“Ambivalence at this stage is very troubling,” the counselor said.
The counselor’s interview with Emmanuelle was similarly inconclusive. When asked if she loves Mommy, Emmanuelle said yes, then no, then yes again, then no again. She stopped answering. The counselor asked if she feels safe with Mommy, if Mommy meets her needs, if she misses Mommy when she’s in the equipment room. When pressed for an answer, the doll started crying.
The counselor said Frida possesses the intelligence to parent but maybe not the temperament.
“But I am a parent. I am Harriet’s parent.”
“But is it in Harriet’s best interest to be parented by you?” the counselor asked.
The prognosis for return is fair to poor or just poor for almost everyone. Frida is in the former category. There are some exceptions, about sixteen in total, including Linda and Charisse, one of the middle-aged white women—the natural blonde with a smoker’s rasp who’s known to sing Wilson Phillips songs in the shower, “Hold On” being her favorite. Once everyone learns their names, the successful mothers begin to suffer. Someone shreds Linda’s uniforms. Someone leaves ants in Charisse’s bed. Charisse calls the hotline to report the ants. She becomes suspicious of her roommate, her hallmates. She complains to Ms. Gibson and Ms. Knight. Her classmates begin referring to her as “the complainer,” though supposedly none of her complaints have been added to her file.
The mothers imagine what they’d do if they had access to knives or scissors or chemicals. Not everyone came to the school a violent woman, but now, heading into month seven, they all might stab someone.
* * *
But fortunes can change, even here. After a surprise second-place finish for Unit 4, Frida begins Unit 5: Intermediate and Advanced Play in a state of blithe competence. Emmanuelle somehow decided to cooperate on evaluation day. She played with one toy at a time. She put them away when asked.
As June begins, Frida lavishes her with praise. Emmanuelle begins appearing in Frida’s dreams as a living girl. In her dreams, Emmanuelle and Harriet roam the campus holding hands. The girls roll down hills. They chase each other around the stone courtyard. They wear matching blue dresses, matching shoes and barrettes. They run together through the woods.
Frida teaches Emmanuelle to say “I love you” in Mandarin. She teaches Emmanuelle to say wawa, little doll—a term of endearment she’s never used with Harriet.
She begins sleeping normally, eating more, gains some weight back. Food has a taste again. When she showers, she’s alive to the water hitting her face. In class, she’s alive to her body next to Emmanuelle’s body. She gives willingly, and what passes between them is love.
In the evenings, she prepares her talking points. She won’t mention the birthday video, won’t ask about carbs or sunscreen or sun hats, if Gust and Susanna have taken Harriet to the beach, if they’ve started swim lessons, where they’ll go on vacation. She’ll use her “I love you” judiciously.
They begin practicing in groups of four. Two dolls receive one toy. When the fighting begins, the mothers must separate the dolls and help them process their feelings. They practice sharing and turn-taking. They learn to manage toy-related aggression. They model reconciliation.
As the dolls fight over toys, Frida worries that Emmanuelle’s passivity will be counted against her. She’s disappointed to see that Emmanuelle conforms to racial stereotypes, a failure of imagination on the part of her makers. When Emmanuelle plays with other dolls, she’s docile to the point of subservience. It’s always her hair being pulled, her toy being stolen. When the other dolls wrong her, she responds by doing nothing.
Frida hates seeing Emmanuelle get hit. The battles bring back memories of her own childhood, when she didn’t know how to defend herself, when a smart Chinese girl with a moon face felt like the worst thing to be. She often looked in the mirror and wished she’d been born a little white girl. Her parents sent her to her room for crying even though she was bullied daily. Not only did they push her against the chain-link fence, her classmates once chased her home from school, pelting her with cherry tomatoes. The juice dried in her hair. That night, when her mother bathed her, there was a layer of tomato seeds floating on the water. She doesn’t remember any special hugs or kisses. She doesn’t remember her mother denouncing the bullies. Life would have been different if her parents had held her, but she won’t blame them. It wasn’t a straight line from there to here.
She used to think it was a reason not to have a child. It seemed too painful to watch a son or daughter endure the cruelty of other children. But she told Gust that she’d be different. She’d be a mother who always said, “I love you.” She’d never be cold. She’d never make Harriet stand against a wall for punishment. If Harriet were ever bullied, if she were ever pushed around or ridiculed, Frida would be there to tell her that things would get better. She’d call the other parents, confront the other children. But where is she now, and where is Harriet? It’s been over nine months since she was removed.