Reading from a prepared statement to an unsuspecting crowd of her siblings and other relatives who had gathered in commemoration of one death or another, Violetta D. Juk, 28, mother of two girls and a boy who now lives outside of Wilkes-Barre Scranton, Pennsylvania, said, with due gravity and poise, “Yes, you all heard correctly, and this is not a hoax or a joke, nor is it vainglorious bluster. I, little old cousin Vio – buddy, crying-shoulder, and confidant of yore – I have reached a plateau that I have been striving for for some years now, and things are nearly completely sewn up.” With a nearly invisible flick of the hand, Violetta signaled to her two girls, who swept in from a side room – where they had been obviously waiting – carrying their toddler brother, Fredirik, on a chair between them, paraded with him around the table of seated and perplexed adults, and exited without explaining themselves or making much in the way of unnecessary noise.
“Do you see?” Violetta said into the void left by her children's nearly silent passage. “Do you all get it now? I am telling you guys, this is what I have been trying to make clear to you all these years. It is, truly, possible, and, do you all see how very happy I am? How well Hildebrand and June managed with their little brother on that chair? Yes, dear family mine, yes, it is all coming together nicely.”
After the get-together had broken up, while everyone was packing up their cars and generally getting ready to disperse, Violetta was waylaid by a certain Uncle Darius, who was more interested, however, in obtaining her recipe for light and flaky pie crust than in listening to her nuanced, mysterious, and apparently sewing-related proclamations.
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