The School for Good Mothers(99)

They open the box containing the locket. Frida shows her the coil of hair. “This is a piece of Mommy. Please don’t lose it. I want you to have this even when you’re old.”

“I’m not old. I’m two. I’m almost three.” Harriet holds up three fingers. “I’m a big kid. Mommy, come to my three birthday. My birthday is tomorrow!”

“No it’s not, bub. You’re being silly. I’m sorry, Mommy won’t be able to come. But Mommy will be there in your heart.”

“In the necklace too?”

“In the necklace too.”

Six minutes remain. It’s time to take pictures. The social worker has them pose beside a miniature Christmas tree, then loads her Polaroid camera and asks them to smile. Harriet weeps. Frida asks her to be kind to Daddy and Susanna, to be a good sister to Henry.

“Let’s take some more by the window,” the social worker says.

Frida props Harriet on her hip. “Remember you never did anything wrong. You’re perfect. Mommy loves you so much. Mommy loves you galaxies. Remember Gonggong and Popo. They’ll always love you. They’ll miss you every day.”

She whispers in Harriet’s ear, “Please be happy. I want you to be so, so happy. I want you to come find me when you grow up. Please look for me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Okay, Mommy, I will look.” They hook pinkies.

One minute remains. Frida hugs Harriet tight, trying to deliver every kind of hug—not varieties of affection, but an entire world. She pretends she’s holding Emmanuelle, that this is just a drill.

The judge said she wasn’t ready for the responsibility. Maybe she wouldn’t leave Harriet alone again, but she might do something else. If she pinched her doll, what might she do to Harriet? If she couldn’t protect her doll from danger, how could she be counted on to protect her daughter? If she couldn’t make good decisions about friendships and relationships in a controlled environment, with so much at stake, why would she be able to do so in the real world?

“I simply don’t trust you,” the judge said. “Someone like you should know better.”

The social worker’s phone begins beeping.

“No!” Frida shouts. “We need more time.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Liu. You’ve had your full half hour. Harriet, Harriet, honey, you need to say goodbye to Mommy Frida. Daddy will take you home now.”

“Please! You can’t do this.”

“Mommy!” Harriet shrieks. “I want to stay with you! I want to stay with you!”

The social worker leaves to get Gust. Frida is on her knees. She and Harriet cling and cry. Harriet holds tight to Frida’s collar. She continues screaming. Frida fled from these screams on her very bad day, but now she takes the screams into her body, feeling the vibration, the longing. She needs to remember this sound. She needs to remember Harriet’s voice, her smell, her touch, how much Harriet wants her now, how much Harriet loves her. She kisses Harriet’s wet cheeks, gazes at her again. They press foreheads as they used to. She says “I love you” in English and Mandarin, calls Harriet her treasure, her little beauty. When Gust and the social worker return, she refuses to let go.



* * *



From the living room window, Frida watches Will’s neighbors arrive home with their children. The neighbors on the other side of the wall are a white family with a son and a daughter, both in elementary school. The boy fights with his parents about getting dressed. The girl fights with them about toothbrushing. A white man across the street smokes on his front porch in his pajamas. A Black woman across the street plays guitar in the evenings. A Black family down the block has twin baby boys. She’s seen the mother carrying two car seats, one slung over each arm.

She never thought of herself as living in a city full of children, but maybe every city and every neighborhood is full of children when you’ve lost your own. West Philly is its own particular brand of torture, friendly and wholesome, a small town within the city, with wide, tree-lined streets and houses decorated for the holidays. She and Gust once looked at this neighborhood. They visited five-bedroom Victorians they couldn’t afford in the catchment for the city’s one good public school. Had they bought one of those houses, she likes to think. Had they lived in a different community.

If she could get herself to leave the house, she’d buy medicine. Benadryl from the pharmacy on Baltimore, Unisom from the CVS on Forty-Third. NyQuil from the Rite Aid on Fifty-First. Too much medicine from one store would invite questions. She doesn’t want to answer questions from strangers ever again.

When she imagines it, it’s always pills. Pills and bourbon. Never a razor blade and a bathtub. Her body feels like it’s filled with electricity. Her hands tingle. It’s Friday afternoon. In the three days since the final visit, she’s consumed all the liquor in Will’s apartment. She’s run out of Unisom. Will won’t buy her more.

Will had office hours today. Otherwise, he’s been staying home to grade papers. He’s been cooking for her. She’s overheard him talking to Gust. They’ve discussed whether they need to enlist other friends to watch her. He’s hidden the knives. He’s given her his bedroom. For the first few nights here, he slept on the couch, but at Frida’s request, he now sleeps beside her. He’s still keeping his apartment clean, easier now that his dog lives with his ex. The girl from Harriet’s birthday video wasn’t serious, he said.