The Neighbor's Secret(21)

There it was. From the stories he told about his childhood, Jen always suspected Paul’s mother had undiagnosed bipolar disorder, and she was about to voice this when Paul spoke, his voice hopeful.

“Jen’s mom is really anxious,” Paul said. “You don’t think it’s just anxiety?”

Jen bit her tongue rather than subject Dr. Shapiro to an argument about whose mother was more emotionally stable.

Plus, she understood why he suggested it.

Anxiety was like the white wine of the diagnostic world: ubiquitous, assumed to be fundamentally harmless.

Abe suffers from anxiety, Jen would confide to friends, family, other parents at playgrounds and birthday parties (back when the entire class was invited).

Everyone would be right there with Jen—sharing how their own kids cared too deeply about grades, or got homesick on sleepovers, refused to eat any food that wasn’t white.

Yes, Jen would nod, it’s exactly the same. We’re all having such identical experiences.

“He’s never been violent with us,” Paul objected. “I mean, he’s never gotten physical.”

“Which is good,” Dr. Shapiro said. “But the behavior he’s exhibited with others—squeezing a hamster just because, stabbing a classmate who he feels has wronged him—”

“But she did wrong him,” Jen said. “If we’re talking about Harper French. She was awful to him.”

Dr. Shapiro nodded at Jen in a way that made her somehow feel both heard and dismissed before continuing.

“—challenging the teachers—we can see a cluster of aggressivity, an indifference to consequence. Talking with Abe, it was clear to me that he lacks remorse for this behavior. How is he with his chores?” Dr. Shapiro pressed gently, “Unloading the dishwasher, taking out the trash, mowing the lawn?”

Jen and Paul exchanged a guilty look. They never made him do chores. Getting through each day seemed to be enough of a burden for Abe.

“He might be so pleasant around the house because you guys are easy to manipulate,” Dr. Shapiro said matter-of-factly.

So maybe they weren’t such good parents after all.

“Give him chores and reward him for the effort with points that allow him to earn something.” Dr. Shapiro glanced at her notes. “Like that giant gaming monitor he mentioned to me approximately three million times. Most kids with these traits can learn to manage them, even grow out of them.”

The HVAC hummed peacefully and Paul absentmindedly rubbed his beard. His eyes looked glassy as they once again met Jen’s. She had a wild unhinged need for someone to tell her how to feel. Luckily, Dr. Shapiro was up to the task.

“Have hope, Paganos,” she said. “Have hope.”

Maybe it was Dr. Shapiro’s kindness that made Jen want to meet her halfway. Accept it, she challenged herself. Don’t fight it like you always do.



* * *



When they stepped into the empty elevator, Paul grimaced at Jen. “What’s up next,” he said, “couple’s root canals?”

“Colonoscopies first,” Jen said. “Then the root canals.”

The silver doors dinged closed.

“Congratulations,” he said, “we created a sociopath.”

“A burgeoning sociopath. But with hard work, who knows?” Jen tugged her tote bag onto her shoulder. “Do you agree with her?”

“The thing is.” Paul stared up at the tiles on the ceiling. “She seemed to really get Abe.”

“I know.”

On the tenth floor, the elevator lurched to a stop and a short blond woman with a green handbag stepped inside. She looked remarkably unburdened.

“Do you still want to stop at the farmers market before home?” Paul said formally.

“I do.” Jen matched his stiff tone. “We need bread.”

Paul sighed and once again regarded the ceiling tiles. “When I was six,” he said, “I used to deliberately step on ants.”

The blond woman stopped rummaging in her green bag and looked up with alarm. When the doors opened at the garage level and the woman was safely out of earshot, Jen said, “The ants aren’t the same thing.”

“We have to remember that even if this is right, even if he has this disorder, Abe is the same kid he was earlier this morning. He’s still Abe.”

“True.”

“It doesn’t even sound that bad. Conduct disorder. It sounds like—”

“Like you misbehave in class.”

“Like borderline personality disorder.” Paul pressed the key fob and their car beeped open.

“What?”

“It’s just always sounded so gentle to me, like it’s on the border of not being a problem. But apparently people with that diagnosis can suffer tremendously. I’ll drive?”

They opened the car doors and got in.

“Have you been researching mental illnesses on Abe’s behalf?”

Paul buckled his belt, looked at her bashfully. “It’s silly.”

“Not at all.”

Apparently, this was how to romance Jen, because she’d never felt more like hugging him.

Jen tried to forgive Paul’s distractedness: he was gone most of the week, traveling and working hard. Sometimes, though, when she’d report in on Abe, she felt like she was explaining a movie to someone who’d wandered in in the middle. Keep up, she wanted to scold.