Neighborly(22)

Who would that leave, in this neighborhood?



“I hope it’s OK that we’re just stopping by.” Raquel has Meadow in her arms again, just like at the block party, and Meadow has her thumb in her mouth as she regards me with surprisingly dull eyes for a toddler. “I didn’t have your number to text you.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s good to see you. Do you want to come in?” I’m still in my pajamas and bare feet and, I realize, no bra. I cross my arms over my chest. Sadie is lying on the floor on her play mat, various plastic animals dangling above her along a stuffed nylon arch. She tries to grasp them, but they’re out of her reach, which fortunately seems to make her more determined than frustrated.

“What she doing?” Meadow lisps around her thumb.

“Reaching,” I say, wondering if there’s a better way to explain it. Meadow seems satisfied.

Once they’re inside, Raquel doesn’t put Meadow down. They remain intertwined as Raquel perches on a love seat.

“It’s cute in here,” Raquel says.

“It’s a work in progress, but I feel like it’s going to be really nice. Homey.”

She smiles at me. “It already is. Homey.”

I smile back. “Thanks.”

“We were about to go to the park. Do you and Sadie want to join us?”

I hesitate. Raquel’s so nice, but I’m just not really in the mood for getting-to-know-you small talk. It feels like work.

No, it’s an investment. If I want a new kind of life, I have to be willing to put in the effort. With her brown lawn, Raquel might make a lot more sense as a friend than Andie does.

“Let me get dressed. I’ll just be a minute.” I snatch Sadie up off her mat, and she bursts into tears. Meadow’s eyes widen in fascination.

We go upstairs, and I grab a pacifier for Sadie. “Sorry,” I tell her. “Last-minute change of plans.” Her eyes regard me warily as I get her into a fresh diaper and clothes, but at least she’s sucking instead of crying. I put on her sunscreen with long, deep strokes, turning it into a baby massage, and her eyes close in pleasure.

I don’t really like being in Sadie’s room. For one thing, it reminds me that we’re more separate than we used to be. For another, even though I chose the color purple, my mother-in-law insisted on choosing everything else, and I couldn’t stop her. I can’t stop her from doing anything, really. So there are preppy plaids and ginghams, matching curtains and valance and shams and trash can. Doug tells me it’s a small price to pay, but sometimes when I’m in here, it still chafes.

I don’t normally leave Sadie tethered to the changing table, but it’s just this once, while I dash into my room and put on clothes. Still, I forgo washing my face. I decide toothbrushing is a necessity, with a new potential friend, and then I stick a sun hat on in lieu of sunscreen. It has the added benefit of covering my messy hair.

I bring Sadie back downstairs. Raquel says, “Meadow never got into pacifiers. It’s been all thumb her whole life.”

“It must be a hard habit to break.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t tried. She’s always been young for her age, if you know what I mean. She’s going to start half-day preschool in the fall.”

“How old is she?”

“Three. Her birthday’s in February.”

So that means she’s almost three and a half. I’m startled, though I hope it doesn’t show. It’s not just that Meadow’s behavior appears to be that of a younger child; it’s also that Meadow is so physically underdeveloped.

She’s not skinny, with spindly limbs; rather, it’s the opposite. Her cheeks are too full, and her belly protrudes in that way of toddlers who’ve not yet been reduced by movement. She’s built like a child at least a full year younger. It’s concerning, almost like Meadow has failed to thrive. Yet Raquel seemed so matter-of-fact.

But maybe she’s already spoken to her pediatrician, and Meadow’s on medication, or in therapy, or whatever they do for kids who are developmentally delayed. Maybe it’s just about patiently waiting for Meadow to catch up. I’m glad that Raquel doesn’t seem embarrassed by Meadow, that she’s not transmitting any sort of shame to her child. Raquel’s matter-of-factness could be a sign that she’s highly evolved. She’s obviously a very loving mom. Meadow barely leaves her arms.

Besides appearing younger than her age, Meadow is the most physically ordinary child I’ve ever seen. She has fine brown hair up in a ponytail, brown eyes, medium-toned skin, and undistinguished features. If she stays this way, she’ll be well suited to a life of crime. No witness would ever be able to describe her to a sketch artist. Kind of like Raquel, come to think of it, who’s also wearing a ponytail and those wire-rimmed frames of hers, like granny glasses.

Raquel puts Meadow on the ground, and Meadow whimpers. Raquel leans in and whispers for a little while, until Meadow brightens. Then they clasp hands, and we all head for the door. I have Sadie’s diaper bag slung around me, messenger-style, and I carry her folded-up stroller down the front steps. It used to seem like the biggest production in the world, a deterrent to casual activities, an easy excuse to stay inside where it’s cozy and safe. But I’m turning a corner in the AV. Well, trying to.