Perfect Little World(65)

Dr. Grind seemed unconcerned. Or, rather, Dr. Grind was certainly concerned with the children’s progress and behavioral shifts, but he didn’t seem to think the recent developments required any hand-wringing or revisions to the program. “I remember, one time, Jody bit Marla on the cheek when she refused to give him an M and M,” he said, a strange smile on his face. Izzy had been shocked to hear Dr. Grind speak of his son and wife; he was always so careful not to mention them, and the rest of the family made a point not to bring it up in conversation for fear of upsetting him. As if realizing he had opened a door, Dr. Grind took a deep, controlled breath, but continued smiling. “I don’t remember the point of that story,” he admitted. “I think I was building toward reassuring you that the kids are fine. They are doing so wonderfully in so many ways. They’ll be fine, Izzy. I promise.”


On campus, her art class just ended, a group of students were heading to the coffee shop. David, who was smoking a cigarette so casually that he seemed like he might be more interested in setting something on fire, came over to Izzy and said, “We’re gonna hang out for a while; you wanna come with?”

David, a senior, was the darling of the art department. He made the most traditionally beautiful objects, amazing vases and bowls, but then he would film himself smashing it into tiny pieces with a hammer. Once the object was ruined, he went about gluing it back together as best he could. His final piece would consist of photographs of the original work, the video of him smashing it, and then the crudely repaired object. When she had first seen one of his pieces, she had instantly remembered Hal on the first day of art class, the vase he had set in front of the class. It had taken her breath away, as if Hal had somehow sent David into her life to remind her of him.

David was also incredibly handsome, had olive skin and dark hair, and would sometimes make casually flirtatious comments to Izzy during class, to the amusement of his friends. He was twenty-one, but seemed like he was much, much younger. All the students in her class seemed so young to Izzy, which she was quite certain would be irritating to them, as if Izzy was looking down on them from some mountain of experience.

“I better not,” she said. “I have to get home and make dinner.”

“Aren’t there, like, fifty of you living there?” David asked, flicking ashes on the ground near her feet, which seemed so rude to Izzy. Since the Time article and various Internet stories, which Izzy no longer even bothered to read, people recognized her as being part of The Infinite Family Project.

“Not that many,” Izzy replied. “And I like cooking. Thanks though.”

“Come on. One hour,” he said, pulling on her arm in fake pleading. “How can you be a real artist if you don’t drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and talk about art? Don’t you want to be a bohemian?” Izzy could not tell if he was joking or not. She looked at him, the cigarette in between his long, slender fingers, the smoke reeking of European incense. She stared at his bright blue artist’s jacket, made in France, the kind worn by Bill Cunningham. He was not, she was now certain, joking at all. She looked at his dark brown eyes, which held the certainty of being someone important. How, he must be wondering, could she resist him? And how could she?

At the coffee shop, Izzy listened to David and his friends talk about famous artists whom they hated because they had always been hacks or, worse, had turned into hacks because of success. Then they talked about parties, what the last one had been like and when the next one would be. She tried to be present, to hold on to the fact that there were many things that connected her to these people, but it was a losing battle. She smiled, followed the conversation, but silently counted the minutes until she could reasonably leave them behind. Just then, one of the girls, a Gothy, sarcastic girl named Meggy, asked Izzy about the Infinite Family.

“You’ve got a kid, right?” she asked Izzy, who nodded.

“Kids kill art,” David offered casually, “they really get in the way of becoming a true artist.” It was as if David thought that this advice would compel Izzy to jump into a time machine and never have Cap. David seemed to consider his statement and then amended it. “Well, that’s how it is for men, at least. It might be different for women artists.”

“But, like, it’s not really your kid, right?” Meggy continued. It was hard to tell if she was just curious or being antagonistic. “It’s, like, everyone’s kid, right?”

“It’s complicated,” Izzy admitted. “He’s mine. We just raise all of our kids together.”

“Like brothers and sisters,” David said, showing that he understood.

“Kind of,” Izzy allowed.

“And the parents? How does that work?” Meggy asked.

“Like a kind of extended family, maybe?” Izzy offered. She still, even though Kalina had spent hours coaching them on how to deal with these kinds of encounters, couldn’t quite articulate how the Infinite Family worked to someone on the outside.

“Do you sleep with each other?” Meggy asked.

“Jesus, Meggy,” David said, growing bored with the conversation.

“I’m just trying to figure it out. It’s weird to me.”

“It’s weird to me, too,” Izzy said. “Actually, I better get going. I have to make dinner.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Meggy said. “If I were in your shoes, I’d be talking about it all the time.”