The School for Good Mothers(60)

* * *



“We have a surprise for you,” Ms. Russo tells them the next morning. With a flourish, she and Ms. Khoury distribute smartphones and strollers. Each mother receives her phone with cupped palms, as if the devices are communion wafers. All four are truly thankful. Beth’s and Meryl’s faces approach a state of ecstasy.

Today, they can take their dolls outside, call their real children, their families. The new rules regarding talking points have been temporarily suspended. They can even use the Internet. However, they can’t forget their responsibilities. They must maintain their daily word count and stay accountable to their dolls. Every hour on the hour, they must report back to the classroom for check-ins. It is the start of Unit 3: Reconditioning the Narcissist, eight weeks of lessons to strengthen their child-first orientation and ability to parent in the face of distraction.

“Think of this as a test of your impulse control,” Ms. Russo says. No matter what, the mothers must provide the normal amount of attention and affection. She leads them in a call and repeat: “Who is my top priority?”

“My child!”

“What do I do when my child needs me?”

“I drop everything!”

Frida slips her phone into her pocket, alive with joy and anticipation.

Though the mothers are eager to go outside, the dolls, after their latest blue liquid trauma, are a fragile mess. Emmanuelle has to be carried. In the foyer, she refuses to get into her stroller. She and Frida make it only to the bench outside the building next door. Frida watches enviously as her classmates leave the quad. She can’t remember Susanna’s number. She calls Gust and gets his voice mail, asks him to have Susanna call her, or go home and call back with Harriet himself.

“I won’t be able to talk to her again until the end of April. Please. I need to wish her a happy birthday. This is my only chance.”

He’s going to hear Emmanuelle yelling in the background. Frida isn’t sure what she’ll say if he asks. She makes the first check-in without incident, then the second, then the third.

“Excellent prioritizing, Frida,” Ms. Khoury says. Her classmates have all been late.

The scene outside is chaotic. Mothers are searching for a decent Wi-Fi signal. Dolls of all ages are running. They explore garbage cans and bike racks, shrubbery, bricks, gravel. Some climb trees. Some try to scale light poles. Some grab handfuls of grass and rub it on their faces.

Frida ventures farther on each walk. She takes Emmanuelle to the amphitheater, where they run up and down the steps. She shows Emmanuelle the crocuses and budding trees. She reads Emmanuelle the names of plants.

“Rhododendron,” she says. “Witch hazel.” She asks Emmanuelle to repeat after her, but Emmanuelle has trouble with h’s.

“It’s spring right now. And after spring comes summer. Then fall. Then winter. There are four seasons. Can you count my fingers? One-two-three-four. Most people like spring. I like it. Do you like spring?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Spring scary. Scary, Mommy. Hate it.”

“Hate is a big feeling. I think you need to experience it a little more. You know, by the time I’m old, spring will be different.” She tells Emmanuelle about the warming earth, how Manhattan might be underwater in another generation, how humans need to stop eating meat, drive less, have fewer babies.

“There are too many people,” Frida says.

“Too many?”

“Too many people like me. Not like you. You don’t use as many resources.”

They find a patch of sunlight and rest in the grass between the bell tower and Pierce. Did she ever rest in the sun with Harriet? She feels the heat on her closed eyelids. She turns and sees Emmanuelle staring directly into the sun. The chips in Emmanuelle’s eyes sparkle. They play a blinking game, laughing each time they open their eyes in tandem.

“Cuddle,” Frida says. “Let’s have a family cuddle. Come here.” She curves her body around Emmanuelle’s, kisses the doll’s head, rubs the nape of her neck as she used to do with Harriet. Over time, the doll’s new-car smell has become comforting.

“Sweetie, do you ever get tired of living in the equipment room?”

Emmanuelle sighs. “Yeah.”

“Where would you rather live?”

“With Mommy!”

“Oh, that’s very sweet. You are my sweetest girl. I want you to come live with me too. Where would we live?”

Emmanuelle sits up and points to the library. She points to the sky.

Frida tells her about nurseries and big-girl beds, night-lights and sleep sacks and security blankets. She’s sorry she can’t give Emmanuelle those things, that she only had blankets and toys during bedtime practice. Fleeting comforts. It’s a shame she has to sleep standing up.

Emmanuelle grows excited at the prospect of her own room.

“We can pretend,” Frida says.

They linger in the sun holding hands. Frida wants to stay here all day. If she ever tells Harriet about this place, she’ll say that she had to store her devotion somewhere. Emmanuelle, a vessel for her hope and longing, the way people used to invest tablets and sacred trees with their faith and love.



* * *



In response to the day’s emotional upheaval, the trio of middle-aged white women abandon Linda’s cause and resume eating. Ms. Gibson descends on Linda with cans of protein shakes. She threatens Linda with a standing spot in talk circle. Extra counseling. An automatic zero for Unit 3. Expulsion. Ms. Gibson won’t leave until Linda takes a first sip.