Layne and Phoebe returned with the chairs. Then they went upstairs with Ben.
Sunny said, “I know you’re gonna feel sad and overwhelmed, because I did when Sal left, and you’re a big mush. But remember, having to use garden chairs is better than having a big ole user/loser taking up space in the house. Less is more.” She opened her large pocketbook and revealed a bottle of champagne. “Let’s celebrate.”
“Okay.”
“I saw you have new locks on the kitchen table. I think you should get a move on them, in case Fatsy finds his key and decides he wants to come back for more goodies.”
Luna sighed. She hadn’t been able to deal with the locks—even opening the package seemed daunting because of what came next. Hardware was scary. “I need a locksmith.”
“No you don’t! Order the Chinese, and then I’ll show you how to change them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely! For one thing, doing it yourself is empowering. But more importantly, it’s way cheaper.”
“Okay. I’m pretty sure there’s a screwdriver around here somewhere.” And she found one in the rubble.
It must’ve been super busy in the Chinese place, because by the time dinner arrived Luna had changed the two lock cylinders under Sunny’s guidance, plus they’d managed to bag up the garbage in the living room and dragged it to the curb. The living room was clean, though nearly empty. A love seat and half of an entertainment center didn’t do much to fill in the room.
The tree was by itself in the far corner, by the window. “It looks nice set apart like that,” Sunny told her. “Like a shrine, or something.”
It actually did look good, especially with the lights on. The room glowed with the colors.
“See, everything works out,” Sunny told her.
As per rule number three, Luna thought. Unfortunately, she couldn’t wholeheartedly believe this even though she wanted to. There was so much chaos in her life. How could it ever work out?
Everyone ate at the kitchen table (Nick had left it, along with that lamp he abhorred.)
Just as they were finishing, there was an ominous beeep! outside. Luna and her kids knew whose car locked with that high-pitched honk.
“It’s Nona,” said Dylan.
Shit, Luna thought.
Loreena rapped on the door moments later. Phoebe was closest to the door, so she answered.
“Oh, hi!” Loreena greeted Phoebe. She was always nice to Sunny and her kids.
“Hi,” said Phoebe. She moved aside and let Loreena in.
“I was on my way home from the hospital, and I needed to use a bathroom.” Loreena took a look around and focused a glare at Luna. “Are you having a party without me?”
“No, Mom,” said Luna. “We’re just having dinner.”
“Oh? I haven’t had a thing to eat all day.” Loreena said this every time she arrived on Luna’s doorstep. “You might have invited me over.”
“I had a lot on my mind today,” Luna said. “Go to the bathroom, and we’ll work something out with the food.”
Loreena made her Hhhmmmpppffff throat noise and walked off. Luna got a dish, and everyone contributed what was left of their food onto it. The kids hadn’t eaten all that much and the plate was impressively full.
Everyone had grown quiet, like the joy had been sucked right out of the room. Then Ben asked, “Why was Nona at the hospital, Mom? Is she okay?”
“Ummm… she’s fine, sweetie. Unfortunately, your grandpa is staying there. He had something called a stroke.” This was a sucky way to break the news, but she figured she’d better tell the kids the whole truth now.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s kind of like an earthquake went through his body, and now he’s recovering from the aftershocks.”
“Is he going to get better?”
Luna was not one of those unduly optimistic parents. She didn’t want to create false hope. “We have to wait and see.”
“Should we go visit him and cheer him up?”
“Not yet, baby. One day we will.”
“We can bring him a Build-A-Bear,” Dylan piped up. “I like to make them.”
“Sure we can,” Luna told him.
Returning, Loreena scraped her chair across the tiled floor and sat in front of her brimming plate. She picked up her fork and speared a sugar snap pea. She plopped it into her mouth and chewed thoroughly as everyone watched, finally swallowing. Then she turned to Luna and asked, “Do you have any tea?”
She did this every time she came over. The answer, same as ever, was no. “Don’t you have a teabag in your purse?” Luna asked. “You always do.”
Loreena foraged through papers and tissues, finally locating some white tea. “Do you want me to make it?” she asked.
Luna didn’t feel like explaining how to use the microwave to her mother yet again. Loreena never remembered which buttons to press, and there was always a complicated debate over how many minutes to heat the water. “That’s okay, Mom.”
Loreena scraped her chair back and stood, wandering toward the living room with her plate in hand. She couldn’t just sit and enjoy. “What happened to your furniture?” she asked.
Luna sighed. She really didn’t feel like getting into it right now.
“Daddy moved out,” Dylan told her.
“Really?” Loreena brightened at the news.
Luna shot a worried look at Sunny. Would Loreena say something about Nick that would upset the kids?
The microwave dinged.
“Saved by the bell,” said Sunny.
“Can we have cake, Mommy?” Dylan asked.
“So you are having a party,” said Loreena. “And I wasn’t invited.”
“It’s cake. Just cake,” Luna said. “And you’re here now.” To Dylan she said, “Yes, sweetie.”
The kids stuck six candles into the ice cream cake that said “Happy Launch Day”—one candle for each book she’d published. “Do you have a new book?” Loreena asked.
“Yes, Mom,” Luna answered, not surprised that her mother had forgotten the news she’d shared several times over the past few months.
Everyone sang “Happy Release Day to You” – even Loreena, once she caught on to the words. Loreena never missed an opportunity to sing. Her operatic voice was filled with vibrato. It was about three octaves above everyone else’s.
Luna made a wish: for her book to be loved by its readers. She wanted more than sales. She wanted her words to linger.
Dylan helped her blow the candles out.
Everyone cheered. Except Loreena, who sipped her tea.
After everyone left, Luna gathered her sons in her arms. “Thanks for making my release day special,” she said, squeezing them both tight.
Then she let them go and faced them. “Are you sad about Dad?”
They both nodded.
“I’m sorry you have to go through this. I tried to make the marriage work, but we weren’t happy together.”
“We know,” said Ben.
“Can I call Daddy?” Dylan asked.
“Sure, baby.” Luna got the phone, dialed Nick’s number and handed the receiver to Dylan.
While Dylan was talking to Nick, Luna apologized to Ben for not telling him about Lenny. “I didn’t want to upset you more, with all this going on about your dad,” she told him. “I was going to tell you when he got a little better. I figured it didn’t really matter—it’s not like you see him that often, anyway.”
“You don’t have to hide things from me, Mom,” Ben said. “I can handle them. I’m big now.”
“You sure are,” Luna agreed. She felt like crying. She hugged him instead.
SIXTEEN
The snuggle party was located on the top floor of a five-story Upper East Side walk-up.
Between anticipation and climbing, Luna was a bit breathless when she walked in. She smelled fresh-baked brownies.
Right away she recognized the creator of the snuggle parties from his picture in News
day. He sat at a folding table in his small kitchen, collecting money.
“Hi, I’m Finn,” he said when it was her turn.
“I’m Luna.”
Finn was blond and classically Nordic. Dressed in a Superman t-shirt and Scooby-Doo pajama bottoms, Finn had flair.
The whole scene was so odd. Luna struggled for something to say. “Are you of Finnish descent?”
“Swedish,” he answered. He gave her a smile, revealing very large, sparkling teeth. “You can get changed in the back room, behind the curtain.”
Luna put on her new purple plaid pj’s and joined the eleven others waiting to begin.
Before the snuggling, there would be a welcome circle with rules.
Finn’s living room was narrow, which actually made it cozy. There was a futon against one wall, and pillows strewn all over the tan, shag-carpeted floor. Glistening white lights were strung around the wooden ceiling beams. Luna leaned on a pillow propped up against the brick wall next to the fireplace. Her legs were pointed forward, crossed at the ankles.
She was going for that casual, relaxed look.
It was a Bohemian atmosphere, with everything and everyone at floor level. The snugglers eyed each other, probably trying to figure out whom they’d like to cuddle with and if that person would possibly agree.
Luna was too overwhelmed to size people up. Breathing took up all her energy. It felt new, like each breath was the first one she’d ever taken.
Finn took a spot in the circle. “Welcome, everyone,” he said in an oh-so-soothing voice. He was really good-looking. The kind of guy she’d get a crush on if she weren’t careful. She decided never to snuggle with Finn. “I’ve been, among other things, a bartender for ten years. During that time I’ve witnessed a great amount of misunderstanding and miscommunication among people.” He paused and gave another one of his big-teeth grins. “That’s why the rules must be laid out so we can all be clear and enjoy ourselves.”
Everyone nodded.
“Rule number one is no sex.”
No problem, thought Luna.
They proceeded through the list of rules and things to consider. “You are encouraged to say no if you don’t want to snuggle, and to think of no as a complete sentence,” said Finn.
Luna doubted she’d be voicing that sentence.
Finn said, “Don’t make a request unless you are comfortable with getting a no. When you leave room for a no, people will feel freer to say yes.”
The rules were getting a bit long. But they had given Luna a chance to warm up to the room, and even look at the other people.
She spotted a guy she’d like to kiss.
He resembled Barry Manilow in his younger years – skinny and kind of geeky, but friendly.
He was checking her out.
Maybe he’d like to kiss her too.
The snuggling began.
What now?
Should she approach the guy?
What if he said no?
Next thing she knew, he was sitting next to her.
But he didn’t say anything… .
Somehow, she managed the words. “Would you like to snuggle?”
“Yes.”
They lay down together, pressed into each other.
God, I’m touching a man, Luna thought.
A man’s touching me…
Moon River” came on. The song was grainy and raw.
They held each other hard and listened. It felt like ghosts were floating around Luna, or maybe they were angels. She thought she might cry, but then she didn’t.
It was so bittersweet in the arms of this man she didn’t know.
Luna’s head was against his chest, cradled in his arm. Through the cotton of his t-shirt she heard his heart. It sprinted, like hers.
“I like your cologne,” she told him. It was musky and deep—protective.
He said, “I’m not wearing any. It must be my deodorant. It’s Right Guard.”
She said, “Maybe it’s you.”
This was possibly the corniest thing she’d ever said.
He must’ve liked it, because he asked her, “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
Their lips touched. His were so cushiony. She melted right into them.
He slipped her his tongue then, and she latched on with hers. They locked in place. Kissing’s like riding a bike, she realized. (She actually didn’t know how to ride a bike, but everyone said that once you learned, you never forgot.) Not only did she remember how to kiss, but it seemed easier now.
She rolled onto him for better leverage, and they were solidly smooching.
After about ten minutes Finn asked, “Are you two all right?”
“Um-hum,” they both managed, without releasing their grip.
“Are you gonna come up for air anytime soon?”
“Uh-uh,” they said.
They kissed until the party was over.
When Luna rose, he tried to follow, but couldn’t. “I need a minute to lie here,” he said. “You’re some powerhouse.”
She told him, “That’s the first time I kissed someone in three years.”
He said, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me beforehand. That would’ve been a lot of pressure.”
Luna left the party lighter. For blocks and blocks she took in the nippy Manhattan air like it was the freshest air ever, and maybe it was. She didn’t feel cold. All she felt was alive.
She danced in the moonbeams bouncing onto the asphalt.
And when a powdery snow began to fall, she twirled in the dusty flakes.
The city belonged to her.
The world belonged to her.
The next morning, Luna woke up feeling like she was dying.
No, that wasn’t it.
She wasn’t dying. She wanted to die.
As high as she’d climbed last night, that’s how far she’d plunged.
A splat on the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong with me?” she cried out.
Just rest. We’ll talk later, said Jiminy.
“Great.”
When she woke up again her head was pounding in desperate need of coffee. Thank goodness she’d set it up before she’d left for Manhattan last night. She trudged downstairs, hit the button on her coffeemaker and leaned against the counter with her head bent low, waiting for her fix.
When the gurgling stopped and the coffeemaker beeped, Luna filled her cup and brought it to her computer. She wanted to work on her novel, at least to type a few lines. Maybe if she got something written she’d feel better.
Maybe her words would convince her that she was worth something.
She stared at the blinking cursor, waiting impatiently for her to carry on from the previous paragraph. It should’ve been so simple to just carry on. Just keep typing. But it hurt so much. It was killing her to write this book. It was like she’d slit her wrist open and was dripping crimson onto her keys. Splat. Splat. Splat.
Splats were today’s theme.
The pain felt intolerable. What the hell was she bothering with this for, anyway? Who would ever want to read such misery? Who would ever care about her story?
Why not delete it?
Why not erase the whole fucking thing and play “let’s pretend everything’s perfect” like the rest of the valium-popping, liquor-swilling, vow-breaking population of Long Island? What was the point of being a martyr when no one would even notice?
She highlighted the whole thing and dangled her finger above the ‘delete’ key.
Sorry, babe. You can’t hit delete, Jiminy told her.
“Says who?” She was tired of his interspersed irony coming out of nowhere.
Says you.
“What the hell does that mean?”
You want to be the change you wish to see in the world. And guess what? This book is your change.
“I don’t see how my story can be a lesson for anyone.”
It’s not for you to see, and it’s not going to be a lesson. It’s a change.
“What’s the difference?”
Nobody wants to learn a lesson. But they can’t help experiencing a change.
“You’re too deep, Jiminy. You’re giving me a migraine.”
I’m just the deepest part of you, Luna.
“Oh, God.”
Right.
“I gotta get some more sleep. I’ll write when I get up.”
Good thought.
And when she woke again, that’s what she did.
She wrote until evening, and then she went to Sunny’s to have dinner and pick up her boys.
Sunny was sitting on her stoop, smoking. “I hope you don’t mind, but Mary Fabarino packed all the kids in her minivan to go see some Disney flick.” Mary was a neighbor of Sunny’s with two kids. She was one of those “as seen on TV” super-moms who super-sized her kids’ schedules due to her fear of one dull moment leading to their ultimate ruin. In a way Luna envied Mary’s energy and devotion, but she also found it disturbing. Sunny continued, “I didn’t see the point of calling and waking you up to ask. I mean, why would you say no?”
“I wouldn’t,” Luna said. “I’m glad they’re having fun.”
Flower and Spunky were attached to the fence again. Barklessly, they watched Luna as she walked slowly, trying to avoid icy patches. The temperature had sunk, and the town was frozen.
Sunny wore a black wool jacket. She gripped her pink Happy Bunny mug with the caption: Let’s focus on me. “I’m waiting for the girls to do their business,” she told Luna. “I don’t want to leave them outside.”
Flower and Spunky didn’t seem interested in peeing or pooping. They were now in a frenzy, yapping at a teenaged boy rounding the corner. Sunny sipped her coffee and said, “I’ve decided I will bark for nobody.”
“Problems with The Coconut?” Luna asked, bending to sit. Her puffy purple jacket made a swishing sound as she pulled it over her butt.
Sunny sighed. “The honeymoon is over.”
“And you weren’t even married.” Luna’s legs were shivering. She was still in pajama pants, which were pretty thin.
Sunny shuddered. “Thank god! I can’t imagine doing all that divorce paperwork again!”
Luna Rising Page 11