Page 12 of It's Always Sonny

When my mind’s eye turns to my left knee, I notice the pulse in it. There’s throbbing pain in that rushing of blood, but also healing. I imagine tiny strains and tears being worked on by a body that is so miraculous, it heals itself. With that thought, the pain eases. I continue smoothly until I reach the center of my chest, where a new pang presents itself. A pair of dark, concerned eyes pop into my head unbidden.

Ah. Not a physical pain, but an emotional one.

Thank you for always taking care of me, I tell my heart. I continue my scan.

It only takes three minutes until I’ve reached the top of my head. It takes me longer than normal to soften my jaw and let the muscles in my forehead release, but I’ve done this meditation for years. I allow myself to take longer. I acknowledge the stress and strain and give appreciation to my body and mind for protecting and healing me all these years.

Then I open my eyes.

Sound and sights rush back into me. Gabe and Sienna’s conversation continues. Traffic whizzes by. We’re on a busy road, and I marvel at how effectively my meditation muffled such a noisy world. I marvel every time, in fact.

Thank you, I tell my brain. You are so good at your job.

I lean back, and a smile naturally spreads across my face.

“He’s back,” Gabe tells Sienna.

“Getting your mindfulness on?” Sienna teases.

“You should try it, See-See,” I say, using the nickname I gave her when I was a toddler who couldn’t say her name. “You should all try it. Then maybe y’all wouldn’t be so stressed all the time.”

“Hey, I’ve earned my stress.” Sienna’s voice rings over the speakers. She really has. At thirty, she’s two years older than I am, but she got married right out of college. Parker was supposed to have been my date to her wedding, in fact, but she dumped me two weeks before, so I hit that event solo.

I cried during my toast and everything.

Good times.

Anyway, Sienna and her husband have been trying to get pregnant for five years. They’re going to try IVF again next month, but it’s a strain on her body. She doesn’t react well to the hormones—not that anyone reacts well to being pumped full of hormones—but her body tries to do the opposite of what it should at every turn. Most women gain weight during fertility treatments, but Sienna’s body sheds the little weight she has, and she has to eat constantly to keep it on. That means she’s nauseated from the hormones and the diet. But if she gets too lean, she can’t get pregnant, a fact she learned the hard way on attempt number two last year.

She’s been “bulking up” since then.

“You have earned that stress. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep it on you at all times,” I tell her. “Meditation helps.”

“I think I preferred you sullen and pining,” she says. But I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Nah, y’all love Mr. Sunshine.”

Gabe scoffs. “Why do you say y’all, anyway? We’re from Maryland, bro.”

“You’re from Maryland,” I correct him. “I was born on an Army base in the UK.”

“And I was born on a base in Italy, which makes me the most Italian of all you suckers,” Sienna says.

“Gloating is a good look on you, sis. You should wear it more often,” Gabe says.

“Excuse me? I look good in everything. It’s part of being an international queen.”

I laugh. All the moving we did for my dad’s job meant that I became a bit of a parrot, unconsciously adopting whatever accent I was around. Since our family ended up in nearby Charlotte, North Carolina when I went to Clemson, people assume I’m from the South. I don’t correct them unless I need to. People feel comfortable being around their own accent, and I’m a people person.

I interrupt my siblings one-upping one another about how attractive and well traveled they are. “Hey, what was Aunt Elaine’s text about? Some change in the itinerary for Nonna’s eightieth? Is one of the ports shut down or something?”

My dad’s mom is the tough-as-nails grand matriarch of the Lucianos, and we’ve been planning this event for a year. My dad is the youngest of four, like me, and each of my aunts and uncles also have kids and grandkids. As the youngest of the cousins, I’m the only one who isn’t married (except for Cousin Daniel, who’s a widower). And Sienna and I are the only childless ones of the group. Everyone knows about her fertility struggles, and she understandably gets a pass.

I do not.

Do you want to know how to say disappointment in Italian?

It starts with an S and ends with an -onny.

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