cassie sharply – which was unusual, but seemed fitting somehow. She turned back to her sister. “Do you think I should stay home?”
Rachel pursed her lips, knowing that she could not turn the question back on her sister. Eventually, she said: “What if you do, and you like it?”
Cassie cocked her head. “That would be good, right?”
“I don’t know…”
Cassie stared at the buildings, the pigeons on white-streaked gargoyles, the tickertapes of transitory news, the crossword of blue sky above. She murmured: “I suppose everyone has this moment, when they wonder if they’ve ever been told the truth, their whole life?”
“Did you ask mom?”
“If she’s happy?”
“Yeah, I suppose so – but mostly if she thought – if she thought you should stay home?”
“I did ask her, Sunday, at lunch – and her whole body went rigid, like total fight or flight. I see that sometimes at the hospital, but mostly with psych patients. It was like – like she thought I was trying to trap her, or trick her…” A tear spilled from Cassie’s eye. “Why is it so hard?”
“There is what we want, and what we feel…”
“What?”
A couple of multicoloured pigeons strode tentatively towards them, and Rachel suddenly wondered why she had never once in her life seen a baby pigeon. Where the hell do they keep them?
Cassie cleared her throat. “When I think of staying home, it feels like – betrayal…” Her voice wobbled. “Like I have to go to my team, my boss, and tell them – and I’m betraying someone, something, my patients, feminism, I don’t know… And then – and then I imagine – running into one of my old teachers in the grocery store, in the middle of a workday, with two kids… Their disappointment – it makes me mad! Who the hell are they? I didn’t sign some contract for forever…”
“No, of course not,” said Rachel automatically.
Cassie took a deep breath, then exhaled mightily. “Oh, it’s all such… It’s a tough decision because – because I have obligations to my career, my patients – and to my husband – and I guess most of all to my children, the first and the next…” She laughed. “The Alpha and the Beta. Oh God, I sound like Ian. Sexual market value, soyboys, beta males, hypergamy, monkey branching… He’s got this whole new language, it’s like hieroglyphics made out of penises!”
Rachel laughed. “I could probably read that in braille form…”
“Ha, ha… I know I’m going kind of crazy, and that it’s – kind of ridiculous… But – I think what makes me the craziest is that – well, Ben has been in daycare for over two years, and you saw him today, you can see that he’s – changed, at least somewhat, and maybe that’s just the terrible twos, but God help me I know one – no, two – stay at home moms, and neither of them will let Ben come over to play anymore…” Her voice was suddenly bitter.
“What? When did that happen?”
Cassie gestured airily, but Rachel could see the deep wound within. “Just – the past few months…” She shook her head. “And what if I quit my career and stay home, and Ben – can’t change, can’t be fixed, and I just spend the next 15 years failing to fix what I already broke…”
Rachel’s heart spasmed. “Oh Cassie, no!”
Cassie’s eyes flashed. “I’m just telling you my fears, I’m not making predictions! It could be – but there will be a day when he can’t be helped anymore – and every morning when I get up – in the dark, you know – and I get him ready to go to daycare, I wonder if this is the day – that if I keep him home today, he can be fixed – but if I drop him off today – he can’t be fixed – anymore. You remember how dad used to talk about smoking – that there was that one cigarette that gave you cancer – if you quit before that one cigarette, you were okay – if you smoke that one, you’re done. It’s like that with the daycare, with Ben. Every day…”
Rachel’s hand was at her mouth. “Oh sweetheart, he’s not broken!”
Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “And how could you possibly know?”
Rachel swallowed. She said nothing. She hadn’t been around.
Cassie took her sister’s hand. “Please, please don’t give me platitudes, I’m begging you! I don’t want to feel better now, I want to feel better – tomorrow. Next week. And…”
Rachel looked down, at their layered hands. “What research has Ian done?”
“Oh, there are studies, some in Québec I think, that daycare is – bad for kids.”
Rachel frowned. “Wouldn’t that be – all over?”
Cassie sighed. “Can you imagine? Every network talking about daycare wrecking kids, what that would do to – everything?” She gestured at the street, the buildings – the city.
Rachel shuddered.
Cassie said: “Who wants to know? Half the time I wish I didn’t…”
Rachel patted her sister’s hand. “What about – part-time?”
Cassie reached down, pulled off a shoe and massaged the bottom of her foot. “That just seems like the worst of both worlds – and how do you get part-time childcare? Ian has done the math – he’s got a whole spreadsheet for this… To be honest, it’s pretty tough to justify.”
“Would you – have to move?”
Cassie laughed bitterly. “Oh, Ian would love that! I swear, he wants to go full Bear Grylls and build a cabin in the wilderness! Yeah, we’d have to move, someplace rural I guess… Ian’s company has gone remote anyway…”
Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. “Good God, a stay-at-home farmer’s wife!”
“Barefoot and pregnant, milking cows!”
“Rassling pigs and hoeing the back 40!”
Cassie smiled. “You have no idea what those words mean, Rach. That’s okay, neither do I…” She leaned in, although no one was close. “But – I know it’s wrong, and bad, but he’s become – much more attractive – and attentive – since getting into this – men’s rights stuff. You saw – he’s dropped his flab, got a promotion… He’s doing things right proper at the moment!” Cassie ended her sentence with a smile and a mock British accent.
Rachel nodded. “I did… I noticed it the moment he walked in. Like Attila the Hun with an offspring. An heir…”
Cassie nodded. “That’s – good, for me… But I know I’m not supposed to – like it, this kind of – traditional – stuff.”
“But you do,” said Rachel simply. For the first time in a long time, she simply spoke a fact, rather than judging its outcome.
The sisters sat in silence.
Cassie said: “What happens when you get – pregnant?”
Rachel laughed nervously. “Oh, I’m a long way away from – that!”
“But – why? I thought you wanted kids.”
“Yeah, I do,” said Rachel – somewhat unconvincingly. “I mean, at some point… Like – I want to go skydiving, but not – this afternoon.”
Cassie tsked between her teeth. “Don’t make me tell you about The Wall.”
“The album?” asked Rachel incredulously.
Cassie laughed. “God no, it’s an Ian thing.” She imitated her husband. “‘The wall takes no prisoners.’”
Rachel scowled, feeling suddenly nervous. “The hell?”
“The wall – that tipping point where a woman is no longer – young. When she loses her sexual market value. ‘Women of a certain age’ mom used to say. Are you going to get married to Arlo?”
Rachel scowled, then smoothed her features, to prevent wrinkles. “Uhhh, we haven’t talked about it…”
“Three years, right?”
Rachel ducked her head slightly. “A little over…”
“Living together for two… Does he want to get married?”
Rachel shrugged tightly. “Ohhh, he doesn’t – really – think in those terms…”
Cassie now imitated Arlo, and Rachel had to admit what an excellent mimic her sister was. “‘Dude, it’s just a piece of paper!’”
“Bruh!”
“Bruuuuh!”
Rachel laughed again. “Yes, he’s a bit of a ‘bro’ – and he’s not exactly sprinting up the maturity cliff, but he totally wants what’s best for me – and if I really did want to get married, I’m sure it would – happen.”
“When are you 28 again?”
“Don’t do that – you know when!” snapped Rachel.
“How much do you make?”
“What – what does that have to do with..?”
“Ian asked me the other night, and I realized – I don’t really know what’s going on with your career. I make sixty-five thousand a year, three weeks vacation – and a bucket load of benefits… What do you make? Heck, what does Arlo make?”
“We have – different kinds of careers… Lean years, but a lot of potential.”
“At the petting zoo?”
“He doesn’t work at a petting zoo, Cassie!” snapped Rachel. “He works at a zoo, a real zoo - which he got because of his degree in – life-sciences!”
Cassie raised her hands. “All right, all right. But he mostly gives – lemur tours?”
“Yes, he’s a bit of an expert, so that’s – part of what he does…”
Cassie half smiled. “And do the – the children, do they – pet – these lemurs, at the zoo?”
Rachel refused to be drawn into her sister’s good humour. “He’s got a lot of responsibility… Everyone has to start somewhere, Cass… There’s not a huge demand - but he’ll find a way up, to the top.”
“Rachel,” said Cassie gently, “he’s been working there for as long as you’ve known him.”
“I know!” cried Rachel, evident tension in her voice. “We’ve talked about it, don’t worry! And he started as a volunteer, if you recall!”
Cassie nodded slowly. “I’m guessing you’re – not going to tell me how much you make.”
“What does it matter?”
“I guess – children are expensive, and if you want kids, and you’re – kind of broke, that affects things.”
Rachel took a deep breath. “When are you due back at the hospital?”
Cassie blinked in surprise, and glanced at her watch. “Oh crap, thanks – actually pretty soon!”
“Good times…” murmured Rachel.
“It’s all meant for the best!” said Cassie, slightly defensively. “Mom and dad should totally be having these conversations with us, giving us the benefit of their wisdom, but you know how it is, we are all raised by wolves these days – so we have to try to help each other!”
More from Ian, thought Rachel, but declined to say anything.
They both stood up slowly. Rachel gave her sister a big hug.
“Thanks for an – interesting lunch!”
Cassie hugged her back tightly. “Love you, sis.”
“You too.”
After Cassie had left, Rachel sank back on the bench, her posture still keeping bystanders at a distance.
The pigeons slowly approached.
Rachel stared at them.
The thought arose within her, against her will:
Seriously, where the hell are all the baby pigeons?
THE STORY CONTINUES: https://freedomain.locals.com/post/3417571/the-present
