Another Legacy 1.11

Ira feeling flirty while she talks to Case at the grill

Case is deep in thought calculating the formula for non-carbon-based fuel (something dealing with the fraction of 1/137, that number that Feynman calls “one of the greatest damn mysteries of physics: a magic number that comes to us with no understanding”–I mean, if it can make stars burn, can’t we somehow leverage it to grill a potato?) when Ira stops by on Boxing Day.

She’s making funny faces at Case, cocking her head to the side, pursing her lips, squinting her eyes, and putting all her weight on one leg. It’s humorous, and Case feels like his purple sweater–all playful inside.

Case becomes playful while Ira flirts

They talk for a bit–even her voice is kinda funny, high and then low. Case jokes about penguins and llamacorns. Before she leaves, while Case dishes up the roast potatoes, she swipes the Winterfest decorations lying outside the front door. Case sees it in his peripheral vision.

It’s not the first time he’s seen her steal things when she thinks no one is looking, or even if she thinks they might see, but that she can get away with it anyway. He accepts this about her. It’s not something he’d confront her with, but if she ever wanted to share with him the thrill of the steal, or even some of the deeper reasons that might lie behind it, Case would listen.

After the first time he saw her swipe something–a pack of seeds at the garden center–he did some research on kleptomania. He wanted to be able to understand and support his friend, if she ever came to him for help.

He found he could understand it pretty easily–he could even relate to it, somewhat. It’s a brain chemical thing–issues with serotonin and the brain’s opiod system, and these imbalances lead to impulsive behaviors. That’s something Case can relate to. He organizes much of his day, including diet, schedules, and actvities, managing the neurochemical functioning of his neurodivergent brain. So he gets this. In fact, it helps him understand why he and Ira are able to be such good friends and communicate so well. They’re both neurodivergent.

He doesn’t have a lot of confidence in treatment methods–they sound too much like ABT to him. But knowing how his own brain works, he’s pretty sure that keeping the stress down and providing a safe, accepting environment will help.

At any rate, her neurodivergence makes him love her more. And he really doesn’t care what she swipes, as long as she’s safe and feeling OK, and if she’s not feeling OK, then he’ll do his best to be there for her.

Screenshot of Case's sentiment panel for Ira

On New Year’s Day, Case meets up with her on the boardwalk. It’s an unplanned meeting, which makes Case feel like the new year is getting off to the best possible start, with his kismet best friend.

Case talks with Ira on the boardwalk

She wanders off to check the community board–Case has another proposal up for voting, about eco-friendly appliances, and Ira wants to get an idea of how much support it has.

“My mom says that you’re the reason everything’s blooming here,” says Olive Tinker, Tinker Tailor’s daughter.

Olive talks with Ira

“Ah, no,” Case replies. “Not the reason. One of the reasons. I mean your mom is the original greenie of the community. She got it all started here.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t plant the flowers. You did.”

Case and Olive look out over the bay

“Well, me and a lot of other people,” Case says.

“Yeah, but it was your idea.”

Even that is not technically true, Case realizes. Ideas have lives of their own, and if you’re lucky, one visits you, and if you’re in the right situation, maybe you can do something about it.

But he was the one who got to select the plantings, aside from the donations of the ornamentals from the local nursery.

He he chose the blue salvias, which bloom in winter.

Butterflies over the salvia blossoms

When he turns to check on their growth, he spots a blue morpho butterfly hovering over them, his first sighting.

Case realizes he is very fond of Ira

“The butterflies have returned!” he tells Ira. “When I first moved her, five years ago, I met this little girl–well, she’s probably a teenager by now–she said that if we have flowers, that butterflies would come. And look! She’s right!”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen, ever,” Ira says. “Case, nobody could’ve done this but you. Nobody would’ve stuck with it, or researched and found the right plants, or been able to inspire an entire community to step up and make these changes. You’re the most impressive person I know, Case.”

Butterflies in Port Promise

Case doesn’t know about that. He thinks she’s trying to swipe his heart. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s already hers, and he’s already pledged just to be there for her, no matter what she steals, and, anyway, the butterflies have returned.

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Ten-Cent Tarot: Trip to the Bank

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Hopes and Dreams Citywide Sperm Bank sat happily on the first floor of a glass, steel, and concrete high rise in the financial district. Calliope was always glad for an excuse to visit to that end of the city, for it stood at the far west border. Beyond stretched steep rocky hills extending all the way to the sea.

This was a reconnaissance trip, Calliope reminded herself as she strode towards the entrance. Find out the possibilities, establish a few contacts, open doors, only, and don’t close a single one, not yet.

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Before making the trip, she’d had to decide if she would, indeed, take the case. Some mysteries were better left unsolved, and it took some reflection to conclude that this might not be one of them.

She reviewed her consultation with Aadhya. She’d found the young woman endearing: Cat-ears, Dashiki top, earnest brown eyes–she was just the kind of person that Calliope would drop everything for in her rush to help.

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But locating the anonymous sperm donor who was the biological father of her nine-year-old daughter? She wasn’t sure, at first, that she’d wanted to poke that rat’s nest.

“I’m not asking for Shanaya,” Aadhya had said. “She’s doing great. It’s almost like it doesn’t register with her that she doesn’t have a dad in her life. But I’m asking for me.”

“Do you want a relationship?” Calliope had asked.

“Oh, heavens, no,” Aadhya replied. “That’s why I went that route, to avoid all that. I just… I just wonder. Shanaya is such a mystery. The way she cocks her head when she laughs. The way she won’t stop asking questions until she gets an answer that satisfies her. The way she’s so good at math. I suck at math.”

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“And you want to know where all that comes from?”

“Exactly!”

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“Be careful what you wish for,” Calliope warned. “I am good at finding things out. Suppose I do find out who the anonymous donor was. Suppose we get a name. An address. Will you really be ready to know this? What if you don’t like the guy?”

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“What if I do?” Aadhya laughed. “That’s what I’m worried about! I’ve made it this far without being with a guy. But what if I meet him, and we somehow hit it off? What if he likes me? What if, by some miracle, I like him? Oh, Lordy! That’s what scares me!”

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“It’s a possibility,” Calliope admitted, “especially if all of these intriguing qualities of your daughter’s can be traced back to him.”

“But what if I can also trace all her bad habits back to him, hmm?” Aadhya asked. “Do you think he picks his nose?”

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Her attitude had been sensible enough that Calliope decided to risk it. After all, the cards showed that discovery, in this case, wouldn’t bring disaster. And even if complications did arise, Calliope was prepared to be there to help resolve them.

It’s a simple matter of reconnaissance, she reminded herself.

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The receptionist listened carefully when Calliope explained why she was there.

“All your client needs to do is fill out this form,” she said. “We’ve also got it online, http://www.hope.net/yourdream. This won’t reveal the donor’s actual identity, if he opted for anonymity, but we can give her a detailed genetic report. It will show everything you get in, say, an Ancestry.com report: ethnicity, race, and so on, plus whatever shows up in your basic medical DNA report, markers for cancers, Alzheimer’s, and so on. It’s useful stuff. Most of our customers find that it satisfies their basic needs and curiosity.”

“But no names?”

“Not if the donor signed up to be anonymous. We take privacy very seriously.”

It was something to go on. Calliope figured that the generic report, while interesting, wouldn’t be completely satisfactory to Aadhya, but it was a start. Surely they had full genetic profiles available, and with access to the computer system, there was no telling what might be discovered.

When she left the building, walking through the cold evening to the plaza, a savory, spicy scent of tamari, ginger, and water chestnuts pierced the fog to greet her. She followed the aroma to a food stall.

“Don,” she said, greeting the vendor, a friend of hers, “what delectable dishes are you serving?”

“This ramen?” he asked. “It’s the best in town. Want a bowl?”

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He dished her up a steaming serving.

There is an indescribable delight to sitting with a hot bowl of fragrant soup and noodles on a cold night, watching the steam rise to join the mist.

“Eat up, Miss Twisp!” Don called. “I want that soup gone by the time I get there! Slurp! Slurp!

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His shift ended fifteen minutes later, and she had, indeed, finished her soup by then. He joined her at the table.

“I saw you leaving Hope and Dreams,” he said, “if you don’t mind my saying. What brings you to a place like that?”

“Nothing personal,” she said.

“I didn’t think so. I mean, I didn’t mean to imply it would have anything to do with you, at your… Ummm… with you.”

“It’s a case.”

“That’s what I was wondering,” he said. “Do you take cases like that?”

“Like what, Donny-boy?” Darren, a mutual friend, joined them. “You’re looking dashing, Calliope,” he said.

“I was just asking if Calliope took paternity cases,” Don said.

“What do you want to get mixed up in something like that for?” Darren asked. “I thought you and your lady friends were careful.”

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“Hell, yeah,” said Don. “Extra careful. As in extra-strength careful, if you get my drift.”

Then ensued a string of off-color jokes, and Calliope excused herself for the long walk home.

Back in her apartment, Calliope was still thinking about Don’s question before the conversation had been hijacked. Did he have a paternity case he wanted her to take on? If so, was he hoping he would or would not be the father?

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Don had always seemed to her to be the type of man who didn’t want to be tied down. He was friendly and charming, certainly, but universally so. She recalled the afternoon when she’d met him. He and one of his house-mates approached Calliope and Aadhya as they strolled through the square outside Calliope’s building. She hadn’t been certain, but it had seemed that Don had flirted with her. Don! Young enough to be her grandnephew. At the very least, he’d complemented her style in voice with a suggestive undertone. Maybe that was his normal tone of voice. Aadhya had been none-too-impressed. She made a snide remark after he left.

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“Think we exist for the sole purpose of providing eye-candy, men like that,” she’d said. “I’ve got news for them. The world is not their candy bowl!”

But Calliope hadn’t minded. He’d noticed her, at least, which was a rare occurrence, and even if he had been fresh, he’d been polite and charming, too.

When Calliope dropped by Aadhya’s to tell her about the Paternal Genetic Report Request form that she could fill out, if she chose, Aadhya was just on her way out.

“My shift at the bar is about to start,” she said, hurriedly, “Can you give me the details later?”

“Bye, Mom!” Shanaya called.

“Who is staying with Shanaya?” Calliope asked.

“Oh,” said Aadhya, “she stays alone. Geeta lives across the hall, you know. She’ll look in a few times. She’ll be all right.”

“I could stay,” said Calliope. “I’m already here. I’ve got nothing planned tonight.”

“Oh, would you?” Aadhya opened her mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to remember the time. She waved to them both as she rushed towards the elevator. “Be good, Shanay! I’ll see you at breakfast!”

Shanaya headed back to the computer without even greeting Calliope. The child’s concentration for her math game gave Calliope a chance to observe her.

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She was quick. While she played, she adjusted her strategy as the equations became increasingly complex. When the game began throwing basic algebraic problems at her, she missed a long string. Then she stopped, looked away from the computer, closed her eyes for a second, and dove right back in. This time, she earned a perfect score and advanced a level.

Calliope went into the kitchen to prepare a snack. The scent of cinnamon toast and warm honeyed soymilk made its way back to the bedroom, and Shanaya soon arrived in the kitchen.

“Is that for me?” she asked.

“For us both!” said Calliope. They sat together at the little kitchen table. Calliope asked her about the math problems, about how she figured out what the equations were asking for.

“I’d seen those kinds of formulas before,” she said, “in a book once. So I just closed my eyes to remember better. I can see it up here with my eyes closed,” she said, pointing to her forehead. “I’ve got a separate drawer for everything, so I just remember what drawer I put something in, and then I can take it out whenever I want.”

“I do that, too!” said Calliope, “only I think of it as file folders!”

After that, the crone and the scout became friends.

A few nights a week, when Aadhya had late shifts at the bar, Calliope came over to stay with the child.

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And some nights, Shanaya came over to Calliope’s. They lived in the same neighborhood, after all.

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Shanaya loved coming to Calliope’s. The apartment was full of color, plants, and little living friends: a rat in an over-sized habitat, cats and kittens with free run of the place, and angel-winged fish in a floor-to-ceiling tank.

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“What’s new with you?” Calliope would ask.

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Shanaya always had an eager answer.

“I bet you didn’t know I earned a new scouting badge!”

“I could’ve guessed.”

“But I bet you don’t know what for!”

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For the older woman, these evenings with Shanaya were a treat. Her friends her age were full of complaints. Her younger friends were filled with worry. But Shanaya–she and Shanaya seemed to be on the same page. Kindred spirits.

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“My mom told me you might be looking for my dad,” Shanaya said one day. “Is that true? And if so, what for? Do I need a dad?”

“Do you want a dad?”

“I don’t see what for,” said Shanaya. “I’m perfectly happy now, and if i’m perfectly happy now, why mess things up?”

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“That’s a good point.”

“My friends with dads are not always happy. So therefore, presence-of-father does not always equal happiness. So why?”

Calliope chuckled. She honestly didn’t know why, either. The search wasn’t for her. It obviously wasn’t for Shanaya, either. But she had to admit, the more she got to know Shanaya, the more she considered that, if indeed, many of Shanaya’s special qualities were inherited from her father, then maybe meeting this man wouldn’t be the worst possible thing. It might even be interesting.

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