The School for Good Mothers(51)

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To give the dolls’ bottoms time to heal, naptime practice begins early. Cribs and rocking chairs are moved into the classroom. The dolls need naps every hour. In beginning naptime, prep will be completed in ten minutes. By intermediate, the mothers should get their dolls down in five. By advanced, they should go down in two minutes or less.

“Out like a light,” Ms. Russo says, snapping her fingers.

Naptime practice reminds Frida of a game of Whac-A-Mole. She asks Emmanuelle to notice what time it is. “It’s naptime. What happens during naptime? Rest. You’re so sleepy.”

Emmanuelle begs to differ.

Frida is forgetting what Harriet’s skin feels like. Her gurgling, wet laugh. The perfect curve of her forehead. The pattern of her curls.

It’s New Year’s Eve. Last year, Gust and Susanna dropped by unannounced on the way to a dinner party. Gust wanted to do bedtime.

Frida never denied these requests, which often came without warning. She remembers Susanna bending down to hug her while Gust was upstairs with Harriet, Susanna studying her bookshelves. Susanna wore a low-cut green satin dress that night, had a black velvet ribbon tied around her neck.

She suggested they get coffee sometime, just the two of them. “I’d like us to be friends. Gust speaks so highly of you. I just want you to know, Frida, I think you’re very brave. We’ve talked about it. I admire your strength.”

Frida remembers staring at the ribbon, at Susanna’s fine, pale throat. How she wanted that sinister story to be true. To pull on the ribbon and make Susanna lose her head.



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The following week, Frida learns that Harriet has lost weight. Her cheeks have shrunk. Susanna has been reducing their carb intake, replacing carbs with vegetables and lean proteins and fats. They’ve gone gluten-free. The first thing Susanna does with all her clients is eliminate wheat. Everyone is a little intolerant of wheat. Wheat causes bloating. They were all so bloated after the holidays.

Visions of headless Susanna return. In early January, the school has Frida on record saying, “How dare you! She doesn’t need to detox! She’s just a toddler!” Had they consulted the pediatrician? How could Gust let this happen? But Gust was no help. He said Harriet was having tummy aches. Her digestion had improved. They all feel better now that they’re eating clean.

The counselor thought Frida overreacted. Her tone was disrespectful. Her anger was unjustified. “Your daughter is changing,” the counselor said. “It’s a bittersweet experience for all parents. You need to accept it.”

All children lose their chubby cheeks eventually. Harriet may be having a growth spurt. She may be more active. How can Frida use terms like starvation? Gust and Susanna would never harm Harriet. Frida only talks to Harriet for a few minutes every week.

“How much do you really know about her life right now?” the counselor asked.

Frida knows she’s not imagining things. Harriet can digest wheat just fine, and the adorable-belly-and-jowls period is not supposed to be over yet. She wanted to tell the counselor that Harriet has had those cheeks since birth, that her round face defined her, made her look more Chinese. Like Frida. Like Frida’s mother.

During intermediate naptime, her imagination goes wild. She pictures Harriet asking for bread and being denied. Harriet reduced to bones. Susanna will stunt Harriet’s growth, will hinder Harriet’s brain development, will give Harriet an eating disorder, will teach Harriet to hate herself before she can even speak a complete sentence. Self-loathing may lead preteen Harriet to suicidal ideation. Suicidal ideation may lead to cutting. Why was there no way for her to report Susanna? She is the one doing lasting damage.

Nap wars have all the mothers on edge. Frida is chewing her cuticles again and sleeping three hours a night. She’s irritated by everything Emmanuelle does. She’s dared to complain about Emmanuelle to Roxanne. She’s risked these complaints being overheard in the shower line or on the walk to the dining hall.

After an especially trying day, she says, “Mommy doesn’t want to play, not now. Now is naptime. Close your eyes, please.”

When Emmanuelle talks back, saying, “No no no no no,” Frida snaps. She reaches down into the crib and pinches Emmanuelle’s arm, denting her silicone flesh.

“Oh my God.” Frida steps back.

The instructors haven’t noticed yet. Her classmates are occupied. Emmanuelle doesn’t cry immediately. She looks from her arm to Frida’s hands, from Frida’s hands to Frida’s face. Her mouth falls open in a stunned, heartbroken O.



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Talk circle is for mothers whose classroom behavior falls on a continuum of aggression, from smaller outbursts—like Frida’s—to mothers who threaten their dolls with the discipline they once meted out to their children. The group meets in the gymnasium after dinner. The numbers change every night depending on the day’s infractions, usually going up around the holidays and children’s birthdays, before evaluations, and when the mothers have PMS. There are seventeen women tonight, including Frida. In one lit corner, they sit on cold metal folding chairs, arranged in a circle. The effect of the overhead light amid all the darkness is garish. They could be stars of a slasher film or the world’s saddest hip-hop video.

Ms. Gibson moderates. The mothers must state their names and offenses and discuss their troubled pasts and reflect on the harm they’ve done to their children and their dolls. Past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior. Presumably their transgressions are rooted in a troubled history. They may be succumbing to old patterns, which the school will help them break. After their confessions, the mothers must repeat the mantra of talk circle: “I am a narcissist. I am a danger to my child.”