Dory Ch. 02

As you can see, if you don't understand her context, Dory can seem like a jerk. She can be direct when most people are oblique, so her social behavior sometimes veers toward the tactless - when she's not being shy. Our friends have accepted her. To put that more accurately, we're not friends with people who can't see beneath the surface to accept Dory as she is.

We named the boy Tory. When Tory was almost two, Dory announced she was pregnant again. We named her Cory. Tory is now five and Cory is three. Cory is a handful. She can manipulate any male and knows it - almost the polar opposite of her mom. All my guy friends and all our male relatives are her slaves. Tory is a gentle soul, with all of his mom's heart - but he's normal, thank God, he's normal.

I picked the names. I know they're silly. I could have called the kids Pebbles and Bam Bam and she wouldn't have objected - and yes, she's seen The Flintstones. I guess being called Jehovanna Dorinda changes your perception about the importance of names.
 Her dad and I get along great, but Dory has never grown close to him or to the rest of his family. Robert remarried years ago but didn't have another child, so our kids, his grandkids, are his stars in heaven. My only complaint is that he keeps asking for more pictures.

Of all the family, Dory is closest to my sister Judy. They get each other, probably because they're both nuts. Jude calls Dory "Marvin," as in Marvin the Martian - says "Yo! Marvin" to get her attention. Everyone else is a little more reserved - even my brother, though Dory stills calls him Shithead when he calls. He was worried my kids would call him Uncle Shithead, but their mother won't let them. I don't know why she has one rule for her and another for them. When Jude got married, Dory was a bridesmaid - she looked like an angel, her hair wrapped around her head in a braid, her blues eyes shining. I was paired with her, of course, since Dory would never walk down the aisle holding another man's arm. Jude is a commercial artist and sends us little cartoons of Dory as Marvin plotting to take over the world.

I look at our kids and can see in their pointy chins the young girl who looked down as she asked me for help. Dory is a square peg, as odd as she is delightful. She'll never fit completely into this world. Having children has pushed her to adapt, but she can't unlearn what had become second nature. She's still a feral cat, bonded almost exclusively to me and her children.

We've never heard from Dory's mom, not that she would know how to find us. Dory has told me they were never close. Robert did hook us up with Dory's mother's parents - they live in Fort Myers, Florida - and they introduced us to all her cousins on that side. Nice people, on the whole. I've learned about Dory's mom from them. They say Laurel was always vulnerable and trusting, that she was always looking for spiritual answers. They don't think she was mentally ill, which is somewhat of a relief for me, especially given the kids. Everyone, including Robert and Dory, thinks Laurel fell into the cult in her search for answers and disappeared down its well. Even though I've never met her, I owe her my happiness. I hope she's okay.

We've never gone anywhere near the convenience store where we first met. No special anniversary pretend abduction trips. Dory isn't very sentimental and she certainly doesn't need fantasies to get turned on.

With the kids getting older, our lives have changed a little. Dory now wears clothes around the house and we can't fuck while watching TV unless the kids are asleep. She still sucks my cock every morning - how else would I know when to get up?

We actually live in the same building, only in a bigger apartment. When Dory told me she was pregnant, I looked for a new place, but soon realized that she'd have to learn a whole new routine of places she could visit. Luck was with us. We were able to buy the apartment next door and combine the two.

You may wonder why I'm telling you this. I don't have any moral to offer and God knows Dory is so different I can't imagine giving anyone marital advice. I play in my head our long conversations, nose to nose in bed, her fingers. She loves to rest her fingertips on me. I hear her soft voice reciting Keats. I see her playing Odysseus in our living room, tied to the mast so he can hear the sirens, falling in love with and leaving Dido.

I'm thinking of Tory's first word - Dory was fixing him a bottle when he stretched out his arms and burst out, "Bot! Bot!" I'm thinking of Cory wearing only a diaper, standing in my shoe and holding on to the corner of our bed, her blonde ringlets glowing in the afternoon sun. I'm thinking of Dory lying asleep on the couch, a child tucked under one arm and another across her chest. I'm thinking about my fear when Tory spiked a high fever - and about Dory's calm as she sat with him in the tub and ran cool water over his shoulders.

I have to go now. Dory is about to have either Rory or Lorie. Even though she doesn't need the reassurance or help, I'm going to hold her hand anyway. She'll do that as a favor to me.