“I can relate,” I assured her. “And now we have something to talk about next week,” I added, unlocking the door.
“I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t ask Mala Sonia about my love life,” Alice said, once we were off the clock and speaking just woman-to-woman. “Because I did in fact meet a cute guy. Technically, I met him when I was going out with someone else—Amy Baum’s husband in fact—God, this is becoming incestuous! Do you know a little girl in this building named Lucy? She’s maybe seven years old? Has an uncle named Dan Carpenter who’s an actual carpenter—and a total hottie?”
“I know Lucy,” I told her. “Lucy Eyre.”
“Please don’t tell me her mother’s name is Jane.”
I laughed. “It’s Diana. Diana and Jim Eyre and their daughter Lucy live in 6A. Lucy has had a crush on Ian since before she could talk.”
“What does Ian think about that?”
“Well, after he went in one end and out the other of the ‘ick—girls!’ phase, I think he became kind of flattered. Lucy’s parents took her to see Ian in Les Miz and she went backstage after the show, which kind of put them both over the moon. It was the first time anyone had ever asked Ian for his autograph, and when he heard the page that he had a visitor, he was twice as excited as I’d ever seen him on Christmas morning.”
“You celebrate Christmas?” Alice asked, perplexed. “I thought you’re Jewish.”
“We’re ‘Christmas tree Jews,’” I replied. “Assimilated, non-practicing New Yorkers with the ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em’ mentality about celebrating Christmas. Nature made pine trees before people invented religion. Besides, history tells us that Jesus was the Jewish son of a Nazarene carpenter. I never attended Sunday School or Hebrew School; I wasn’t basmitzvahed. Heck, I learned the names of the twelve tribes of Israel from the lyrics to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.”
“Speaking of Carpenters,” Alice said, blushing a bit. “Dan Carpenter and the Eyres?”
“I don’t know Diana’s brother. The Eyres are never down here, though.” I leaned toward Alice and brought my finger to my lips. “Diana has an illegal washer and dryer unit,” I whispered conspiratorially. “Their apartment was refurbished after the rent-stabilized tenant moved out, so they’ve got all new plumbing in their kitchen. Of course they’re also paying market value, so I don’t envy them that much.”
“Well, I’ve got something else to talk about in our next session,” Alice said. “Dan asked me out. He’s come over to the apartment a bunch of times to repair an antique settee and he finally made his move. Oh, apropos of nothing, last week I saw Ian on that commercial for the water park in New Jersey. It was on a whole bunch of times. If he keeps that up he can pay for his own college tuition! Tell him I said congratulations.”
“I certainly will. Now, spill,” I teased, “about Dan Carpenter.” Alice shook her head. I tried cajoling. “Aw, c’mon. Just girl talk. Unofficially. We’re off the clock here.”
“Nope. Besides, there’s nothing to share until Danny Boy and I actually have that date.”
“Spoilsport.” After her recounting of the disastrous tarot reading, I was delighted to see her in a better mood.
Progress Notes
Talia Shaw: A tremendous leap forward on client’s career front, but she’s still hung up on pleasing her mother and is devastated that her mom has elected to stay home with a sick cat rather than see her daughter dance her first principal role with NYCB up in Saratoga. I raised the subject of her mother’s inability to give Talia the kind of admiration she expects from her. It remains to be seen how she fares when the dust settles. Will continue to work on the core self-esteem issue until client heads out of town.
Faith Nesbit: I’m delighted that she’s continuing to actively work on everything we’re discussing in her sessions. Her non-purple clothing is a bold step (yet in her own characteristically cautious way) in making a conscious effort to expand her horizons beyond living for Ben’s memory. Ditto the music subscriptions. I’m also pleased that she’s taking these steps in keeping with her own behavioral limits. I want to continue on the same course with her sessions, though we need to discuss how her frequent references to the financial cost of her progress may in fact impact negatively upon it, and psychologically as well as materially dampen her ability to achieve further forward momentum.
Alice Finnegan: Alice is a new client, presenting with severe symptoms of grief, having recently lost her grandmother, who was her closest relative and roommate for several years. Alice also expresses guilt at never having been able to say good-bye to her grandmother—something that was out of her control under the circumstances—and she also has job issues to work through. On that score, she has recently reached a milestone on her own, having successfully escaped the world of office temping for an Off-Broadway role. However, she’s already experiencing anxiety about her stage career, as exhibited in her reaction to the negative “psychic reading” she received from the super’s wife, Mala Sonia Badescu. Part of our work will be to address and focus on Alice’s self-confidence issues, to allow her to securely place her trust in herself and not in others.
Me: I wish Eli were more open to discussing Molly with me—not just with reference to her college prospects, or lack thereof—but in how our parenting, both individually and collectively, isn’t as effective as it could be. In believing that he’s a liberal, progressive father, Eli’s laissez-faire attitude vis-à-vis our daughter’s behavior isn’t doing her any favors. Funny, he’s not that way with Ian; with Ian, Eli’s always been clear about limits. On the other hand, Ian has yet to demonstrate any signs of rebellious behavior. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters…fathers and daughters. It’s not as though Molly’s a “Daddy’s girl,” but Eli’s way of indulging her takes the form of ignoring her bad behavior, not so much for her sake, but for his own…so as not to make waves, rock the boat. Eli’s never been great at dealing with anything that’s going to be in any way difficult or problematic. He’d prefer to play “ostrich.” I can’t get away with doing that. Someone’s got to be the grown-up. My husband having abrogated those responsibilities as much as possible, I’m the one in the Lederer household left without a musical chair to sit on.
Maybe Molly’s acting out is partly a cry for a reaction from her father. Lately, Eli has been increasing the distance between himself and the other members of his family. He attributes this to his deadlines, but he’s had deadlines in the past…his rejection of me in bed the other night hit me very hard, and yet I let the subject drop and didn’t raise it again, something I would never let one of my clients get away with.
Alice and Faith have been in mourning for those dearest to their hearts, and while I acknowledge that their pain has been (even continues to be) lacerating at times, I find myself half wishing for a familial relationship that was as tight as the bond between Alice and her grandmother Irene or half as loving as what Faith and Ben had. While our marriage is solid and essentially healthy, Eli doesn’t even take out the trash, let alone kiss me good-bye on the way to the compactor. Although my mother isn’t interested in knowing who Molly’s become, but instead in who she wants Molly to be, and has never quite known what to make of Ian, and always seems bemused by Eli and me, I do admit to being grateful that I’m not constantly dancing as fast as I can in an attempt to please or appease someone like Talia’s mother.
I used to think I had a relatively functional childhood. Sure, my parents argued from time to time, but it was never about the big stuff. They’d quarrel about who left the bread on top of the refrigerator, and I never grasped at the time what the big deal was. Why such a fuss about a loaf of bread? Who cares? So I’d do stuff like put the loaf in the bread box where it belonged, playing the peacemaker, the problem solver. It took years (and a couple of psych classes) before I understood that my parents’ argument had nothing to do with the bread.
That’s another reason I became a therapist: to try to help people get to the heart
of the issue, not dance around it; to confront—which is risky and scary—but ultimately healthier than playing “ostrich” and hoping that if you hide from your problems, they’ll magically go away.
If someone were to ask me whether I have a happy marriage, I suppose I’d have to answer them by saying that I am not unhappy. Eli and I love each other very much…although I’d hate to think that we’ve “plateau-ed.” He’s been working like such a demon on his Gia the Gypsy Girl book that he’s practically fluent in Romany! I think I’m also using his writing schedule as an excuse to postpone talking to him about what’s bothering me lately. Just because I can recognize deliberate procrastination and passive-aggressiveness in my patients, and encourage them to face and work through their issues, it doesn’t mean I don’t fear dealing with my own!
Who’s playing “ostrich” now?
HOT WATER
6
NAOMI AND CLAUDE
“We checked out other agencies, but the rules seem to be the same all around,” Claude sighed. “We thought it was maybe just the agency we’d selected—this place in Georgia—a state that still had a sodomy law on the books until 1988! And you have to go through an agency if you want to adopt internationally. Unfortunately, the rules are universal: no lesbian couples can adopt from China. So we’re back to square one with the application process.”
“We were hoping you might be able to help us fill out the application,” Naomi added. “Well, I was hoping you’d help Claude, because frankly I’m still too angry to touch it.”
“Is it still the idea that you can’t adopt as a couple that’s bothering you?” I asked her.
Naomi looked darkly at Claude. Often they sat side by side on the sofa during their sessions in the laundry room, usually holding hands. But for the past month or so, ever since they’d begun discussing the adoption, they had gradually moved farther and farther apart from one another. Today, Naomi was curled up in a corner of the couch with her bare feet tucked under her, as though she were a feral jungle animal, coiled and ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.
“It’s worse,” she said. “In fact it’s so much worse, I don’t even know why I’m still here. I should just pack my stuff and move out.”
“Do you really mean that?” I asked her.
Claude had tears in her eyes. She looked over at Naomi. “I wish you wouldn’t,” she said softly. “I mean, I hope you don’t. It’s just—bullshit: the paper. It’s a form, Nay. It doesn’t really mean anything.”
“Yeah? That’s bullshit. You have to have it notarized, so it’s like swearing on a Bible in court and then committing perjury.”
“Would either—or both—of you like to tell me what this is all about?” I asked. “You just asked me to help you with the application, but I can’t even help you get over today’s hurdle if you leave me in the dark here.”
“I have to sign a paper,” Claude began, staring at the floor. Her expression admitted defeat; her voice was filled with resignation. She took a deep breath. “I have to swear before a notary public that I’m ‘heterosexual and actively seeking a husband.’ Which, of course, is a lie.”
Wow. My jaw dropped. It’s been hard enough for me to behave impartially on this issue, but caught off guard by Claude’s statement, I couldn’t disguise my spontaneous expression of amazement and disgust.
“The whole thing is dishonest!” snapped Naomi. “This is coming from people who don’t even want these kids—they think they’re a drain on their society—and they have the nerve to decide who is allowed to want them?! Please tell me you see the irony—not to mention the hypocrisy—in this!”
Claude continued to focus on the floor. “All the background checks and the fingerprinting and bonding are intrusive enough, but I can totally understand why they do them. Do you know that you have to provide the adoption agency with every address you’ve ever lived at since they instituted the background checks for pedophiles—all the way back to 1979 or something? And then they contact the police precincts in each one of those zip codes to make sure that your name doesn’t turn up. But this paper swearing I’m straight—it’s just too much for Naomi.”
“It should be too much for you!” Naomi insisted.
“It is,” sighed Claude. “But there’s no way around it. If I don’t sign this paper, we don’t get our daughter from China. It’s a horrible ethical dilemma. And ridiculous, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “And it is dishonest to swear that,” I agreed. “You know that old saying that everything that’s good for you is either illegal, immoral, or fattening. But I suppose it could be argued that signing the affidavit fits into the little white lie category, when you think of the greater good you’ll be doing by giving the little girl a loving home.”
“I don’t want to lie at all,” Claude said. “And this lie in particular makes me sick. It’s evil. Sinister, anyway. I’m totally torn. I know that if I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, something I’m not, if I don’t sign the paper, I lose our daughter.”
“And if you do sign it, you lose me.” Naomi said, springing up. She turned the lock on the door and bolted out of the laundry room.
“Goddamn it.” Claude put her head in her hands.
“You can’t blame Naomi for how she’s feeling.”
“I know,” Claude nodded. “I don’t. And I’m not sure what I’d do if the shoe were on the other foot. I’d like to think I’d stick it out. Our whole situation, I mean. Not my foot.” She tried to force a smile. “And our relationship. For a lot of reasons. We’ve been together for eight years, for one thing. You can’t just throw that away. Well, maybe Nay can, but I want to believe she really can’t and that she’s just pissed off right now. And both of us really want to be mothers. So that’s another reason to go through with this adoption. What would you do?”
“If I were you, or Naomi?”
Claude shrugged. “Either. Both, I guess.”
“If I were you, I’d give Naomi time to come around. I wouldn’t push anything. I’d muster all the patience I could. I know you’re on a timetable with the adoption application, and I’m happy to help you with that. Naomi’s hurting and she doesn’t want any part of that right now, which is also a totally valid position. Apart from her anger about the necessity of lying in order to play the game, she’s not feeling as loved by you right now as she really is. If I were Naomi, I’d want time to sort things out without feeling pressured to do so. And if I could admit to being a bit needy for your attention and affection, and your reassurances that I’m not being pushed aside or thrown over in favor of the baby, I’d want to get that from you without having to ask for it. I know that sounds like a contradiction in terms.”
Frustrated, Claude expelled a puff of air from her lips. “I feel like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“I’d say that Naomi’s worried that your having to pretend you’re straight in order to adopt a baby from China—having to lie, literally cutting her out of the picture—is the tip of the iceberg. If you can do that, you can cut her out of the motherhood process and even cut her out of your relationship…it may signal to her that even now you’re choosing the baby over her and it’s a sign of things to come. It’s not an unusual or even an unreasonable feeling. A lot of potential fathers feel that way when they see their pregnant partners caught up in all the preparations for motherhood. It’s something that they recognize there’s no way they can share on a lot of levels. Yeah, it’s going to be their kid too, but obviously, they’re not undergoing all the physical and emotional changes that the woman is experiencing. With you and Naomi, I know you plan to co-mother the baby after you adopt her, and it’s not the identical situation, of course, because neither of you is pregnant, but the feelings of jealousy and possessiveness and fear of losing the partner who’s going to be the mom—and that they’re going to play second fiddle after the baby comes—are still very much a factor.”
Claude bit her lip. “Did you ever go through that with Eli?”
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“Oh, boy!” I shuddered at the memories. “You’d think, with these ‘childbearing hips,’ as my former modern dance instructor used to call them, that I would have had an easy time of it. Actually, when I was pregnant with Molly, things went pretty smoothly. I rarely had morning sickness, and my one weird craving—apart from Nathan’s hot dogs—was that I wanted chocolate sauce on everything.” I laughed. “There are days when I still do in fact! And Eli was very into being a father; we did the Lamaze classes together and he brought the video camera into the delivery room—the whole nine yards. But after Molly was born, she was colicky and never slept more than a couple of hours at a time and was always a handful. To tell the truth, as pleasant as she’d been in utero, she was a pain in the ass as an infant; but what are you going to do? That’s life sometimes. With Ian, things got weird. They’re five years apart, and after what we’d been through with Molly, Eli wasn’t sure we should have tried again. When Molly was a baby, I had to devote so much time to her, naturally, that he did feel very shut out. And he didn’t always have the patience to handle her, so he stayed away and the whole situation became a Catch-22. I had a rough pregnancy the second time around and I needed to have a caesarian—so much for bikinis,” I joked. “Of course, the irony is that the tough pregnancy turned out to be the easygoing kid, and vice versa. Eli is a fantastic man, but to say that he likes to avoid responsibility is putting it mildly. So if I’m doing the lion’s share of the parenting, that’s where the proportionate share of my attention is going, right? And Eli did act very resentful and hurt, and our sex life hit the skids for a while. Not only was I too tired to feel romantic, but who the hell wants to make love with someone who resents you?”
“Now I’m wondering,” Claude said hesitatingly, “if we’ve really thought this through. Nay and I have been talking about adoption for a couple of years now. And we thought we had it all figured out. But maybe we did bite off more than we can chew.”
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