Perfect Little World(49)
He had stopped in college, once he found Marla, and so it made sense to him that, right after the funeral for Marla and his son, Dr. Grind drove to a drugstore and purchased the supplies necessary to continue the practice. When he felt the overwhelming emotions take control of him, the pain greater than the training he had learned from the Constant Friction Method, he would cut into himself and find that weird peacefulness, almost druglike, that came over him and made it possible to get through another goddamned day. He had brought the pouch with him to the complex, a compulsion that he could not eliminate, and he now felt a sense of pride that he had made it this long before needing it.
Dr. Grind changed into his pajamas, though he had no designs on sleep. He wanted so badly to walk back into the sleep room and pick up one of the babies, to hold their warmth against him, to ease them back into sleep. He understood, without much effort, what Ellen had wanted when she took Marnie into her arms. When you felt adrift, when you wondered if you were doing the right thing, there was nothing better than holding something small and defenseless and telling them, over and over again, that you would care for them, that nothing bad would happen as long as you were there. Instead, Dr. Grind simply lay in his bed and waited for the rest of the world to awaken, when he could walk freely among his family and do whatever was needed to keep things together.
chapter eleven
the infinite family project (year two)
Izzy, as hungover as she’d ever been in her life, bourbon swirling through her bloodstream, stirred crumbled bacon and diced jalape?os into her cornmeal and flour mixture as a photographer from Time magazine took pictures of the process, as if Izzy were a celebrity chef and not some kid trying to make an entire meal from scratch for her family. All she was worried about was keeping her own sweat out of the food, which was more difficult than she had expected, but the photographer kept asking her questions about the complex, the babies, the parents, the weird AstroTurf buildings, snapping another picture after every question, Izzy certain that every photo would show her grinding her teeth in agitation.
The details of the night before, hazy as a dream, kept returning to her, stabbing her with embarrassment. Her creeping paranoia made her expect a visit from Dr. Grind, telling her that he knew all about her actions last night and that she needed to pack up her belongings and leave the project. Her son, Dr. Grind would inform her, would stay with the Infinite Family.
It had been Alyssa’s birthday, and Izzy, even with all the expectations of the party for Time, had made a cake, German chocolate, Alyssa’s favorite. The whole family sang “Happy Birthday,” the kids cackling, their fingers wriggling, wanting only to eat something sweet. Afterward, Izzy and some of the other parents cleaned up the kitchen and then helped prepare the children for bed. Izzy had immediately returned to the kitchen, going over the menus, doing prep work, rethinking each recipe. By the time she looked up at the clock, it was nearly midnight, and she instantly felt exhaustion flood her system. She cleaned up her station, wiped down the counter, and walked out of the kitchen to find that the lights were still on in the TV room. Izzy crept down the hallway and peered through the window to find seven of the parents still awake. Benjamin, who was holding a cocktail shaker, saw Izzy and smiled, inviting her inside. She shook her head, but then Alyssa and Ellen also noticed Izzy and emphatically gestured for her to join them. Izzy, so stressed about tomorrow’s party, saw that all the parents held a drink in their hands and decided she needed to unwind.
“Izzy!” Alyssa shouted. “Benjamin is making whiskey smashes. We’ll have to pump and dump, but it’s totally worth it. Have a drink.”
Before she could respond, Benjamin handed her a glass, filled to the brim. Without hesitating, Izzy took a huge gulp and felt the sweetness and burn of the cocktail. She was unused to alcohol, but she welcomed the way it smoothed out her nerves. Her milk, yes, would be ruined, but there was always more milk, a never-ending supply of milk; she needed something for herself right now.
She felt at ease in this room, drink in her hand. Benjamin, barrel-chested and imposing at first glance, was a great conversationalist, always finding ways to draw people out of their shells, able to hold up his end of any topic. Part of this must have been his previous job as a car salesman, his ability to walk up to any person and instantly know what they wanted, what they would give him in exchange. One night, while the two of them washed dishes after dinner, Benjamin had spoken so frankly of his childhood, moving from foster parent to foster parent, abused and unloved, that Izzy had, without meaning to, told him all about her mother’s death, the debilitating sadness that came in the aftermath. This was his gift, to give you enough of himself that you wanted to repay it with interest.
His wife, Alyssa, was quiet but assertive, staying silent through an entire dinner before making a casual observation that seemed perfectly constructed and true. She often looked, to Izzy, to exist in two states, the physical world of the complex as well as some secret parallel universe that was much more interesting.
Ellen was by far the prickliest member of the project, never missing an opportunity to speak to her confusion at how things worked in the complex. It was clear to Izzy that Ellen did not fully believe in Dr. Grind or the project as a whole. “If I had known . . . ,” Ellen would always say when faced with some new facet of the project. She would drift off, never once saying what was understood. Tonight, however, she seemed so emboldened by the cocktails that she acted as if she could think of no better place in the world than this strange complex.