The Shape of Family Page 22
“And we have a license?” she asked.
“Yes, I told you. It’s in process.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “What, you don’t trust me?” he said playfully. He kissed her again, pressing her mouth open with his tongue, and Serotina felt the effect of this vibrate through her body. She thought of how he’d helped her to get into the ocean and open up in group circle with her darkest secrets. Of course, she trusted him. “You worry too much,” he whispered. “You have someone to catch you now.”
* * *
The next morning, after meditation, yoga and breakfast, Serotina went upstairs to get dressed for her shift at NatMark while everyone else went outside to work. Before showering, she retrieved her laptop from under her bed, where it remained most of the time. She began to research growing cannabis plants, jotted down some notes and continued to think while she worked at the grocery store. By the time she saw Micah again that evening in his room, she was eager to share with him what she’d learned. “You said those plants are about six weeks old?”
Micah nodded. “I’ve been keeping the lights on eighteen hours a day, turning them on before meditation and off before I go to sleep.”
Serotina flipped through her notes. “So, if we switch to a twelve-hour light cycle, they should go into flowering state and be ready to chop down and dry in a couple months. And if we add thousand-watt bulbs to that space, we can increase the yield.” She looked up at him. “If our yields are as high as I’ve been reading, we can generate a half-pound from each plant . . . What does that translate to?”
“Premium grade sells for over a hundred dollars an ounce, so that’s . . .” Micah reached over to the nightstand and pulled a mobile phone out of the drawer.
“Almost a thousand dollars a plant, and . . .” Her mind starting blurring with the numbers.
Micah tapped at the screen for a few seconds and turned it toward her. So many zeroes. “How many do you think we could fit down there?”
“I’d have to measure the space, but we should be able to fit a lot if we’re methodical about it,” she said. “Can we get more?”
Micah smiled. “As many as you need, darlin’.”
“Since the full cycle is four to five months, we should probably have multiple cycles going, so we always have some maturing at different times, a steady supply.” Her brain churned as she thought through the growing cycle and the systems from the Botany Lab she could put in place. For a moment, her mind registered that it was crazy that she was thinking all this about marijuana.
Micah leaned forward, took her face between his palms and kissed her. “You’re amazing, Sero. I knew you were the right person for this.”
“We can get the solar panels.” She smiled.
“We can get the solar panels,” Micah repeated. “And the dairy cows. And another composter. And maybe some heavy-duty farm equipment. We can get it all.” Micah closed his eyes for a moment. “You’ll have help,” he said. “Jasmine can help you set things up and take care of the plants. Rufus is building a website to start processing orders as soon as we’re ready.”
“I thought no one else knew about this?”
“Yeah, just the three of you. Jasmine hooked us up with the seedlings from her cousin near Sacramento who’s been growing for years. And Rufus is our computer whiz. But I still want to keep it quiet for now. I don’t want any hurt feelings because I chose you to lead this.” He kissed her lightly. “We’re under some time pressure, though,” he added. “We made a big investment getting the Sanctuary off the ground and we have a lot of bills to pay. I’m counting on you.” He closed her eyes with his thumbs and kissed each of them in turn. When Sero opened her eyes, Micah was looking at her as if she was the most important person in the world—the only person in the world—and the feeling stirred in her was one she wanted to preserve for always.
* * *
The basement could only be accessed by the side door on the exterior of the house, so it wasn’t hard to be discreet. Serotina designated one room of the basement to house the existing plants through their flowering state, which required a twelve-hour light cycle. The second room would house new seedlings through their six-week vegetative state with eighteen hours of light. She and Jasmine calculated how many new seedlings they could accommodate and placed an order for the first two hundred with her cousin, who would drive them down the following weekend in exchange for cash payment from Micah.
On her days off from NatMark, instead of working the fields outside, Sero drove for hours to hydro stores in outlying areas and purchased special lights, irrigation tubing, timers, feed drums and other supplies for their operation, using the credit card her father had given her. If he asked about her purchases, which he never did, she would tell him they were supplies for the Rancheria Community Garden she’d mentioned. She spent fourteen-hour days researching, driving and working. Her arms and back ached from hauling bags of cocoa fiber and equipment, but she felt propelled by the importance of this project for Micah, for all of them.
After the shipment of new seedlings arrived, she and Jasmine meticulously set up the tables, overhead timed lights, and drip hoses for irrigation and feeding solution. “This is amazing,” Micah said when he saw the setup. “You’re amazing.” He pulled her toward him and kissed her hard on the mouth.
Bolstered by his praise, Sero went down to the basement to inspect the seedlings every morning after meditation and yoga. She checked the soil with a copper probe and measured the air humidity, making any necessary adjustments before going upstairs to breakfast. She charted the plants’ growth so she could plan growing cycles and predict yield for the whole operation. It was an unexpected joy to be working with plants again, the way she used to at the Botany Lab, and to use her mind in a way she didn’t realize she’d missed at NatMark. Her days began to have greater purpose, as she felt like she was truly contributing in a meaningful way to this place she believed in so strongly.
37 | serotina
MARCH 2015
After a tiring shift at Natural Foods Market, Serotina turned her car into the long, climbing driveway that always helped her transition to the mind-set of being back home at the Sanctuary. As she parked, she saw Jeremy and Micah standing at the edge of the drive, each holding a large shovel. She pulled two grocery bags out of her trunk and, drawing closer, saw they were digging up the interlocking paver stones that composed the driveway. A patch of about ten square feet had been cleared, with dirt, stones and grass tufts scattered everywhere. Underground pipes were exposed beneath the surface.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Problem with the plumbing,” Micah said, with a smile. “We’re trying to find it.”
Jeremy lodged his shovel under a stone and pried it up. “Tree root probably made its way into a pipe.”
“We had to shut off the water for a while,” Micah said. “But there are buckets inside.
“No problem.” Sero headed into the house, impressed with their resourcefulness.
In the kitchen, Chef Guy kissed her on both cheeks when she handed him a paper bag of fresh wild mushrooms. As she was helping to prepare dinner—grass-fed beef tenderloin with a sauce made from the mushrooms, scalloped potatoes and grilled asparagus—water suddenly sputtered out of the kitchen faucet, then began to flow freely. Everyone in the kitchen cheered.
With some time before dinner, Sero walked down to the stables. “Hey, Buddy,” she said as the horse greeted her with a low nicker. She’d been using “buddy” as a nickname but decided it was as good a name as any, so she’d made it official. She took out the curry comb and brush she’d purchased earlier in the week, stepped into the stall and began grooming his thick coat. She thought again of calling Izzy, but Sero didn’t know where to start explaining her new life, and she wasn’t sure Izzy would understand. Instead, she just snapped a photo of her with Buddy and sent it to her.
That night at dinner, Sero clinked her wineglass with a fork and waited for the conversation to settle down. She had g
rown into the role of Micah’s right hand, whether because of the confidential project with which he had entrusted her, their romantic relationship or both, and it was a responsibility she relished. Sero held up her glass. “A big thanks to Micah for fixing our plumbing problem.”
“Yeah, I had no idea you were so handy, Micah,” August said. “Plumbing and keyboards, man, that’s a unique combination.”
Micah smiled, shaking his head. “Well, it’s not fixed, unfortunately. I’ll have to let the landlord know. Hey, at least it’s nothing important, right? Not like we need water to survive.” Sero smiled at how positive he always seemed to be, even in the face of adversity.
* * *
After nine weeks under the twelve-hour light cycle, the first few plants Micah had originally shown Sero had grown to full height, finished flowering and were ready to be dried. She and Jasmine cut them down and hung them from the basement ceiling. Sero impatiently checked the plants every day, but just as she’d read, it took a full two weeks until they were completely dried. She trimmed the first plant herself, using small clippers to separate the buds from the stems and leaves. The largest buds could be sold at a premium price, while the smaller ones could be rolled into cigarettes, and the leftover clippings used in edible products. After she showed Jasmine how to trim, it took both of them the rest of the day to finish the batch, and Sero’s neck was sore and her fingers cramped. But she felt proud of what she’d created and hoped Micah would be too.
He came down after dinner to join Sero, Jasmine and Rufus in the basement and, with great ceremony, pulled rolling papers out of his shirt pocket to roll the first joint. Sero had tried smoking weed a couple of times at high school parties but hadn’t really enjoyed it, as it usually just made her sleepy. At college, her lab friends weren’t into pot and neither was James. Now, watching Micah inhale deeply and with pleasure, she was intrigued to try it again. They passed the joint around; the first drag made Sero cough, and the second went straight to her head. “A1 quality weed,” Micah declared, and they all shared high fives and hugs. After the others had left the basement, Micah said, “I’m so proud of you, Sero. You’re making a real difference to this place. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Sero flushed with pride and slept heavily that night, her dreams vivid and fantastic.
* * *
The next morning, she still felt a little high, and perhaps this was why she found herself deep in concentration during the morning meditation session. “Every element of our life is within our control,” Micah said. “Just take the example of nourishment. We can choose not only what we eat and how much of it we eat, but also how quickly we eat and with whom we eat. We can even choose whether or not to eat. The practice of fasting teaches us to tolerate discomfort. It shows us the value of disciplining ourselves. That’s why we don’t break from our work outside to eat a meal. Fasting for periods of time helps focus the mind and our commitment.”
Sero considered this. She enjoyed food greatly, but did she always stop to taste each bite, or to consider how the setting in which she ate affected her perception of the food? She might also be guilty of eating without forethought and indulging in the hedonistic pleasure of the food. As she resolved to try to think more consciously about this, she was startled by a ringing sound. She cracked open her eyes and saw Micah’s legs moving swiftly through the group and into the house behind them. On the second ring, she recognized it was the doorbell, which was hardly ever heard since the door was always unlocked and someone was always at home.
Distracted from her meditation, Sero gave up and opened her eyes. She heard the front door open and Micah exchange harsh words with someone. A few moments later, Micah returned, continuing his discourse on the value of self-discipline. Sero snapped her eyes shut.
Later that evening, when Sero brought up the subject of that morning’s meditation, Micah was curt with her, unwilling to engage in further discussion. “I’m sorry, Sero, I’m just tired,” he said. “I have a migraine and I haven’t been sleeping well. I think it would be best if we slept in our own beds tonight.” He kissed her gently, holding her shoulders.
“Okay, sure. I hope you feel better,” she said, wondering why he seemed so unsettled. As she was leaving his room, she turned back with a thought. “Hey, who was at the door this morning?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing. No one,” Micah said, uncapping a medicine bottle on his nightstand. Then, seeing her dubious expression, he added, “It was the plumber. He came by unannounced and I told him he’d have to make an appointment to come back.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Well, let me know if I can help. I can meet him when he comes back.” Sero returned to her room, reassured it was just the tedious responsibilities of the house troubling him, nothing to do with her. She wished she could share and lighten his burden, the way he had for her.
* * *
The next day, Sero was helping to prepare dinner when August walked into the kitchen with a pile of mail and handed it to Micah.
“Want some help?” August sidled up to Zoe, who was shucking corn.
“Thanks, babe,” Zoe said, a mountain of fresh ears of corn piled in front of her. “We’re grilling it with mayo and spices, Mexican style.”
“Mmm.” August nudged her shoulder with his.
Sero liked seeing August and Zoe happy and flirtatious together, especially compared to that first awkward time she’d caught them sleeping on the couch.
“Goddammit,” Micah muttered under his breath, reading a letter he’d just opened from the stack.
His tone was barely audible, but Sero was acutely tuned into his frequency. She walked over to him. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, leaning forward.
Micah shook his head and she noticed the deep crease in his forehead. She found herself feeling angry at the piece of paper that had made him feel this way.
“Damn neighbors.” He flung his right hand toward the sliding glass doors. “Creating problems again, complaining to the landlord. First, they wouldn’t let us get dairy cows on our property, a full six acres away from their house, just in case some ‘unpleasant odors’”—he put the offensive phrase in air quotes—“drifted over to their precious outdoor party space. You know they are the sole reason we can’t produce our own dairy products? Those two people force us to go to the store every week to buy milk and yogurt!”
“They can do that?” She craned her neck to see the paper.
“And now,” Micah said, shaking the paper in his hand, obscuring her ability to read it, “they’re complaining about the roosters crowing too early in the morning, creating”—he modeled air quotes again—“‘noise pollution’ in an otherwise bucolic setting known for its peace and tranquility.” His hands fell to the table.
Zoe glanced over at them with an inspecting look, as if Sero had done something to cause Micah’s anger. Feeling uncomfortable and responsible—if not for his mood, then for not being able to improve it—Sero put her hands on his shoulders and began to knead gently.
“Do these rich folks even know what a real bucolic setting is?” Micah seethed, ignoring her efforts. “It’s one that includes animals, with all their sounds and odors, for god’s sake. What is wrong with these people?”
“Come on,” Sero said, unsettled by her inability to calm him. “Let’s go take a walk.” She grasped his hand and led him outside. “Maybe we can move the coop somewhere farther away from the neighbors, so the noise doesn’t reach them?” she offered, as they began walking.
Micah shook his head. “Sometimes I feel like that gladiator who has to run through a gauntlet, you know? Everywhere I turn, there’s another obstacle. When we moved in, it was the oppressive community board not letting us get rid of the citrus trees, can you believe it? That total water-hogging grove, because it had ‘local historical value.’”
“So, what did you do?” Serotina asked.
“I calculated the grotesque amount of water those citrus trees used and I mentioned that I’d spoken to a reporter at the U
nion-Tribune, who said it would make for an interesting story.” Rancho Paraiso had been in the news the year before as the highest per capita consumer of water in the entire state during the unprecedented drought.
“See?” Serotina smiled at him. “You outsmarted them. And we’ve replaced all that with drought-tolerant plants and drip irrigation, which must translate to half the water usage, or less, right?”
Micah shrugged. “Then, that asshole landlord hounds me relentlessly every time the rent check doesn’t arrive exactly by the first of the month. Can you believe that?” He looked over at her. “I mean, who decided the first of the month is fair anyway? Why should we be forced to pay for the entire month in advance? The rent check always gets there by the end of the month.” Micah shook his head as Serotina tried to think of a response to this. “He’s not very intelligent, that’s the problem. Even after I showed him how the whole solar investment would pay for itself in five years, he didn’t get it. He doesn’t understand sometimes you have to spend money to make money. And there are more important things than money anyway, like taking care of the planet.
“Now,” continued Micah, pointing over the hill to the property fence, “it’s that damn neighbor who doesn’t want us to have our chickens! What does he know, with his gas-guzzler cars and his fancy, wasteful mansion? Two people living alone in an eight-thousand-square-foot, three-million-dollar house, and he’s trying to tell us how to live? We represent the opposite of everything that guy stands for. The Sanctuary houses thirteen people, soon fifteen.”
Serotina wanted to ask about this—her room was the only one in the house with open space—but didn’t want to interrupt. Micah seemed more animated now, his mood lifting.
“The Sanctuary is full of joy and life and warmth. We’ll be water-efficient and carbon-neutral if we could just get rid of all these other obstacles.” Micah stopped on the path. He turned to face her, resting his hands on his hips. “It takes a toll, you know. On me.” He looked down at the earth, kicking it with his shoe. “I know everyone here is counting on me, and my body just absorbs all that responsibility.”