Perfect Little World(22)
Finally, she saw the door to the meeting room open and a Hispanic couple, not much older than Izzy, walked out of the room with smiles on their faces. This, more than anything else, reassured Izzy that she wasn’t entering into something very stupid and regrettable. The woman, her hand resting on her stomach, nodded to Izzy in the way that all expectant mothers seemed to do, a secret acknowledgment of their shared state. Izzy nodded in return and then looked up to see an Asian woman, apple shaped, slightly overweight, though quite pretty, walking toward her.
“Are you Isabel?” she asked. Izzy noticed how striking she looked, her face perfectly round and her skin almost glowing, her eyes obscured by a pair of thick-framed rectangular eyeglasses.
“I go by Izzy,” Izzy responded, again wondering if she would ever use her real name, which seemed to be reserved for a princess or a woodland fairy. Izzy, she always imagined, was the name of a shortstop for a ragtag bunch of Little Leaguers who played by their own set of rules. It was the name of a slightly dense cartoon character who winningly always came out ahead of her antagonizers.
“Okay, Izzy,” the woman said. “I’m Dr. Kalina Kwon. I’m a postdoctoral research fellow for this project and I’m going to be interviewing you today.”
Izzy followed the woman into the meeting room, which was bare except for a laptop, a stack of file folders, and a dozen or so bottles of water. At this point, Izzy decided to stop expecting some kind of scientific formality, lab coats and surface disinfectants. She began to think of it more like a focus group for a new brand of potato chip.
Dr. Kwon motioned for Izzy to sit down and then took her place at the head of the table, partially obscured by the opened laptop. She typed a few things into the computer, frowned, skimmed her finger across the tracking pad, and then smiled. “Okay,” she began, “we’ll start the interview now. I’m recording this on my laptop, unless you have any objections.”
“That’s fine with me,” Izzy admitted.
“So, I work with the Early Childhood Foundation, which is funding a new initiative to focus not only on the development of children, but also on helping to prepare parents for the rigors of parenthood.” Izzy nodded. She had seen all of this information on the countless cover sheets and e-mails that she had received.
“Now,” Dr. Kwon continued, “you’ve been diligent in filling out these countless surveys and forms, and I’m wondering what, exactly, your expectations are. Why are you doing this?”
Izzy paused. She wanted one of the bottles of water, but it was out of arm’s reach and it seemed rude to stand up and procure one. “I’m going to be a single mother,” Izzy finally said, and Dr. Kwon nodded, smiling. “My mom died when I was young, so I know the effects of a childhood without one of your parents. I don’t have much support, emotionally or financially, from my family and friends, and I’m worried about how I’m going to care for my child. I want to be a good mother. I want that more than anything in my life so far. I thought that this project could help me do that.”
Dr. Kwon continued to smile, as if this question had a right answer and Izzy had provided it. “That’s totally understandable and commendable,” she said. “Let me ask you this. If I can be a little more personal, I’ve studied all of your information. In all the questions that pertain to the father of your child, you’ve given very little information. Is there a reason for that?”
Apparently, Izzy was taking too long to answer, or revealed some kind of emotional discomfort, as Dr. Kwon leaned forward and said, her voice soft and reassuring, “I’m sure this is a difficult thing to talk about, but I just want you to help me fill in a few blanks.”
“He’s not alive,” Izzy finally said. “He didn’t want me to have the baby. I said I was going to have the baby. He killed himself.”
“I’m very sorry, Izzy,” Dr. Kwon said. “Do you think you can tell me just a little bit about him?”
“He was older than me. He was an artist, a painter.” With each new detail, Izzy felt strangely elated, as if she was reconstructing Hal, bringing him back to life. “He was also a teacher. He was well educated, a B.F.A. and an M.F.A. in art from Yale. He was a very good cook. He had traveled a lot.”
“Was he married? To someone else, I mean.”
“No.”
“And you were his girlfriend?”
“Sort of. Yes, I think so.”
“And why don’t you want to mention his name on the forms?”
“He didn’t want the baby,” Izzy said, feeling as if she was also explaining this to herself for the first time. “I don’t want to involve him in any of this if I don’t have to.”
“And his family? How much do you envision them playing a part in raising your child?”
“None,” Izzy said, feeling strangely exhilarated. “They do not want any part in raising the child.”
Dr. Kwon flipped through the pages in what Izzy assumed was her own personal file. “Well, could you tell me a few of the skills you possess that you would like to pass on to your child?”
“What do you mean?” Izzy said, feeling quite certain that she had no skills that any child would want.
“When your child is developing and becoming his or her own person, what aspects of your own life do you hope to instill in him or her?”