Chapter 49
49
I wake up but I am not afraid.
I am warm, golden, surrounded by love.
The girls pile around me, white bodies in linen like blankets born to hug and warm. They stayed with me throughout the night. Protected me and guarded me like their own.
I shift and accidentally wake Bella Marie, who has fallen asleep beside me. The light streaming through the slatted french doors illuminates her golden hair.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning,” someone else says, rising near my feet. Emmeline.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.” Angelique is on my other side. She cradles her stomach and I reach for it. She lets me palm her bump, feel the baby’s kick. A girl. I know it. It must be. Another one of us, growing, becoming. Another family member for us to love. A warm pressure pushes against the back of my eyes, and I want to cry again. Angelique, this creator of life, is so beautiful, and her baby will be even more perfect. I already want to hold the babe in my arms, coddle and kiss her soft cheeks. Sniff the back of her sweet newborn neck. I am so happy.
Sophia runs another morning yoga session for us.
We swoop and bend into different positions. Our bodies are pliable. Full of energy.
When we complete savasana with a ten-minute meditation, it is with ease. My thoughts are nothing more than clouds floating in a blue sky. Everything passes. We are at peace.
We do our group affirmations.
“I am loved.”
You are loved .
In the afternoon, we knit by the farm. A piano player soundtracks our activity, the musician’s fingers light on the black and white keys. Each of us is tasked with completing a square that we’ll sew into a knitted blanket. I choose a design that has a small daisy in the center, even though I’ve never knitted before.
“It’s a hard choice, but I’m sure you can do it,” Ana says.
“We’ll help you if you don’t know how,” Kelly adds.
“Even if the piece is imperfect, it’ll be perfect because you made it,” Lily concludes.
Bella Marie teaches me how to cast on and stitch, her hands working with mine, soft and patient like kisses, like flowers brushing your palm. Our needles click, click, click as I loop and push and wrap and pull. I fall into a rhythm. Loop and push and wrap and pull. Loop and push and wrap and pull. Occasionally, I stop to drink the pink juice they’ve given me. Something with guava and grapefruit. Maybe mint.
“You are such a fast learner, Julie,” Bella Marie says.
“So fast,” Emmeline echoes.
“The fastest of all of us,” Angelique says.
I am glowing, pride bursting out of me.
We somehow knit for hours. I finish my square. My daisy turns out ugly. Misshapen. Uneven. But the girls love it.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Perfect.”
“Has so much character, I’m obsessed.”
“Obsessed!”
We stitch the nine pieces together. They make a perfect square. Even and gorgeous and whole, just like all of us together.
Bella Marie grabs my hand and kisses me on the cheek. I love her so much, it hurts. I want to devour her whole from the inside out, leaving only her skin so I can wear it and become her, that’s how much I love her.
“You can decide what to do with the blanket,” she tells me. “Do you want to keep it?”
I shake my head. I know what I want to do. Something better.
Bella Marie hands me the blanket, the yarn heavy with love.
I pass it to Angelique. “For your baby. Our newest family. So it can be wrapped with our affection.”
The girls awww at my gift.
“That is so sweet, Julie.”
“So sweet.”
“The sweetest.”
Angelique hesitates. My arms are outstretched with the blanket, which grows heavy at the looming denial. There’s something in her eyes. A bleariness. Glassy. As if close to tears.
I’ve upset her.
Oh no! I’ve upset her!
“What’s wrong?” I say, dropping the blanket to hold her hands so she can feel my warm, loving energy course through her.
“She’s sad,” Ana says.
“Why are you sad?” Lily asks.
“Don’t be sad, we love you,” Sophia adds.
“We are family,” says Emmeline.
Angelique shakes her head, ripping her hands out of mine. She wipes her tears and picks up the blanket. “I am not sad. I am happy. I am so happy that I cried.”
“She’s so happy she cried!” Emmeline exclaims.
“We are so happy you are happy,” says Kelly.
Angelique bursts into a smile and throws the blanket around her shoulders. “I am so happy,” she says as she skips, the blanket a cape. We dance again, carried by our bountiful joy.
But something isn’t right; I glance at Angelique. She says she is happy, yet I don’t believe her. I was holding her when she said it. Her skin was on mine, our energy, shared. My aura was warm, golden, euphoric, but hers was cold and blue.
She is a liar.
She is not happy.
She is pretending and only I know the truth.
Time passes so fast.
Somehow, it is dinner.
We fill our bellies inside the Melniburg mansion tonight. The French chateau’s floors are marble, the walls are white, the ceilings soar so high, they could disappear into the sky. Our voices echo against the building like ghosts repeating back our laughter.
The table we eat at is a grand thing. At least five yards in length. Carved from a sequoia, a single tree, no cuts, no planks, an earthly relic. It must have lived hundreds of years, perhaps more, before it was cut down, sanded, polished. Our feast doubles as a masquerade party. We’ve donned intricate lace masks of purple and gold, blue and black, white and crimson, that hide our pretty faces, showing only our painted lips. I love my girls so much I can identify each of them by their teeth, their Cupid’s bow, and how many cc’s of lip filler accentuate their perfect pouts.
The Asian dinner is to honor me, they say. The kitchen staff have prepared steam buns and dumplings and Peking duck. Edamame salad, sashimi boats, and miso soup. Gimbap, japchae, and kimchi for sides. Bottles and bottles of rice wine. I drink until I’m flushed bright red. The music is vaguely reminiscent of something they’d play in an Asian historical drama, wood and string instruments filling the glorious space with full and round sounds.
Bella Marie watches me with a smile. Her mask is green and her blue dress shifts shades, seeming to change color with every movement. Iridescent like a hummingbird. I want to go into her arms, have her hold me in her vibrant wings.
“To Julie!” she says, raising her glass.
“To Julie!” Everyone holds their drinks aloft, alcohol sloshing in their glasses.
We swallow the liquid and grow warm, mutual fires lit within. We fill our mouths with delectable food. I dip a piece of sashimi in soy sauce and wasabi, place it on my tongue. The hearty flavor of tuna bursts onto my palate.
“I must say,” says Emmeline to Ana, “you are so correct.”
“Correct?” Ana asks. “About what?”
“About Viktor and the swing!”
“Ah! The swing!”
“The swing!” Lily coos.
The group breaks out in giggles and I glance at Viktor, who stands near the door. He stares into the distance. I wonder if he can hear us over the flute and strings and bouts of laughter. I wonder how he feels. I wonder if he is as happy as us.
“He works with the oscillations.” Ana swings her spoon back and forth like a pendulum. “It is wonderful.”
“The best,” says Sophia.
“So good,” says Emmeline.
“I just remembered,” Maya chirps. “Julie hasn’t experienced Viktor yet since she isn’t Chloe.”
“Oh, that’s right!” exclaims Emmeline.
“You should try soon,” says Maya.
“Yes, soon,” says Kelly. “Should we call him over for a bit of dessert?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I glance at Bella Marie, who holds me in her blue eyes, Mother Earth reflected back to me.
She smiles. Perfect natural lips. “Maybe Julie doesn’t like to chop wood ,” she says simply.
“Oooooh,” coo the others, understanding me entirely as if we were one.