The School for Good Mothers(100)

Frida feels guilty for constantly comparing him to Tucker, but she likes having Will’s hand on her waist every night and listening to him sleep. She thanks him too often but doesn’t say much else. Will thinks she doesn’t trust him anymore. He wants her to feel free to cry with him. He’s given up asking about the school. They have the same conversations every day. Whether she’s taken a shower, what she’s eaten, whether she needs to eat, the dangers of mixing pills and alcohol.

The Polaroids from the final visit are still in her purse. She’s not ready to look at them. She hasn’t looked at the photo of Emmanuelle either, hidden in the same place. She hasn’t read the news. She spends most of her waking hours scrolling through Harriet photos and watching old videos. The first time Harriet clapped. Her first steps. The time Frida’s father recited the Gettysburg Address to Harriet when she was a newborn.

Will let her look at Susanna’s Instagram on his phone. She watched Harriet grow up across the squares, saw photos of Harriet’s friends and teachers, Susanna’s baby bump, Harriet’s first dentist appointment, potty training photos, family selfies. She’s not allowed to follow them on social media. She’s not allowed to stalk them online. If she sees Harriet on the street, she’s not allowed to approach. Legally, she’s a stranger.

Christmas is in less than three weeks. She hasn’t been answering her parents’ calls, let Gust give them the news. Renee said the old policies allowed grandparents to stay in contact. Under the old system, Gust could have allowed her to see Harriet, even if Harriet couldn’t live with her. But things have changed.

Her parents said goodbye to Harriet over Zoom. They’ve wired Frida money, though they want her to consider moving home. It may not be healthy to stay. This city has too many memories, her mother wrote.

Frida returns to Will’s room and gets under the covers. She needs everything around her to be soft. She wants to know how much Harriet remembers, whether she remembers the social worker prying them apart, whether she remembers biting her father’s hand.

“Mommy, you come back!” Harriet screamed. “I want my mommy! I want you! I want you!”

Harriet wet herself. There was a puddle on the social worker’s carpet. After they left, Frida screamed as if she was at the tree line. The social worker called security and had her escorted out of the building. She continued screaming in the elevator, collapsed when she reached the sidewalk, woke to a stranger patting her cheek. People were standing over her, asking what happened. Someone helped her stand. Someone put her in a taxi.

She should have tried to make Harriet laugh. She would have liked to hear Harriet laugh, see her smile more. At the school, they had the electrified fence, the guards and the women in pink lab coats. It’s dangerous to be in the same city, three miles from her daughter.



* * *



Will makes Frida get dressed. They walk to the Saturday farmers market in Clark Park, arriving as soon as it opens. Frida asks to turn back. There are too many people. Will reassures her, keeps his arm around her and leads her through the crowd.

Shoppers are buying wreaths. Some are placing orders for turkeys and pies. Will asks Frida to choose apples. They line up to buy bread. Will runs into friends from Penn, who greet Frida as if she’s his new girlfriend.

She doesn’t want to meet anyone, doesn’t want to see anyone with their children. They move aside for parents with strollers. They’re a block from a toddler playground. She feels like everyone is watching her, that they know where she’s been and what she’s done.

The family court judge should know that she’s resisting. Tucker has called four times. He’s texted and emailed. He won. Silas is living with him. His ex-wife is letting them have extra time together over the holidays.

Germantown is only thirty minutes away. Tucker has assumed that Harriet has been returned. He’s asked her to pick a date when they can all meet, suggested ice-skating in Dilworth Park. He’s invited them over for an early dinner.

If they’d both lost, she would have gone to him. But there should never have been a house with sideways light, not in her mind, not in her heart. Harriet must never know about him. Gust and Susanna can’t know. Will can’t know. Her parents can’t know. The judge said she has problems with willpower, that she’s susceptible to temptation, a fantasist, unstable. She is a bad mother for still thinking about him. She is a bad mother for still wanting him. She is a bad mother because she can’t bear to see him with his son.



* * *



Back at Will’s apartment, Frida finally calls home. Her father answers, and she agrees to use FaceTime so they can see her. They cry. She begins apologizing. She’s a coward for making Gust tell them.

“You’re so thin,” her mother says.

They are too. They tell her to call a doctor. To eat more meat. They speak in English. Frida resists asking how Harriet seemed during their call, how Gust seemed.

Her parents want her to come home. If she’s home, they’ll be able to take care of her.

“I’ll cook for you,” her father says. She doesn’t have to look for a job right away. She can find work in Chicago. Live with them. Save money. How nice that would be, to all be together again. If she doesn’t feel up to traveling alone right now, they can come get her.

They wanted to fly in for the final court date. She should have let them. She should have taken Harriet to see them more, invited them to visit more often. How many visits have there been? How many days has Harriet actually spent with them? They wanted more branches on the family tree and there’s only Harriet to absorb their joy and expectation. She used to think that pressure would burst her baby’s heart.