The Neighbor's Secret(47)

They weren’t wrong.

Jen knew all the clichés: put on your own oxygen mask first; help yourself before helping others; happy mom, happy baby. From a psychological standpoint, she was too wrapped up in concern for Abe, to the detriment of her own well-being.

But what was the alternative?

Abe’s well-being was Jen’s well-being. They were unhealthily tethered, which was exactly how biology wanted it. So, Jen would ask the therapists, I’m supposed to understand Abe, and read his hieroglyphics—I’m blamed if I can’t—and then skip off to work and meet friends at one of those canvas-and-cocktail nights?

It’s about balance, they would counter, try and take a holistic approach to your life. Frequently, they’d offer medication, which as far as Jen could tell would force a state of numbness.

Jen was all for people doing whatever they had to to get through the day—medication included—but if the world kept insisting her son might be a sociopath, didn’t everyone want Jen’s edges sharp and vigilant?

“I’ll gladly see,” Jen had told Dr. Shapiro, “any therapist whose own child has been diagnosed with conduct disorder.”

Who else would understand?

Dr. Shapiro now watched Jen with a delicately wrinkled forehead.

“What about hobbies?” Dr. Shapiro said. “Something fun?”

Talking to you is fun, Dr. Shapiro. Does that not count?

“Book club,” Jen said confidently. “I’m going there straight after this.”

Dr. Shapiro’s frown lines deepened. Jen couldn’t stand her pity, which disrupted the pretense that she and Dr. Shapiro were just two girlfriends talking.

“How often does your club meet?” Dr. Shapiro asked.

“Every month.”

Wrong answer. Dr. Shapiro pursed her lips in a way that told Jen she was a pathetic and isolated creature.

Paul would say: Why on earth do you care what Abe’s therapist thinks of your social life?

Because, Paul, even if we disagree with her diagnosis, we still need to show her that it’s not all our fault!

“I see people,” Jen said, “don’t worry. My grad school friend Maxine is coming from out of town to give a talk.”

Maxine Das deserved every ounce of success she’d achieved. She’d spent eighteen months living among the elephants in Mali and was very successfully milking it for as long as she could: two books, the newspaper column, and now the second documentary, for which she was currently touring.

Jen had planned to decline Maxine’s invitation, which wasn’t until next month, and not because she resented Maxine’s success—okay, maybe she did a little—but because what was the point?

“What’s the talk about?” Dr. Shapiro asked.

“Elephants.”

Dr. Shapiro straightened up. “It’s not Maxine Das? I just read an article about her new documentary.”

“It is.”

“If I gave you a book, d’you think she’d sign it for me?” Dr. Shapiro suddenly looked girlish. Her frown lines had erased and she reached a hand up to fluff the back of her perfect bob.

Apparently, Jen would be attending Maxine’s talk after all.

“She’d love to,” Jen said.

Dr. Shapiro’s fangirl smile made Jen feel a little more on equal footing, enough so that she circled back around to the real issue.

“So, you don’t think I need to worry?” Jen asked. “About Abe’s being the vandal?”

“You have good instincts,” Dr. Shapiro said. “Trust them.”

It was settled, then.

Jen knew her son.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



“Janine? This list that you typed out summarizing the Pioneer Parenting laws leaves out never mention body/food/weight, especially to girls.”

“That wasn’t in this book, Priya, but the one from last year, does anyone remember the name, it’s going to bug me—”

“The Unconditional Parent.”

“Yes! Thank you. I never figured out how not to mention food. What would you like for dinner, Taylor—oh, I’m sorry, I meant let me just present you wordlessly with this plate of … matter you can put in your mouth and chew.”

“These books are a conspiracy. They want to muddle our minds.”

“Yes, it’s like that quote about giving our children roots and wings. It sounds so great and poetic, but as a practical matter, it’s a recipe for evisceration?”

“Who picked this book?”

“I did and don’t look at me like that. We’re not supposed to take this literally.”

“Roots and wings? I mean, that’s physically impossible. Are the roots retractable? But then they’re not really roots, are they?”

“Deb, what’s in the Pioneer Parent Punch?”

“It’s based on a mulled hard cider. Cloves, cinnamon, and I mixed in a fresh apple puree.”

“Harriet, did you just write down what’s in the punch?”

“Katie, love, can you bring in the other pitcher?”

“Didn’t last year’s mommy guilt book tell us unconditional love was the most important thing? And now it’s ‘make them plow the fields’?”