After a long sleep in and brunch, they were relaxing. Luna, laying over the pillows haphazardly scattered across the rug, asked “What about you?”
Chloe, stretching out on the sofa, “What about me what?”
Luna reached out with her lithe, pale leg and poked Chloe with her toes, “Come on”
Chloe laughed, swatting away Luna’s foot. “Ok, Ok” which quickly turned to giggling as Luna leaned over, tickling her as their lips met.
“It is not nearly as interesting a tale as yours was.”
Luna smiled, settling back onto the pillows on the rug, “it is not interesting. Really. It simply is.”
Chloe wrinkled her nose as she smiled “I wasn’t always this” indicating the penthouse “my parents were young, underage, living an itinerant lifestyle, escaping the system that mostly seemed to fail them. My father’s parents, my grandparents, had fled one type of oppression for another, languishing against a broken system with broken languages. My mother had fled her own immigrant parents, raising children just as lost as they were in a world that they did not play well with. They had met jumping through cities big enough to hide them in the darkness. Until they met me, I guess I hid within freedom. They were still underage, under educated and now a baby. Yet, they now had purpose. Sometimes life events make people. My birth did that for my parents, young and hungry and fierce. They came upon something, when they started an import business. I do not remember what they were doing. It became successful rapidly, and by the time I started school, they could not afford their own education. My mother became a successful litigation attorney, my father an international business consultant. Within 10 years, my parents were wildly successful yet still both in their late twenties. However, by this time, their careers had taken over their lives, and they worked constantly. I was by now raised exclusively by nannies, domestic boarding schools and international finishing academies. My father died when I was 17. A heart attack. I became his sole beneficiary. My mother became the guardian of my estate until I was 25. I did not find out about his death until six months later. I had also become co-owner of family property and trusts. My estate was earning 2300 a week in interest residuals alone from only the financial investments. My parents were very particular about their financial clarity, especially regarding my inheritance and my mother’s financial independence from this. I think it was a taxation issue. My mother was ruthless with my trust management, and had tripled investments, diversified into property, industrial, scientific and medical programs. I graduated high school at 15 in the top 1% of the country. As I was unable to touch any of my portfolio until I was 25, I decided to study overseas for a year upon graduation, I guess as a kind of gap year, to find out what I could become. I had freedom of choice from my parents. We didn’t really know each other, communicate much or even see each other. Yet, I had not direction, no idea what I wanted. When I left to study, I had with me the nanny that I myself had hired. I had hired and fired most of them myself. For lack of anything else to do, I took art classes while travelling. I remember how lonely I was. I don’t remember the face of my father. When I was eight, I thought the brooding house was my home. Reflections on all of this used to be powerful, immobilise me for days. It was after this study that I returned to my parents to discover my father’s death. My mother, in her grief, had not thought to tell me. For lack of anything else to do, I went to law school. The youngest in my class, I was again isolated. Again, I graduated with honours, the top 1% of that years graduates. I found it a ruthless and distasteful profession. I was at an indefinitive end. I was young and educated and rich if only on paper rather than reality. So, I fled, lacking a home or a family to bind me together. I spent six months travelling around the country, free finally from the obligation of education and the paid concern of nannies, but not quite free from myself. My mother was too busy, as usual, to be concerned with an already overachieving daughter. On paper, I was the perfect daughter of those whose were wild too young, however just like on paper I was wealthy on paper, most things are an illusion. The isolation of refusing to deal with the death of my father after his neglect, nor the neglect of my mother was a dominant force in my young life. I drifted among the relics of a culture which discards those who do not participate according to the rules. It was a world of the disenfranchised, an emotion I was familiar with. We were all hidden in plain sight, just the opposite side of the capitalist coin. I stayed into the dark, a prodigy lost, all the while knowing that it was unlikely that I would not be searched for if I did not. I hid from everything wrong within my life by abandoning it. I met fabulous people who taught me many skills unknowable in my sheltered life, but it was desolate and lonely, a wasteland of the unfound. I found myself on the beach, having lost track of time and of the pressure it contained, surfing. When I paddled back in, thinking of how I may just sleep on the beach before moving on, when an out of place car puffed up the dust on the gravely dirt road. It was black and shiny and expensive. By the time I ran out of the water, and up to my backpack, my mother stood, silhouetted against the sandy dunes, the black car, the cloudless blue sky. She requested that I return to her house. So I did, for lack of anything that grasped my attention or direction. My mother felt she had allowed me to have enough time, that I needed to commence my future. She requested that a decision be made within the month as to my future direction and requested that my presence within her house be limited unless I engage my future appropriately. I had enough time to exorcise my juvenile system of the grieving and recovery to negotiate with myself to integrate all the history together. I applied to medical school, eventually specialising in neurosurgery. I worked, consumed by the intricate nature of the brain patterns and repair. I studied and researched, wrote papers and topped out again with stellar academic record. I worked and I drifted into relationships but also as soon as out of them, they were an auxiliary to my main life and were hard to maintain. I was both focused and untethered, I had ebbed into a strange and unbalanced hybrid life, spectacular professionally, distant and indiffident personally. However, I began to develop my own worth by recognising my own passions. Being wealthy and independent allowed me many freedoms that took me years to learn. I realised the insanity of my own hate, of my own distance. I was privileged in so many ways that it took me to adulthood to realise them. I realised the choices I could make, the choices that I had indifferently neglected had because I could. Once I stood aside from myself, I allowed myself to develop and become. The greenhouse garden is an example of this. I gradually started to accept invitations to advisory committees and became a member of several boards, most particularly at my boarding school. I wrote papers and became part of a peer group that reviews papers for publication. Through this, I met your foster parent, Gretchen Zima Enka. I had no idea she fostered. She is a highly respected forensic neonatal specialist, and consults for various governments as well as teaching trainees with various law enforcement agencies with primary directives regarding the care of infants in criminal cases and the high impact socio-economic development delays in infant care. We had developed procedures for allowing existing extant tissue to remain at a far higher ration than previously when removing diseased or damaged tissue” Chloe’s reflected “I have become much more contented. My mother, still practicing litigation, and I have become much closer as adults. She is only 13 years older and me. I guess in many ways we grew together.”
Chloe stopped, then shrugged. Luna smiled, then pushed herself out of the pillows and then lifted Chloe in close, kissing her velveteen lips, slowly relaxing into an extended, delicate tasting of each other.