issue108willliving

                                                       ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

***BIO*** Valerie Z Lewis: I have a BS in English Education from New York University, an MFA in Writing from Goddard College, and I work as a writing professor at SUNY Orange. My fiction has been published by Fresh Boiled Peanuts, The Pitkin Review, Torquere Press, SNReview, and Dark Sky Magazine.

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Will, Living

by Valerie Z. Lewis

The five year-old girl sitting next to her mother on the bench at James Cook Park looked up at me with a wide smile and said, "Hello!"

"Mecca," the mother said without taking her eyes off her book. "What did I tell you about talking to strangers?"

"Only if they give me candy," Mecca said immediately.

The woman turned a page in her book. "That's right."

I'd gone to the park with my laptop to get a different perspective on the Riff's Dance Hall brochure. It was your standard tourist lure, left in hotel lobbies, meant to portray Riff's as a hot, celebrity-frequented night-spot. But in every picture I took, no matter how I framed it, shot it, and Photoshopped it, everyone looked like an over-dressed, glitter-covered meth-head. So when I saw Karen sitting on a bench, reading a novel, wearing worn men's jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and no make-up, I thought I'd never seen a woman so beautiful.

Mecca looked up at me expectantly. I reached in my pocket, took out a half-eaten roll of lifesavers, and handed it over. She accepted it with a smile, and then took off immediately, calling back, "I'mma play on the slide now Mommy!"

Karen was still reading her book. I gestured to the bench beside her. "Mind if I..."

Karen looked up for the first time, regarding me with big, cold eyes. "I require more meaningful and metaphorical candy." She looked back down at her book. "Just don't talk. This is due back at the library Monday."

Karen spent the next hour finishing her book, pausing only to sip from her water bottle and make sure her daughter remained nearby. I opened my computer, booted up my graphics program, and finished the brochure.

Just as I was marveling at how I'd managed to complete the project that had been giving me a migraine every day that week, Karen closed her book and called out her daughter's name. Mecca came running, and I stood to say goodbye to them. But Karen just hoisted her oversize purse with one arm, picked up Mecca with the other, and began walking toward the parking lot.

"Will we see that man tomorrow?" Mecca asked her.

"I suppose," Karen said without looking back.

Mecca tilted her head back, almost falling out of her mother's grip, waved at me, and said, "Bring M&M's," as they disappeared in the maze of shining cars.

                                               * * *
I walked into the dining room, where Karen sat behind her laptop, and dropped a manila folder on top of her paperwork.

Karen looked up at me. Her eyelashes were soft and dark, like a black feather falling toward creamy brown earth. "I'm about to make a two million dollar stock trade," she said. "Could you wait until I'm done before you throw things at me?"

"What the hell is this?"

"Really, Will, it's the kind of thing where you can't misplace a decimal point." She tapped a few keys and looked at the computer screen.

I leaned over and opened the folder, revealing a neat bundle of typed pages. "Is this your will?"

Karen held up one finger to silence me as she dialed her cell phone. "Jeff," she said. "Congratulations. You are adequately diversified. I've e-mailed you a PDF of your portfolio. Call me if you have any questions." She closed her phone and went back to her computer.

"Karen."

Karen sighed and looked up at me as if I was somehow more exhausting than diversifying and trading and whatever the hell she did. "It's not my will," she said. "It's a trust fund arrangement for Mecca. I don't understand why this is upsetting you.
I tapped the top page. "My name isn't in it."

"It's not about you, sweetheart," she said slowly.

"I'm her father," I said. "But you secretly put together a document saying that, if you die, custody goes to your sister."

"Custody of the trust fund," Karen explained. "You're legally her father. No one can take that from you." She went back to her typing. "If you don't understand, set up a meeting with Paul."

"Fuck Paul," I spat out. "Why am I not guardian of the trust fund?"

"Honestly?" Karen said without looking up. "You're not good with money, you're not good with paperwork, and you're likely to die young, since you eat so much red meat."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Karen's phone rang, and she held up one finger to silence me.

"Alison," she said into the phone. "Did you get my e-mail?" She laughed. "Well, you know what they say about the real estate market. Seriously, though, we need to talk about oil futures. Lunch tomorrow?" She paused to listen. "Sure, Mecca would love to see her."

I sat down in the chair opposite Karen, though waiting for her to finish a call so we could resume fighting felt oddly like losing the fight already.

"Well, I don't have to tell you about adolescent girls," she continued. "Mecca's doing great in school, but all she wants to do on weekends is hide in her room and listen to this awful music performed by dirty men who probably have six figures in mutual funds but dress like they're homeless." She made a note in her planner. "She and Katie can paint each other's fingernails black and talk about how much they hate us. Okay. See you then." She hung up the phone.

"Am I allowed to speak now?" I asked.

She flipped a page in her planner. "If I say no, will it stop you?"

"You infantilate me, Karen."

"The word is 'infantilize'."

"You control all the money."

Karen clicked something on the computer screen. "You hate dealing with money. I'm helping you, Will. I'm taking care of our family."

"It's my family too!" I shouted, startling myself with the volume of my voice.

"Then act like a damn adult!" Karen shouted back.

We heard footsteps and immediately fell silent, turning to the door just as Mecca walked in. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that was much too tight over her recently-emerging breasts, and I made a mental note to take her shopping for sweaters. Huge sweaters.

"If you two get divorced," Mecca said. "I'm gonna be devastated." She walked across the dining room and toward the kitchen. "And the only thing that will prevent me from cutting myself is a new laptop."

"Did you do your homework?" Karen asked.

"Like yesterday," Mecca said with an eye-roll as she disappeared into the kitchen.

I sat back down at the table, reluctant to say anything while Mecca was nearby. After a minute the kitchen door swung open again, and Mecca emerged with a yogurt in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other.

"Macbook Pro," she said as she made her way back toward the steps. "I'll e-mail you the specs."

When I turned back to Karen, she had her pen poised over her planner. "So how long are we going to do this?" she asked.

I wasn't sure if she meant the argument or our marriage, but I decided I had the same answer for both.

"I'm done," I said, and I got up and went to the bedroom.

                                                   * * *

The next afternoon I showed up at the park at the same time. Karen was working on a laptop, and Mecca was on the swingset. When she saw me she squealed and leapt off the swing, covering her red pants with dust.

"Nice to see you again, Mecca." I held out two bags of M&Ms.

Mecca chose the peanut one. "What's your name?" she asked.

"I'm Will."

"I'm Mecca," she said. "If my mom's mean to you just come play the tire maze with me, kay?"

I made my way across the dirt and woodchips to the bench, where Karen was making eye contact with me, which I saw as a good sign. I took a jewelry box out of my pocket.

"She's allergic to peanuts," Karen said.

I held out the box. "This is for you."

Karen accepted it, but didn't open it. "Seriously," she said. "Go get the candy back before you kill my daughter."

"Oh." I looked back at the playground, where Mecca was holding the unopened bag between her teeth as she climbed onto a tire. "Oh, shit."

I rushed out to the tire maze, where Mecca traded candy with me without arguing. When I got back to Karen's bench, she'd opened the box and taken out the necklace, a small, hand-painted, ceramic Earth on a black cord. She held it up and examined it critically, then said, "Metaphorical candy?"

"What's more meaningful than giving you the world?"

She looked at the necklace a moment longer, then raised her eyebrows at me, as if to challenge me. "Is the strap real leather? Because we're vegan."

"I don't think so," I said. "I mean, no. I mean, the whole thing only cost ten bucks, so..."

Karen's eyes went back to the tiny world, and she smiled for the first time since I'd met her. It was one of those perfect summer days, sunny and windy. A lock of her hair was dancing on her forehead, and the light falling through the leaves of the trees above us turned her skin a dark gold.

                                                            * * *

That night Karen came to bed late, but I was still awake. When I heard the door open, I turned away so she wouldn't see my face as she changed and got into bed.

"How about a legal separation?" she asked, using a tone that meant she'd already had her lawyer fax over the paperwork. "I'll get another lawyer. You can use Paul. He's on retainer, so you won't have to pay him right away."

I wanted to scream that I didn't need her pity lawyer, but if I opened my mouth I knew I'd start crying again.

She shifted against the sheets, getting comfortable. "You can stay in the apartment in the city. You take the Jeep and I'll keep the Mercedes. We'll hammer out the rest of the details with the lawyers."

I took a deep breath. My whole body felt like it was shaking on the inside, and when I spoke my throat nearly closed around my words. "I want the cat."

It was a few moments before Karen responded, and then all she said was, "Goodnight Will."

                                                  * * *

After my fourth park visit, Karen invited me to dinner, and we went to an expensive Italian restaurant, where she and Mecca both ordered eggplant parmesan with soy cheese.

I looked from the menu. "Can I have meat?"

Karen's expression didn't change. "If you don't mind consuming the putrid flesh of another living creature."

I handed the menu to the waiter. "I'll have the veal, please."

"Ew." Mecca leaned forward and stuck her tongue out at me. "You eat cows. Gross." She made a vomiting noise, and a couple at a nearby table turned to look at her.
Karen placed her napkin on her lap and began buttering a roll. "So, Will," she said. "Do you always talk to strangers in playgrounds?"

"Just the beautiful ones."

Mecca took a roll, bit into it, then put it back in the basket. "You're flirting with my mom. Gross."

"Mecca," Karen said. "What did I tell you about your language?"

"To be more original when I insult people."

"That's right." Karen took a bite of her roll.

I found out that Karen did financial work out of her home office, and I told her about my freelance photography.

"Tell me you're not one of those photographers who keeps a portfolio of naked women and calls it art," Karen said.

"I saw naked people once," Mecca said through a mouthful of eggplant. "They was skanky hos."

"Were," Karen corrected. "They were skanky hos."

"I mostly do urban photography in my free time," I told her. I decided not to mention that lately I'd been neglecting my traffic-cone series to instead take pictures of my cat and put them on my blog. In recent months, my artistic drive wasn't what it used to be.

At the end of the meal, the waiter left the check in the middle of the table. I reached for it, only to have Karen jab the back of my hand with a fork.

"Ow!" I brought my hand to my chest to examine the injury. "You stabbed me!"

Karen ignored me and waved the waiter back.

"Seriously. I'm bleeding a little."

Mecca knelt on her chair and raised her arms in the air. "My mom stabbed you. Ha ha."

"Why couldn't you let me pay?" I asked.

Karen stood and put her coat on. "The stereotype is that a man pays for a meal so the woman owes him sexual favors." She took the receipt from the waiter, then looked at me as she lifted her purse. "Now you owe me sexual favors." She took Mecca's hand and walked out of the restaurant, leaving me to hurry to catch up.

                                                  * * *
Mecca had lines around her eyes. I wasn't sure if they were recent, and maybe I just had been too busy to notice. Everyone was busy. She had a new house and a new baby. I had a new job, my first soul-sucking office job. Karen had six employees, nearly a hundred clients, half a floor in a brand-new office building, and apparently, a faulty driver's side airbag.

When I walked into the hospital room, Mecca looked up with wet eyes, and for a second she looked six again, trying to be as strong as her mother, holding her skinned knee and swearing it didn't hurt; she could still ride her bike today.

I crossed the room and hugged her, trying not to look too closely at Karen. Every inch of exposed skin was bruised, and blood crusted in the center of each bandage. Her eyes were black, her nose was broken, and half her hair was singed off.

I felt a surge of panic. This wasn't Karen. Karen would appear in the doorway at any moment, stunningly beautiful in basic business clothes and no make-up, her skin the color of a gold sunset, her hair shining like still water. She would scold me for being late, tell Mecca to wash her face, and then explain exactly how to fix everything.

"Did you tell them?" Mecca asked as she broke the embrace.

I mouthed the word "yes", but no sound came out.

A moment later a nurse entered, regarded us with a nod, then tapped a code into the ventilator beside Karen's body. She took the oxygen mask off Karen's face, said, "I'll leave you alone with her," and walked out.

A strangled sob escaped Mecca's throat, and she knelt beside the bed, grabbing her mother's mangled hand and whispering to her frantically. I stood next to her, put one hand on Karen's shoulder, and tried to feel her body rise and fall. After a minute Mecca went silent, and together we listened as Karen's breaths slowed.

                                              * * *
Mecca stood on the front steps of her apartment building with one hand on her hip, looking ridiculously mature in her cap, gown, and high-heeled shoes. "I am trusting you," she said with over-emphasis, "To behave like adults and not embarrass me in front of everyone."

"Mecca," Karen said sternly. "I didn't allot extra time for you to act dramatic. Let's go."

Behind her, I leaned against the hood of the rental car. "Leave her alone, Karen. It's her graduation. She can be late if she wants."

Karen's head whipped around. "Don't you encourage this."

"Encourage what?"

"You know what."

Mecca gripped her purse tightly in both hands and let out an odd squeaking noise. "This is exactly what I mean!"

"No one's fighting," Karen said. "Get in the car."

Mecca squeezed behind the front seats to get into the back of the compact car. Karen muttered something about me getting the cheapest car, but I ignored her for Mecca's sake. It was a half-hour drive to the theater where they were holding Mecca's college graduation, and the entire time Karen discussed what she'd arranged for Mecca's post-college investment portfolio, effectively taking control of her life before it had begun.

"Enough already," I said as I took the exit off the highway. "You're dumping all this responsibility on her. She's supposed to be celebrating today."

"I don't mind," Mecca said.

"It's not responsibility," Karen argued. "I've arranged things so she doesn't have to worry about money right away. It'll make her transition period easier." She opened her purse and took out an envelope. "I'd be giving her too much responsibility if I made her executor of my living will." She held out the envelope to me. "Speaking of which, you're executor of my living will. Give this to your lawyer."

I stared at the envelope so long that I had to slam on the breaks to keep from hitting the car in front of me at a stoplight. "What?"

"What?" Mecca said from the backseat. "I thought I was on all your wills."

Karen dropped the envelope in my lap. "I'm not making you pull the plug on me, honey. Let your father do it."

"I'll enjoy it," I muttered.

I pulled up to the back of the theater. Mecca spotted some of her friends and bolted from the car, shouting back that she'd meet us after the ceremony. I parked the car and looked down at the envelope, still in my lap.

"I put your name on Mecca's gift," Karen said. "Since I figured you didn't have any money. Just say 'you're welcome' later."

I looked up at her. "Karen," I said. "Give me five minutes to go buy a gun, and I'll execute your living will right now."

Karen leaned forward, put her hand on my cheek, and she smiled for the first time since arbitration. "Thank you," she said, and she kissed me. She smelled like air and sunlight.

July 2008

108