Our Country Friends(9)
“May I kiss Aunt Karen then?” the child asked. “I think we’re related.”
Karen found herself stepping forward, expectantly, but Masha raised her hand. “Aunt Karen just came from the city, so we’ll have to give her a little time,” she said. And then to Karen: “Thank you so much for finding this crazy girl. I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
“How old is she now?” Karen asked.
“I’m eight!” the child shouted. “Look at the birthday bracelet my mommy gave me with eight merino wool beads for each year. The beads spell out N-A-T-A-S-H-A, and an exclamation mark. Natasha! But I really go by Nat. Also ‘she’ and ‘her’ are my pronouns, though I reserve the right to change them later.”
“She’s eight going on eighty,” Senderovsky said to Karen. “Anyway, sorry for the drama of our opening act. I promise it’s going to be country peace and quiet from this point forward. Masha can help you get settled; I have to pick up Vinod from the bus station.”
“You’re not going to help calm your daughter?” Masha said, in, she realized, the wrong language. “What’s wrong with you?” she added in Russian.
“I can’t leave Vinod at the station. Not with his health. And she’s okay now. She’s had her prairie dog kiss.”
Karen drove the rest of the driveway up to the garage while Senderovsky walked alongside her like an obedient liege. The futuristic car guided itself into a spare bay with verve. Senderovsky was saddened by the tumult that had accompanied his friend’s arrival, while Karen was gladdened by her promotion to “aunt.” She knew she would soon be bathed in her friends’ many problems. Unlike her younger sister, and her mother, when she was still alive, at least these two would listen to her.
3
Once again Senderovsky’s car attacked the innocent mailbox on a bend in the road leading to the bridge, further crumpling the na?ve art on its side, an ageless Easter bunny delighted by a field of clover. Once again Senderovsky pictured a crying child—“They hit Bunny!”—and a consoling parent, “Not on purpose. It was just a bad driver.” And once again his car’s proximity-alert gong sounded, but only as the carnage was already underway. Senderovsky sped on. Someday, he would buy the property owner a new mailbox with a rabbit drawn by an artist from the city, something bound to appreciate in value if weatherproofed properly, but today he offered a silent apology in the form of a self-justified mumble: “So many things on my mind.”
The twenty minutes of Nat’s absence had been brutal, Masha’s full-throated panicked voice (nothing more frightening to Senderovsky than a psychiatrist panicking)—“Natashen’ka!”—and his uncertain, unauthoritative one—“Nat?”—ringing around the property. Even though neither of them had been assigned to guard Nat, who, Senderovsky had presumed, had still been upstairs with her videos, he knew Masha would make him stand trial for her having gone missing. “She’s already dysregulated from having school moved online, and now you’re bringing five people to run around and make noise and do hell knows what.” “It’s good for her to be social.” “With her peers, not these people.” “These people. They’re my best friends.” “Oh, I know. How I know.” “They can be parental figures, too. You love Vinod.” “Vinod needs rest, not to take over the fatherly duties you’ve abdicated.” “So you’re saying she ran away because people are coming?” “She’s worried about new faces. It’s not like you’re a stranger to generalized anxiety disorder.” “If only I had conquered my social deficits as a child. I’d be doing a lot better than I am right now, that’s for sure.” “I remember you back at that bungalow colony when you were eight. You were pretty damn friendly. [Switching to Russian] We couldn’t shut you up.” “Exactly right. And this is Nat’s bungalow colony.” “Minus a peer group. While she’s having [switching to English] identity issues.” “While she’s figuring out who she is.” “And Ed Kim’s going to help her with that journey?” “He helped me with mine.” Just to be sure, this conversation never happened. But it could have, down to the very last therapeutic turn of phrase. How Senderovsky envied writers who had taken marriage as their subject.
Even worse, he had lost face in front of Karen. Since Karen’s contributions to civilization had eclipsed his own, Senderovsky had felt even more in need of her approbation. Having a “lovely family and a lovely home,” to quote his Los Angeles agent, would be proof that unlike his divorced, childless friend, he “had it all.” And now Karen had seen his daughter run away, sing to sheep. (Although maybe she had taken it as proof of the child’s imagination and independence. The younger Karen would have.) A few more incidents like that might segue into diagnostic talk, which would lead to still more mention of her schooling which was filled with the most perceptive teachers ever to wield chalk and where, despite their many interventions, Nat still did not have any friends.
And, while he was searching for Nat around the property, he had gotten a vague message from the Actor about being late, or maybe not coming tonight, or maybe not coming ever, which, if true, would mean there would be no progress on the script, which, in turn, would evaporate Senderovsky’s half of Nat’s fifty-nine-thousand-dollar tuition. Not to mention the costs of feeding his guests indefinitely and heating and cooling their bungalows. On the other hand, Senderovsky knew that once the Actor arrived, the atmosphere would change from a Visit to Sasha’s Deluxe Bungalow Colony to an Evening with the Actor in Some Country Setting. He would either struggle to make himself heard above the Actor’s beautiful silence or try to provide a laugh track, which in the end would mean the same thing.