A. Homes - In A Country Of Mothers

Jody shrugged. She was nailed. She tried to play it cool.

“I’m here,” Claire said. “You can tell me the most horrible thing in the world or the most wonderful thing. Either way I’m still here.”

“My life, my brother, my family has made me into a very different person from the one I was born as,” Jody said. “When I think about it, I have the sensation of being separated from myself. I’m not into this adoption thing, okay? I love my parents, I really do. But there’s something, some strange something. Maybe it’s from being adopted, maybe it’s just me, but I don’t get too attached to anyone. To anything. I don’t want to. I’m convinced that if do, I’ll get fucked over. Call it fear of rejection, whatever.

“When you’re a baby you look at your mother’s face and it’s your face. She smiles at you and at that moment she is you. When you’re a little older, you smile back at her and somehow the smile on your face is her smile, it’s you becoming her.”

Jody paused and looked at Claire, who was nodding intensely. Though she didn’t usually wear makeup, Claire had lipstick on, and one side of it went up above the lip line, making her look a little demented. Jody forgot what she was thinking for a second.

“But when you’re adopted, you look up at your mother and she’s trying to look at you, to understand you, and in my case there was also this ghost of a child between us. What I saw was not a mirror; it was neither myself nor my mother, but something confusing and much less clear. The root it plants is a strange kind of detachment, an insecurity.” Jody stopped and fixed on Claire.

“Do you still feel the insecurity?” Claire asked.

Jody sighed. She wondered if shrinks made their families stay up late at night and talk about everything in microscopic detail. So fucking obsessed, no surprise that they worked in offices by themselves. No one could stand to be around them.

“There is something, some lack of something.”

“What?”

Jody flashed Claire a hard look. Even if she knew, she wouldn’t tell anyone, ever.

Claire didn’t react except to glance at the clock and then pick up her appointment book and start flipping through the pages. Were they out of time? Jody wondered. It was as if they’d been under water and suddenly had raced back to the surface for air.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” Claire said.

Jody nodded.

“Would you like to keep going?”

Jody didn’t know exactly what Claire meant.

“We could have a double session,” Claire said. “I’m not seeing anyone until five. What do you think?”

Jody shrugged. She still wasn’t clear about what was going on. She’d never heard of anyone going overtime. Didn’t Claire have better things to do? Didn’t Jody have a job? A life?

“Do you want to stay?” Claire asked.

Of course Jody wanted to stay, didn’t everyone? But at the same time, she’d had enough. She’d said the things she’d said knowing that within the hour Claire would throw her out. There were no major consequences. You didn’t have to live with your words for more than fifty minutes. That was the beauty of therapy, you always ran out of time. You could always say something incredibly important in the last five minutes and there was nothing the shrink could do except say, We’ll have to talk about that next week, or, It’s so interesting how you save the very best things for last. No matter what, you left when the hour was up. That was one of the rules.

“Well?” Claire asked.

Jody shrugged.

“Are you leaving it up to me?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s keep going — but first I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Claire walked out, leaving the door open. Jody never had a shrink who went to the bathroom before. She’d always thought they were like teachers: they just didn’t go.

Claire’s purse was on her desk along with a huge stack of notes, a pile of yellow legal pads. Jody could have gone through everything. She could have stolen Claire’s wallet and then played dumb. She could have flipped through her appointment book, making a list of the names and numbers of all her other patients. Later that night she’d be able to sit down with a bowl of popcorn and make crank calls.

Hi, I’m calling for Claire Roth. She asked me to let you know that you’re so incredibly neurotic that it’s driven her crazy and she had to be admitted to the hospital. Hi, this is Claire Roth’s secretary. She asked me to leave you a message: get a new shrink.

The phone rang just as Claire was coming out of the bathroom. “Don’t answer it,” she yelled, running back into her office, picking up just as the tape clicked on. “Hello,” she said, breathless.

From her side of the room, Jody could hear a woman’s voice squeaking through the receiver.

“I’m with someone now,” Claire said curtly. “Can I call you later?”

“So,” Claire said, hanging up and sitting back down in her chair. “Tell me how your parents adopted you.”

The mood had completely changed. They’d come back to the surface and now, with barely a breath of air, Claire wanted to go under again. Jody wasn’t sure she could do it. If she’d been the person she wished she was, the great pillar of strength and wisdom, she would have explained that while she was grateful for the offer, she’d had enough for one day and really had to get back to work.

“Do you know the details about where you came from?” Claire asked.

“Yeah,” Jody said. “The sperm bashed its head against the egg and here I am.”

“How romantic,” Claire said. “But did you come from an agency or an orphanage?”

“You really want to hear all this?”

Claire nodded.

“My parents told me I came from an agency.”

“How old were you when they told you?”

“Just born,” Jody said. “I came home from the hospital and they said, ‘Hi, how are you? This is the house, this is the kitchen, this is the front hall, we’ll take you to your room. Oh, and by the way, you’re adopted, but don’t think twice about it.’”

“Do you remember them telling you?”

“They always told me. They had this book, not something in general circulation, but like something an adoption company would sell you. A two-volume boxed set, The Adopted Family. One book was a picture book for the kid, and the other was the more serious stuff for the adoptive parents, things like what problems you might have, how to love the stranger’s child, blah, blah, blah.”

“Was finding out you were adopted traumatic? Do you wish they hadn’t told you?”

“It’s like learning your name. You don’t remember learning it, it’s just there, it belongs to you. I’m adopted. A-D-O-P-T-E-D. It’s the first word I learned to spell.”

Claire grimaced.

“Kidding,” Jody said. Every time she said something, Claire’s face flashed a reaction. At first Jody had really liked that — it was proof that a human being was sitting across from her — but sometimes she wished everything wasn’t so damn interesting, didn’t mean so much to Claire.

“Everything is not a natural disaster,” Jody said. “‘Adopted’ … I know the word, but what does it mean? I have no idea.”

“Do you feel adopted? Earlier you were talking about your mother and not mirroring her.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if that comes from being adopted or having a dead brother.”

“How long before you were born did he die?”

“Six months.”

“It is kind of close,” Claire said.

“I know.” Jody was tempted to tell Claire to take a tranquilizer or to point out that therapeutically speaking, all Claire’s expressions might not be a good thing. If Jody were not Jody, if she were a seriously disturbed maniac, someone who couldn’t take a little criticism, all Claire’s heaving and hoing might throw her right over the edge. Fortunately, what Jody was saying was old hat. There were no shocking new revelations about her past. She was telling the story of her life, and the facts came easily.