Hilary Fields: Bliss

Neither here nor there

Albuquerque airport, present day

Pauline Wilde didn’t look like a woman in mourning. Unless by widow’s weeds one envisioned a lemon yellow and sky blue broomstick skirt studded with what had to be at least half a quarry’s worth of turquoise and intricately worked Native American silver disks, topped with a ratty, oversized T-shirt proclaiming, in half-faded but still defiant lettering, “Orgasms Aren’t Just for the Young!” Add to that a fiercely pink headscarf barely binding a wild-and-woolly extravaganza of hip-length salt-and-pepper hair and a pair of ancient gardening clogs with roses and kittens hand-stenciled on them in flaking acrylic paint, and you had the very picture of a woman not suffering the loss of her beloved life partner. But then, Serafina thought, that was Pauline—she didn’t believe in catering to societal expectations. Never had, never would.

“Bliss! Helloooooo, Bliss! Over here, kiddo!”

Her aunt’s voice was exactly as it had always been—warm, slightly fruity, like a cross between Julia Child and Jane Goodall, blended with a dash of throaty Kathleen Turner for good measure. Sera smothered a grin at the sight of her impatiently elbowing past the rest of the folks waiting for friends and loved ones at the terminal. Only Pauline ever called her by her ridiculous middle name—a name Pauline herself had gifted her, and which was now echoing through the boarding area to the amusement of the other passengers disembarking from Sera’s flight.

The Albuquerque airport was surprisingly posh, Sera saw as she took her first gander around at the fabled Southwest. Not at all what I imagined from the place where Bugs Bunny made his wrong turn. Airy, clean, and decorated in pinkish earth tones and expensive native pottery, it was a far cry from the chaos she’d left behind at JFK just a few hours earlier. But she didn’t have much time to absorb her surroundings—her aunt was treating the place like a linebacker in a championship game, barreling past all obstacles to get to her objective.

Nothing had ever stood in Pauline Wilde’s way. Not for long, anyhow. Ever since Sera could remember, Pauline had been pushing boundaries, defying convention, sticking her middle finger in the face of anyone who told her she couldn’t do something she wanted to do. She was a woman utterly estranged from the concepts of shame, modesty, and deference. In comparison, Sera, raised by stolidly conventional yuppie parents until she was thirteen, had always felt somewhat small and apologetic, though Pauline had done her utmost to yank her niece from beneath her towering feminist shadow and lend her some chutzpah when her own wouldn’t take Sera the distance.

It hadn’t worked, even when Sera had gone to live with Pauline after her parents’ sudden deaths. If anything, the contrast between Sera’s shy, repressed thirteen-year-old self and her ballsy aunt had made Sera shrink down even smaller, despite her deep love for the older woman. She knew Pauline would be horrified if she realized her efforts to toughen Sera up had done more to make her squirm than make her strong. She admired Pauline’s ideals of striving for self-fulfillment, even as she doubted her own ability to advocate for her deepest needs and wants. She simply didn’t feel she had the right to happiness the way Pauline so obviously did.

Shaking herself firmly, Sera reminded herself she was nearly thirty, and had been self-supporting since college. She’d faced—and conquered—some extremely tough demons, particularly in the last year. She’d seen a bit of what her inner mettle was really worth, and learned to trust her instincts more and more. Pauline’s support had done a lot to set her on that path. Now it was time for Sera to do the supporting.

Her aunt’s frantic call had come just yesterday.

Hortencia’s gone. I need you, Baby-Bliss.

Sera’s heart had sunk. Pauline and Hortencia had been inseparable for the last few years. Her aunt must be devastated. I’m coming, Aunt Paulie, she’d assured her aunt over the phone. I’m on the next flight. And she had been.

Before Sera could so much as set down her carry-on, Pauline had wrapped her arms around her niece and was squeezing for all she was worth. Instantly, Sera was swamped with that familiar Pauline smell: part musky herbal—mugwort or pot, she’d never been sure—part fairy godmother. Tears sprang into her eyes.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you, Aunt Paulie.”

“Ditto, kid-bean. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, too.” Pauline took her time eyeballing her niece, flipping the short, chin-length ends of Sera’s new bob approvingly, putting her hands on Sera’s hips and turning her this way and that. “Lookin’ good, kiddo! I see all those sweets you bake aren’t hurting your sweet figure any. You’ve still got a tush on you like a couple of hot cross buns. You didn’t get that from me, that’s for sure. Tuchas like a freakin’ pancake, that’s what I’ve got. A crepe even, these days. Ah, but what am I babbling about? Baby Bliss, let’s get your shit and blow this taco stand. I can’t wait to finally show you what heaven’s all about.”

Bemused, Sera trailed after her aunt down the long, wide ramp that led to the baggage claim. Had grief made her loopy? Er… loopier than usual? Because she’d expected sorrow-stricken. Wan. Shaken. All the sad emotions the joyful, fearless Pauline Wilde had never seemed susceptible to, but surely must be feeling after the death of her life partner.

At least, that had been the impression she’d given Sera when she’d called to tell her that Hortencia was suddenly gone. I’m devastated, Bliss. Utterly wrecked, she’d said. Could Sera please drop everything and fly to New Mexico to help her deal with her loss?

Given that Pauline was, quite simply, Sera’s single favorite person, she hadn’t hesitated for a second. After all the times she’s saved my bacon, Sera thought fondly, she’d be within her rights to ask for a kidney. Hell, both kidneys. In any case, considering how little anchored her to New York these days, taking time out was no great hardship. And she’d been missing Pauline a lot lately.

“So how’s your love life, kid?” Pauline asked—loudly—over her shoulder as they headed for the bag claim. Her skirt jingled in counterpoint to her strides. “You getting any?”

I didn’t miss this part, Sera thought with a mental wince. She avoided the smirking glance of the college-aged bohunk trotting down the ramp to meet his gloriously tanned, crunchy-granola girlfriend, her arms outstretched as if to announce to all and sundry, “Now you… you’re getting some.”

“Um, I’m doing okay,” she said weakly. “Not dating anyone seriously right now. Mostly trying to keep the catering business out of the red, keep myself on the straight and narrow. That kind of thing.”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Pauline said, huffing a little as they made it to the conveyor and started scanning the bags. “I asked if you were getting laid. Don’t really need a boyfriend for that, though of course, it never hurts to know where your next O’s coming from. One of the benefits of a steady relationship, I s’pose.” Her face clouded over momentarily.