Hilary Fields - Bliss

Serafina cleared her throat, her voice strengthening a bit. “Margaret,” she began cautiously, “Pauline floated a bit of a radical idea my way tonight, and I wanted to run it by you.”

It had seemed more than a bit radical when Pauline had broached the subject over the homemade chile rellenos she’d prepared for their dinner. Yet Sera had liked the taste of the idea even better than the flavor of the traditional New Mexican dish. “What would you say if I told you I’ve been thinking of not coming back to New York for a while? Of… of… actually staying out here and trying something different with my life?” She spoke hesitantly, ninety percent sure her sponsor would trot out the “no major changes” mantra she’d drilled into her head so often during her first year of recovery.

There was a bit of a silence.

“I actually think it could be a great idea, hon,” Margaret said at length.

“Because, quite honestly, lately, when I think of the future, I’m just really unenthused. You know how slow things have been for me. I make a decent enough living letting restaurants and cafés sell my stuff under their own labels, but my career’s never really recovered from what happened, and I don’t see how that’s ever going to change so long as He Who We Don’t Deign to Name is around to keep the rumors fresh.” Sera tried to keep the bitterness from her voice as she plowed on. “Anyhow, Carrie practically runs the catering business on her own these days—or she could; she’s been angling for more responsibility for a while now. And what else do I have tying me to New York? I mean, shit, my social life consists of stitch ’n’ bitch parties with the crocheting circle from our AA fellowship and walking my neighbor’s nine-thousand-year-old pug while she whoops it up salsa dancing with our superintendent. I don’t have kids, houseplants, or pets of my own to worry about, and it’s not as if I couldn’t find someone to sublet my loft…”

Belatedly, Serafina’s ears caught up with her tongue. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Margaret’s laughter tickled her ear. “You’re how old now, honey? Twenty-eight?”

“Twenty-nine, but I’m stopping there,” Serafina joked cautiously. Had Maggie really said…

“Twenty-nine. Old enough, now that you’ve got your feet firmly under you, to make these kinds of big life decisions for yourself. If you want to investigate a new possibility—follow your ‘Bliss,’ as it were—well, that’s what the whole process of getting healthy has been about.”

The knot of anxiety Sera hadn’t even known she’d been holding on to began to loosen in her chest. Maggie was the person she most trusted to tell her if her secret hope—a hope of a future that looked nothing like her past—was a mere pipe dream, or something worth pursuing.

“So you think it makes sense to stay out here?”

“Well, I mean, obviously you’re going to need some kind of a plan, a job, and a structure to keep you on the straight and narrow. But there’s no reason not to investigate the possibilities while you’re already out there. What ideas have you and Pauline been tossing around so far?” Maggie inquired.

Sera set her mug down and toyed with the errant lock of hair which, ever since she’d allowed her stylist to cut it into what he’d promised was a très chic angled bob, never stayed tucked away for long. Twisting it between her fingers, she spoke hesitantly. “Actually, Aunt Paulie’s got a whole lot of ideas for me, if I agree to stay. And I’m starting to get the feeling I’m needed here more than I knew. I think, for the first time in her life, she’s feeling less than confident, not so independent as before. Hortencia’s passing really seems to have shaken her, though she’s still avoiding talking to me about it.” Sera glanced guiltily through the doorway leading from the kitchen to the bedrooms on the other side of the house, but Pauline hadn’t stirred since heading to bed awhile earlier. “She’s lonely, and who can blame her, after the loss she’s just had? She’s offered to have me come live with her, and I’d like to support her during this tough time. It’d be nice to be able to give back a little after all she’s done for me. And I think maybe it’d be okay for us both to stay here together for a while. The house is plenty big.”

Boy, was it ever. Compared with Sera’s tiny Tribeca loft, the house was practically palatial, if more homestead than showplace. From cobwebbed rafter to crocheted rag rug, her aunt’s three-bedroom adobe fairly screamed “rustic.” But the kitchen… ah, that was a cook’s haven of wide countertops, airy open spaces, herb-lined windows, and pot racks clanking with heavy-bottomed copper cookware. There was even a kiva-style fireplace big enough to bake her own wood-fired pizzas, should she ever manage to get the dough to cooperate in these high-and-dry climes. Next stop, a bookshop for some books on high-altitude culinary techniques. Pauline had mentioned there was an excellent cooking supply store in the downtown area…

Serafina pulled herself back to the present, aware that Margaret was waiting for her to continue.

“So I'm covered for a place to stay as long as I want—or as long as I can take a daily dose of Pauline Wilde.” Sera’s lips turned up at the prospect. “Aunt Pauline had some great suggestions for what I could do out here, careerwise. Honestly, I think she’s been plotting a life for me here for quite some time.” She chuckled. “Her plans are a wee bit grandiose, but the first practical hurdle is going to be scoping out the shop and deciding what to do with it.”

“Shop?” Maggie sounded surprised, then belatedly enlightened. “Oh, right. You mentioned your aunt leases some sort of a storefront in town. But I got the impression it was on its way out of business or something?”

“Pretty much,” Sera confirmed. “I don’t think they get a lot of customers, and I doubt it’s providing much income for Pauline. It’s just about defunct, as far as I can tell. But the lease is paid through the end of this year, which gives me a few months to decide if I want to make something of it.”

“Like… open a bakery of your own?” Maggie's voice rose excitedly. “Oh, hon, if anyone could do it, it’d be you. And I know you’ve always dreamed…” Her sponsor was practically beaming over the phone.

Now it was Serafina’s turn to be the voice of caution. “Well, I haven’t seen the space yet. Pauline’s really eager for me to take a look and see if it might be suitable for my needs. She tells me it’s fairly roomy, but it may not be equipped—or zoned—for anything like that. And I haven’t done any market research… Still.” Sera choked up. “Ah, hell, Maggie. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this. It’s like Pauline is handing me my wildest dreams, gift-wrapped. She’s as much as said that, if I like it, the store’s mine to do with as I want. Who does that?”

Pauline Wilde, that was who.

“What’s the space used for now?” Maggie wanted to know. “I don’t think you ever told me what your aunt does for a living.”

Color stained Sera’s normally ivory complexion. “Um, no… I didn’t.” There was no way to put this delicately, but damned if she wasn’t going to try. “Pauline was big in the seventies’ feminist movement. But, ah… she kind of took women’s lib in a different direction than a lot of her contemporaries. She had a bit of a following, back in the day. Started a movement that had about fifteen minutes of fame, and she’s been living off it ever since.”

“A movement?” Margaret sounded curious.

“Yeah. It was called, um…” Serafina blushed harder, closed her eyes briefly, and blurted it out.