Chapter 20 Sasha #2
Erik sat next to Sasha and took his daughter’s tiny feet in his hands, resuming the bicycling motion.
Freya seemed to think this was hilarious, her dad helping like this.
Sasha couldn’t help but stare at his biceps as his arms moved back and forth.
He was a beautiful specimen of a man, muscles defined from all the work he did on the land.
Sasha hated being drawn to male bodies, found the primal attraction so embarrassing and ridiculous.
After all she knew about patriarchy, she should find men abhorrent, and she did, in theory, but then she found herself gazing at their bodies, craving their touch.
“Biology’s a bitch,” Professor Williams had said to Sasha when they’d had one of their more personal chats.
Sasha had given in to her impulses several times since losing her virginity at nineteen.
She rationalized that sex with men was fine.
It gave her pleasure, and for a woman, experiencing pleasure was a true act of resistance.
She just refused to enter into a traditional relationship with a man, didn’t trust all the ingrained expectations that such a relationship would hold.
It was so easy for women to lose themselves when loving men. Society had painted that as romance.
Freya started to giggle loudly, and Sasha wondered if Angeni would hear from the other room. If she did, if she came wandering in, would she find this scene of Sasha and Erik strange? Sasha found it a little strange.
“We really appreciate this,” Erik said.
His face was on Freya, so Sasha wasn’t sure if the words were for her.
“I think it’s hard for Angeni to express gratitude sometimes. She doesn’t like to ask for help.”
“I get it,” Sasha said.
“But we really appreciate it.”
“I’m glad I can help.”
Freya seemed to suddenly calm, and Erik marveled.
“You fixed her!”
Sasha couldn’t help but smile, overcome by a sense of accomplishment she’d only found in academics before.
“I think the gas bubble just passed,” she said.
Erik stood. “Well, seemed impressive to me.”
He walked toward the door and then turned, as if a thought had just occurred to him.
“Do you two want to join me in the living room? I was going to make some chamomile tea.”
Sasha looked at Freya, trying to gauge how quickly she could go back to sleep. Freya looked wide awake, though.
“I don’t want to disrupt the routine, of course,” Erik said, starting to turn again.
“It might help, actually. She likes the rocking chair out there.”
“Okay then.”
The blanket still wrapped around her like a cloak, Sasha picked up Freya and followed Erik to the living area.
She sat with Freya in the rocking chair next to the fireplace while Erik went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle.
They didn’t even own a microwave—probably thought of them as another danger of modern life.
Angeni had planted chamomile on the land, along with so many other things that she put into soups and sauces and salves and tinctures and whatever else.
Angeni had explained the chamomile process to Sasha—planting the seeds, harvesting the flowers, drying them with a dehydrator.
When they brewed tea, they simply placed the dried flowers directly in the cup and poured hot water on top.
Sasha had to admit it made for an enjoyable cup of tea, but the time and effort involved seemed excessive.
This was part of the lifestyle Angeni was selling her followers, and this was part of the lifestyle that annoyed Sasha.
If women spent all their time tending to a garden (when they weren’t tending to their husbands and children, of course), they wouldn’t have anything more to give to the larger society.
How many women in previous generations, when modern conveniences simply weren’t available, had set aside ambitions and interests because making a home was a full-time occupation?
It didn’t have to be a full-time occupation anymore.
There were work-arounds, efficiencies, technologies.
Angeni seemed to want nothing to do with those.
Erik brought Sasha her cup of tea, and she set it on the little wooden stool next to the rocking chair. Freya was resting against her chest, her little mouth grazing Sasha’s neck. Erik sat on the couch across from her and crossed his legs in the yogi position he often assumed.
“You don’t usually have trouble sleeping, do you?” Sasha asked.
“Oh, I do,” he said. “I usually just stay in bed and hope for the best.”
“Counting sheep?”
“I haven’t resorted to that yet.”
“Angeni sleeps though, right?”
“Out like a light,” he said.
“That’s good.”
“Before you came along, though, she was up all night. I was starting to get a little worried. She said it’s like an angel brought you, and I kind of agree.”
Sasha rubbed Freya’s back with her hand, felt the baby’s lips move against her neck, searching for a nipple in her sleep.
“Can I ask what it’s like to see your partner go through that?”
It was a question Sasha wouldn’t have asked in the daylight. There was something about the night that gave her courage.
“The sleeplessness? I mean, it’s stressful. I didn’t know how she could continue mothering without sleeping.”
“I guess I meant the whole thing—seeing her become a mother, seeing her change like that.”
Sasha had been wondering what she’d been like before. Was it motherhood that had made Angeni so insufferable, or was she always that way?
Erik took in a deep breath and leaned back into the couch, pressing his palms to his thighs.
“Oh yeah, that’s been . . . a big adjustment.”
“I bet.”
“I just try to be supportive. I knew that Ang becoming a mother would be a monumental thing for her.”
“It’s a monumental thing for anyone,” Sasha said. Her thoughts went to Daphne, and she had to swallow a few times to keep from crying.
“Yeah, but Ang had a lot of trauma with her own mother, who wasn’t very . . . available. That’s why this motherhood thing is so important to her.”
This motherhood thing. Sasha didn’t think she was wrong in sensing his exhaustion.
“She’s never mentioned her mother,” Sasha said, curious if there was a secret here she could uncover.
“She died a long time ago,” Erik said. “Suicide.”
“Oh wow, that’s awful,” Sasha said.
He nodded. “You can see why Ang cares so much about getting motherhood exactly right.”
“That makes sense.”
It was strange that Angeni had never posted about her mother’s death.
The drama of a suicide would certainly garner more sympathy among her followers and, ultimately, more followers.
In any case, it was sad, Angeni losing her mother in such a horrific way.
Sasha wished Angeni would just be real about her story, the big picture of who she was.
“Anyway,” he said, abruptly uncrossing his legs and placing his feet on the floor. “It’s still so new, you know? Parenthood.”
He took a sip of his tea, and the wince on his face told her that it was still too hot.
“It is. I’m sure many new parents feel exactly like you.”
“For sure,” he said.
“Do you ever think of sharing that stuff? Like, the adjustments and struggles?”
He sat back again, holding his mug with both hands.
“Ang likes to keep it positive. Lots out there these days about how hard it is to be a parent. We want to remind people of the sacredness of it, the beauty.”
Sasha paused her rocking and picked up her mug, just to have something to do. She put her lips to the rim, felt the steam rise to them.
He ran a hand through his hair. She found herself staring at his bare chest again.
“I just . . . try to stay grateful. Try not to get too bogged down with the hard stuff.”
Sasha nodded. She needed him to trust her, to continue to confide in her.
“That makes sense.”
Erik stood then. He stretched his arms overhead, and Sasha watched the extension of his abdominal muscles, the slight dip of the waistband of his pants.
“Sorry the tea is so hot.”
“It’s okay. I’ll drink it when it cools.”
“I think I’m going to take mine back to bed, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“Not at all. She seems happy right now, so we’ll just chill here for a bit.”
She could tell he felt awkward leaving them there. It was one thing when Sasha and Freya were tucked away in the guest room, hidden from sight. Out here, in the common living space, Sasha’s nightly labor was on full display.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
“We’re good, thanks.”
“Okay then.”
He turned, took a few steps, then turned back.
“Thanks for the chat.”
In Sasha’s mind, it hadn’t been much of a chat, but she told him, “You’re welcome.”
He disappeared down the hallway, and Sasha kept rocking, her breathing in rhythm with Freya’s, until she, too, fell asleep, the chair coming to a halt until daylight.
The very next night, he came to the doorway again and said, “Guess who can’t sleep again?” The night after that, it was “Me again.” After that, just “Hey.”
It was possible he had a sudden bout of persistent insomnia, but Sasha liked to think he was coming to enjoy their nightly hangouts.
It was all innocent—he made tea, they chatted for a bit in the living room, he went back to bed.
But he never mentioned it in the daylight hours.
Angeni gave no indication that she knew about it.
Maybe he had told her, and she didn’t want to give it any attention.
That didn’t seem like her, though. Sasha could imagine how she would address it: Sitka, I wanted to thank you for keeping Erik company while he struggles with this sleeplessness.
I am working on a curative tincture for him.
Yes, Angeni would want Sasha to know that she knew.
She would want Sasha to see her be very blasé about the whole thing, because Angeni Luna was above petty jealousies.