Sapphic Voices General Fiction

Illumination

“Oh, shit,” she murmured under her breath as soon as the door opened. Babies. There were babies everywhere. God, she hated babies. No, that wasn’t exactly true. Babies were fine—what she hated were mothers.

Natalie stepped forward into the room, fake smile and poise, determined simply to drink her tea, buy some over-priced candles, and escape. “Hi, Nat,” said her sister Jennie, taking her coat. “Everyone’s just getting settled in. Do you want coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Nat said. “Do you have any herbal tea?” The last thing she needed right now was caffeine.

“Sure,” Jennie said. “Why don’t you follow me into the kitchen and pick one?”

“Mary Kate, no!” called out a harassed-looking woman in a sweatshirt with a quilted snowflake across the chest. She pried Mary Kate’s candy-sticky fingers off of the leg of Natalie’s Italian wool pants without apology.

Nat stumbled into the kitchen, tripping over a plastic Tele-Tubby. Jennie either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I’ve got Lemon Zinger and Tazo Calm,” she said, holding up two yellow boxes.

“Calm,” Natalie said, feeling anything but. She rubbed her temple.

“Headache?” Jennie asked.

“I can tell there’s going to be,” Nat responded.

Jennie handed Natalie a steaming mug with a rooster on it—everything in Jennie’s kitchen had a rooster on it—and led the way back into the inevitable. The catalogs and candle samples started going around, babies being moved from knee to knee to make room. The toddlers kept being reminded not to eat the candles. Nat counted seven children all together, none seeming to be over the age of three.

And then it began; the thing that made her dread gatherings like this. “So, Nat,” snowflake-lady began. Jennie had introduced them, but Nat hadn’t bothered to remember her name. “Do you have any kids?”

Here we go. “No,” she replied, knowing what was going to follow.

“Why not?” asked another woman. This one had a kitten in a Santa hat on her shirt and a Dorothy Hamill haircut.

That was the question she loathed; the one that made social settings like this one unbearable, because there was no answer that would satisfy these women except a lie. And while Nat was willing to omit certain parts of the truth in certain company, she had made a solemn vow to herself to stop lying to please others long ago.

What they all wanted to hear, of course, was that Nat and her new husband, a successful dentist, had just started trying to get pregnant. Fingers crossed for an eighth little one at Jen’s candle party next year, wink-wink. They would also have accepted, and been secretly thrilled by, a sad tale of woeful infertility. If the story could detail a tragic several unsuccessful attempts at in vitro, so much the better. Tearful tales of miscarriages would win the crowd for sure.

What they didn’t want to hear was “I don’t want any.” Not only did that baffle these types of women, it offended them. They took Nat’s not wanting children as both an attack on their lifestyles and as a personal insult to their own families. Besides that, they couldn’t comprehend a woman not wanting, to the point of compulsion, to reproduce. Unable to imagine a world of differently-driven individuals, people tended to take any announcement of an alternate view as a judgment—if Nat was saying that she didn’t want children, then she must also be saying that she didn’t believe they should have them, either.

“It’s just not for me,” Nat said. This line worked about half of the time, which was the best success rate she’d found with any response in this scenario. Of course, the other half of the time, it was followed by—

“That’ll change.” This was another woman, this one wearing a turtle neck sweater under a sweatshirt for the local college team. She was balancing a baby on her left knee, and had been chiding a pair of two-year-old twins for tearing catalog pages.

Nat knew that there was no point arguing with that one. “No, it won’t” would just be met with knowing, superior looks and either “you’ll see,” or questions about her love life. “I’m going to get another cup of tea,” she announced, even though her mug was still half full.

“You OK?” Jennie asked, following her into the kitchen.

“Peachy,” Nat said, dumping her mug into the sink and refilling it from the tap.

“Did Kim offend you?” Jen asked. Nat had no idea which one was Kim. She didn’t care.

“No,” she said. She put the mug into the microwave, but didn’t turn it on. She didn’t really give a damn about more tea. Why the hell had she agreed to come to this thing? She knew better.

“It’s a lot of kids,” Jen said, almost getting the point. “I should have warned you about the kids.”

“The kids are OK,” said Nat, twisting one long strand of tightly curled brown hair idly. It’s just the—”

“The what?”

Nat didn’t know if she wanted to finish her sentence or not. She knew where it was likely to lead: right over the line between omitting and lying. If she let this conversation continue, she was either going to have to break her no-lies policy, or else tell her sister something she didn’t know whether she trusted her with or not.

Fuck it, she thought. It’s time. “It’s the women and their questions.”

“They don’t mean anything by it,” Jen said.

“Yes, they do,” Nat disagreed. “Oh, they don’t mean to offend, but that’s just because they can’t fathom that anyone in the world is any different than them. They want to be baby-factories; therefore all women must want to be.”

“Just ignore them,” Jen said.

“How can I ignore them? They’re in my face asking nosy questions about my personal choices. And judging the responses.” Nat was letting herself get angry. She hadn’t meant to do that, but it felt good.

“They’re not judging you,” Jen argued.

“What’s ‘that’ll change’ if it’s not judgment?”

Jen was quiet, and Nat knew why; she agreed with them. She, too, was sure that any day now her little sis was going to meet some big, strong man, be swept off her feet, and immediately start popping out rugrats at regular intervals.

“I think I’m going to go,” Nat said, taking the mug back out of the microwave. “I’m really out of place here.”

“No, Nat,” pleaded Jen, her pride as a hostess challenged. “You’re not out of place.”

“I am,” Nat insisted. “I have nothing in common with these people, and the only way to make any of you see that is—”

“Is what?” Jen asked.

Was she really going to do this? Her heart was pounding—maybe she should have finished the tea. “I’m never going to meet some man who changes my whole outlook,” she said quietly.

“Why would you say that?” Jen asked. “You’re pretty. Of course you’ll meet a man.”

Jesus, she actually said “you’re pretty.” She was as bad as the rest of them. In fact, she’d just channeled their grandmother. “No, Jen,” she said, steeling herself. “I’m not going to meet a man. And it has nothing to do with how pretty I am or am not, and it’s not something I’m going to change my mind about down the road. There is no Mr. Right out there for me, because I’m gay.” Holy shit, she’d actually said it. Right there in her sister’s apple-scented, rooster-infested kitchen.

Jen was quiet. Natalie could tell before she even spoke that she was going to take this badly. Of course, she’d known going in that she would take it badly, which was the precise reason why she’d not told her sister eight years ago when she’d figured it out for herself. “Why would you say that?” Jen asked at last.

“What do you mean, why would I say that?”

“You’re so pretty, and so nice. You could find a husband with no problem. Why would you want to be—” she cut herself off, unwilling even to use the word.

“Do you hear yourself?” Nat asked. A whole speech about how ridiculous Jen’s statement was went through Nat’s mind. She wanted to rant about how a person doesn’t become gay because they can’t get a date, how the pool’s a hell of a lot bigger on the hetero side, anyway. She wanted to point out that yes, she was pretty, and she was nice, and that so was her girlfriend. She wanted to get right up on her soap box and preach. But, she realized, not only would her words fall on deaf ears, they would make her look like a raving child.

“Well,” Jen said. “It’s true. You could find a man. I just don’t see why you’d want to throw your future away like this.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Nat said. “I’m going to leave now. I want you to think about the things you’re saying. If and when you realize how ridiculous you sound, call me. If you never figure it out, don’t bother.” She slammed the mug into the sink and headed back out of the kitchen in long strides.

Jennie had a chance to catch up with her as she struggled to walk through the sea of children and toys on the living room floor towards the coat closet. The room was dead silent, or the adults were, anyway. They may or may not have heard the specifics of what was said in the kitchen, but they could certainly tell that Natalie was upset. “Nat, don’t leave,” she said.

Good-bye, Jen,” Nat said, taking her coat from the closet and putting it on. “Like I said, call me when you’re ready to be reasonable.”

Natalie got into her car, started it, and pulled out of the driveway. Her hands were shaking. She knew Jen would call her tomorrow, maybe even later tonight. She still wouldn’t understand when she called, of course, but maybe she’d be ready to listen with a more open mind. She picked up her cell phone and hit speed-dial two. “Hi, honey,” she said when Anne answered.

“How’d the candle party go?” Anne asked.

“Really great,” Nat said. “I’ll be home early.”

If you have enjoyed Inanna Gabriel's "Illumination", then please be certain to e-mail her at  inanna[at]inannagabriel.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of Inanna Gabriel's Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.