Perfect Little World(29)
“Your shift’s done,” Mr. Tannehill said to her, and Izzy awkwardly struggled to lift the garbage bag over her belly and then to free her head from the black plastic. “Now, you’re sure you don’t want someone to be there with you? Just to have somebody else to listen?”
“I’ll be fine,” Izzy assured him, and she laced up her sneakers and walked through the kitchen and into the dining area, seated herself at a table, and waited for the doctor to arrive.
Dr. Grind was exactly on time, to the second, and he pushed open the door and stood, searching for her. She had the power, though it was fleeting, the last time she would be the one who knew something that he didn’t, and she relished his uncertainty for a second, two seconds, and then she raised her hand, caught his attention, and waved him over to her table.
There was no way around her surprise at his youthfulness; she had seen images of him, but in person it was hard to shake the notion that he was a child impersonating an adult. He was in his thirties, but he looked younger than she was, his face free of stubble, his body undefined by fat or muscle. He wore sneakers, gray New Balance running shoes, and this calmed her, his lack of formality. Dr. Grind smiled at her and walked with an unhurried gait toward her, his hand still raised, as if he was expecting, at any moment, to run into an invisible wall.
“Izzy?” he said, and it made her happy that he had not used her given name, had prevented her from the awkwardness of correcting him.
“That’s me,” she replied, absentmindedly patting her stomach as if to affirm her identity. It felt like a date; she could not shake this feeling as he took a seat beside her, not across from her.
“I’m Dr. Preston Grind. I’ve heard a lot about you, Izzy, and I’m so happy that we finally, after all this time, have the chance to meet.”
“Me, too,” she replied.
“Do you mind if I eat something?” he asked. “I skipped breakfast and, anyway, I was hoping to try some of the barbecue here. I’m from New York; we have barbecue there, but not like this.”
Izzy just nodded. Her nerves were just beginning to spike, in trying to act like she wasn’t terrified about what was going to happen to her, and, as if he could read her mind, he set down his menu, smiled again, and said, “Just to be entirely upfront, Izzy, I want you to know that I am here to ask you and your child to be a part of our project. I’m going to do my best to convince you to say yes. I think, we all think, that you are a very special person and that you’d be a great asset to our study. I have so much information that it’s impossible for it all to make sense, but I have all the time in the world and I’ll answer every question you have until you feel comfortable making a decision, one way or the other.”
“I’m nervous,” Izzy admitted.
“I’m more nervous than you are,” he said. “Believe me.” Izzy was grateful for the sentiment but knew it was total bullshit.
Dr. Grind ordered a barbecue sandwich and a sweet tea. The waitress took his menu and walked off; Izzy noticed that all the waitresses were throwing glances at her. She imagined that they were debating whether or not this was the father of her child. Of course, they would never ask her. Izzy’s awkwardness, which manifested itself as intensity, repelled all inquiries into her private life. It did not help her paranoia, however, to be left out of the conversation. She wished now that she had met with the doctor at a park or library, somewhere quiet and private.
“I have some pictures,” Dr. Grind said, as if he’d just thought of it, and reached into his army green tote bag, which had The Infinite Family Project logo on it in silver ink. He produced a stack of photos of buildings that looked alien, interdimensional, at first glance. It was huge, so much space, so new and clean, surrounded by woods. It felt private and yet teeming with activity.
“It’s beautiful,” Izzy said.
“I’m happy to hear you say that,” Dr. Grind replied. “This is the site of the project. It sits on about four hundred and fifty acres, if you can believe that, so we have a lot of space, lots of trails for hiking and running, but we’re close to supermarkets and a hospital, all the things you could want in a town. And we’re about thirty minutes from Nashville, so there are lots of opportunities there, as well.”
He showed her pictures of the interiors of the buildings and it seemed to Izzy like a day care center for billionaires, lots of electronics and lighting and soft colors. “This is where I would live?” Izzy asked, almost ashamed to be considered.
“You would have your very own place, but you’d also have access to the rest of the complex, a swimming pool, a full-size restaurant-quality kitchen, a dining hall where we take all of our meals, a number of gardens, and lots of spaces that are as yet undefined. For instance, if someone needed a studio space for their art, we could accommodate that. The complex is designed to grow alongside the residents, so as you learn more about what you need, we have the resources and space to make that available to you.”
“This does not feel real at all,” Izzy said.
Dr. Grind’s food arrived and he gestured to the plate in front of him, asking for Izzy’s permission to eat. She nodded, embarrassed, and he smiled, rubbed his hands together, and picked up the sandwich, bits of meat falling from the bun. He took a large bite, chewed, and then set the sandwich back on the plate. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he said.