Skye Penderwick feels just a tiny bit amused at the fact that her life has come to a point where she's clad in pajamas and holding a plush lion in one hand and a monkey in the other as she stands in the middle of her daughter's darkened upstairs room, the room which used to be the guest room/study until Tesla arrived seven years prior. As Skye palms the two choices, it hits her that parenthood has infused every facet of her life. The lines of the world are warped, because everywhere she looks, her gaze sooner or later lands on half-finished Lego sculptures, crayons scattered across drawing pads, hastily removed little sandals and sneakers, and a whole menagerie of stuffed toys. It's like a burning black hole in the shape of a small girl and her belongings, and anything else—books, television, newspapers, what have you—doesn't stand a chance.
"Which one do you want to bring tomorrow, Tesla? Your lion or one of your monkeys?"
The blonde haired girl shifts in bed and blinks up at her, outlined by the faint amber glow of the nightlight.
"Lucy always tells me to call that one a lemur," she says decidedly in a very six year old fashion.
Lucy is Tesla's four year old cousin, and despite being two years Tesla's junior, spends an inordinate amount of time studying encyclopedias and filling her head will all sorts of highly impressive facts. The only thing about her that reminds one of Jane is her abundance of brown curls and delicate stature. The rest—her desire for order and drive to memorize information is neither poetic, romantic, nor artistic.
There have been a few doctor's visits, because Lucy refuses to interact with anyone besides her parents and close extended family, bounces between lapses of extreme calm and extreme turbulence with no middle ground, and never quite seems to understand the nuances of social communication.
"She's an Aspie," Jane tells Skye over the phone several weeks earlier. She sounds both distraught and relieved.
"So were Albert Einstein, Marie Curie, and Thomas Jefferson," Skye fires back, unwilling to let her sister entertain any thoughts of inadequacy or despair.
"Yes, but—"
"Nothing," Skye finishes. "She'll be just fine. Lucy has a hell of a lot of talent, Jane, in areas far beyond her years. You should be proud. This isn't some kind of harmatia."
"Thank you, I'm just afraid I'll do her some sort of disservice, or—"
"Stop worrying. Parenthood is difficult, bottom line. Doesn't matter who your child is. I know you'll raise her right because I know how much you love her—"
There's a stifled sob on the other end of the line.
"—and that will make all the difference. Okay?"
"Okay," sniffs Jane.
"Tell Queen Lucy the Valiant I want her and her mother to come over this Tuesday. I have an anatomy coloring book I need her help with."
Jane laughs and the tightness in Skye's throat loosens. "The queen and her dutiful mamma shall be there."
"Wonderful." Skye glances over her shoulder at her own daughter, who's up to her knees in craft paper and glitter glue and looking rather guilty. "Gotta go. Tesla's covered in sequins again."
And that's that.
Now, as Skye stands staring at Tesla's small prone form, she feels a wash of affection at her daughter's open, accepting nature. It's all very Jeffrey.
"Oh, of course, a lemur then—my mistake. You only have seven stuffed monkeys after all, it's impossible to tell the difference between each one."
"It's fine. I call it a monkey too sometimes, but don't tell Lucy. I know all the different names of them in the book she showed me—do you want to hear them all? We went through the primates and monkeys last week at Aunt Jane's house."
"I heard. You'll be ready for college soon with all the scientific terms you know."
Tesla giggles and buries her face in the pillow. "I'll take panthera leo," she mumbles into the cotton.
"What?"
"The lion."
"Alright."
"I'm feeling more liony right now, I guess."
"I guess you are." Skye leans over and kisses her on her cheek, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. Perhaps remembering babysitting Ben when he was still a baby and feeling compelled to perform the same gesture, much to her then repulsion (confusion).
"Night, Tesla. Daddy will be up in a minute."
"Is he composing?"
"Yes."
"Cool." The little girl rolls onto her side and studies Skye through squinted lids. "Can I hear it tomorrow?"
"We'll see."
"That means yes, doesn't it."
"We'll see." Skye laughs and slips from the room.
...
"Look, I drew a picture of Tess," chortles Booker. He's a five year old hybrid of Rosalind and Tommy, which is evident from the messy shock of russet hair, hazel eyes, and unusually wide smile, one that often appears too large for his face.
Skye kneels down to admire the technicolor scribble. "There's a definite likeness," she admits, eyes crinkling at her nephew's clumsy attempt at capturing Tesla's fair hair, green eyes, and arrangement of freckles.
"Thanks. I couldn't decide whether to use saffron or mustard for the hair." He brandishes two crayons, and Skye laughs.
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. Mommy said saffron."
"Rosy does tend to have an eye for color."
Booker gives a gleeful giggle and thrusts the drawing into Skye's hands. "Give it to Tess, 'kay?"
"Will do."
He tears off across the playground, sprinting faster than ought to be humanly possible. Skye watches him and doesn't bother to hide her face-splitting grin behind a hand.
...
"She's six years old, just let her be six," Jeffrey murmurs, as they sit shoulder to shoulder on his velvet padded piano bench watching their daughter build a rather inaccurate version of the Eiffel Tower from Legos.
"She has a right to know," Skye persists. "I won't have her crippled by reality. She needs to learn how to cope with life."
"But…" Jeffrey exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose with a careworn expression. "She might, you know, be afraid the same thing will happen to her parents."
"And it might. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed to any of us. That's not a reason to keep her in the dark."
"Rosalind and Jane haven't told Booker or Lucy."
"I don't care. You can present an infinite number of excuses and none will dissuade me."
"Skye."
"What is so terrifying to you about the idea of telling her what happened to her grandmother?"
"It's just that she's never really had to think about death."
"Well, I had to at her age, didn't I?"
"Yes, and knowing how painful that was, wouldn't you rather protect her from it? For just a bit longer?"
"We're her parents. Our job is to raise a strong person, someone who can grieve and contemplate distressing truths without being taken out of commission."
"But—"
"What about you and Alec? She'll want to know about that someday."
"That's different. He isn't dead."
Skye concedes with a nod. "Yes, but it's not the happiest story."
"It doesn't involve death."
She snorts. "Death doesn't alarm me. It's the most natural thing in the world. Next to living, of course."
"Watching someone get wrenched from this world too soon doesn't seem at all natural to me," mutters Jeffrey. "Or maybe I'm just a sentimentalist."
"Don't be like that. You know what I mean. Death per se. Death, the governing entropic force of the universe. Death my own. Death anyone else's. Almost anyone else's."
She looks sidelong at him and he looks back, throat bobbing in a tight swallow. They lean together; kiss, and there's an undercurrent to it that feels desperate, raw, and unhinged. It makes Skye's gut constrict unhappily.
Tesla makes a little sound of embarrassment and they part, laughing awkwardly, and setting to the task of clearing the table of dishes.
...
"We'll tell her tomorrow," Jeffrey says later that night.
Skye rolls onto her side, mattress creaking beneath her weight, and gazes at him. "Yes?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"Of course—I—it's fine."
"Obviously not, considering the fight you put up earlier."
"I just—"
"I know. I know."
"She's so…"
"Young? Innocent? Untouched? Mm, yes. All of the above. But she'll be alright. She's our daughter."
"Her genetics won't make her strong, Skye."
"Her upbringing will."
He laughs. It sounds oddly sad. "You're quite smart."
"Did it really take you all this time to come to that conclusion?"
"Strong, too," Jeffrey adds, ignoring her jibe.
"You're not bad, yourself."
"No, I mean… There are things in this world that are considered strong; steel and titanium and alloy and diamond, but those things are transient, those things are not mine. There are things in this world that are considered strong, but those are smoke and veils and shadows and nothing more."
"What are you saying?"
"There are things in this world that are considered strong. And then there is you."
...
(A/N): One of my close friends was diagnosed with AS (Asperger's Syndrome) when he was seven, so all of the material about that comes from my experience with him and a bit more further research. I don't pretend to know what that's like personally. Thanks for all the kindness, lovelies.