Cell Division
62
Another week passed. My babies started doing aerobics in my belly. I was very noticeably pregnant now. My clients commented on how I glowed. I didn’t feel like I glowed. I felt like I glowered. I couldn’t get enough to eat and my temper became very short.
I wanted to name the boy after his father, but I felt at a loss for the girl’s name.
I talked to them a lot. I played my radio with the speakers on my belly at night, giving them the benefit of a classical music education.
I started eating things specifically for their development even if I hated the taste. Avocadoes for one. I despised their flavor but all the books said they were good for the children. To remind myself of my sacrifice, and for amusement, I took to keeping the pits. I had a bucket almost half full of them.
“Flame wants to sleep with me,” Sephiroth announced, coming in my office just as I finished throwing another avocado pit in the bucket. “If I push her away she sleeps with Hojo.”
“That’s very domestic of her,” I commented. I had terrible heartburn and a headache and I didn’t know if I could bear him today. I’d nearly called Shin-Ra to speak with Michael, but never had despite picking up the handset about thirty times. “You don’t want her sleeping with you?”
“There isn’t enough room on the couch.” He sat with his usual, boneless grace. “And yes, I realize I could sleep in my own room. I don’t want to yet. Hojo seems to want my company anyway.”
“I wouldn’t suggest leaving his quarters until you felt ready,” I said mildly. “Your father has a way of making his desired group feel welcome.” I paused. “Does he know you come to see me?”
“No.” Sephiroth began to fidget. “I’ve not mentioned it.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. A lot of people require psychiatric counseling.”
“I’m not ashamed,” he said tersely. “I just thought…” He inhaled sharply, then exhaled just the same. “I just thought it would upset him.” He grabbed a long lock of his hair and began to twist it around and around his wrist. “He still thinks about you. I can see it.”
My heart lurched.
“I still think about him,” I replied.
Sephiroth glared in my direction, but didn’t meet my eyes. “Love is useless. It doesn’t feed or clothe you and it makes you miserable.”
I nodded.
“And, it’s illogical,” he went on. “Why invest emotion in another person? They’ll always let you down.” He got up and began to pace furiously. “How do you stop it?”
I realized then that Hojo’s unconditional love was affecting his son. He fought it and it didn’t matter. He felt frightened, threatened by the beginning stages of returning that love.
“He hugged me this morning.” Sephiroth paused to clench his fists. “And, I liked it.”
“Good,” I murmured. “That’s very good.”
“No, it isn’t!” Sephiroth lashed out, knocking my vase over and smashing it to pieces. “It’s horrible! He’s made me vulnerable!” He picked up my figurine of Shiva and threw it. It burst in my fireplace, raining shards of white everywhere. “I hate being weak,” he said lowly. “Weakness is disgusting. I make my own gut just churn.”
“You are not weak.” I took my candy dish off the desk and slid it inside a drawer lest he demolish it, too. “You are very, very strong, Sephiroth. It takes courage to do what you’re doing. I think you’re being very brave.”
And, I did.
“Warriors do not love,” he argued. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Warriors do indeed love,” I countered. “I’ve counseled many soldiers and their wives.”
“I am the ultimate soldier.” Sephiroth sat down, but his whole body vibrated with tension. “I’m an example. I can’t fall prey to softness.”
“That’s Shin-Ra talking,” I pointed out. “I’m not counseling Shin-Ra, I’m counseling Sephiroth.”
He looked at me, his green, glowing eyes startled.
“You are a man, Sephiroth,” I continued. “You’re not a machine, or the ultimate weapon, or the scourge of the universe. You. Are. A. Man.”
He shuddered. Suddenly, he leaned forward and put his face in his hands. “I’m not,” he protested, his voice muffled. “I’m an angel. And, like all angels, I’m amoral.”
It amazed me Sephiroth did well enough to even survive. With no one to teach him right from wrong, with no friends, no lovers, he’d done remarkably well.
I got to my feet an approached him. Kneeling, I put my hand on his shoulder. “Sephiroth, look at me,” I said quietly.
He took his hands away from his face. His watery eyes focused upon me reluctantly.
“You’re not an angel,” I said firmly. “You’re not weak. You are deserving of love. Take what your father offers you without guilt or reservation, or worry. He loves you. He loves you despite the things you’ve done, the things you’ve said. He will always love you. If he can love you, you can learn to love yourself, and that’s your real issue.”
I got up. “Now, repeat after me. I deserve love.”
“I can’t say that, it’s stupid,” he mumbled half-heartedly. “It wouldn’t be true if I could say it.”
“It is true. Say it.”
“I deserve love,” he repeated dully, almost inaudibly.
“Again.”
“I deserve love,” Sephiroth said again, a little louder.
“Good. I want you to say it three times a day.”
“How is that going to help?” He looked at me with confusion.
“You’ll see,” I said.