The Queen of Hearts(2)
I was thirty-six now. Although I was still happy and still possessed a wide-eyed, inquisitive nature, I was much more aware of how every moment had an infinitely complex number of options, and in turn, an infinitely complex number of outcomes. We think it’s the big actions that shape us—the choice to pursue medical school over business school, turning down a date with one guy in favor of another, the regrettable decision to have an affair. But in reality, all of those things come about from the unconscious and barely considered actions that shape a life: blowing off studying one night to watch TV. Laughing at a lame joke to make someone feel better. Allowing more eye contact than necessary with a man you knew to be no good. It’s the innumerable smaller choices that snowball into larger vectors, or, put another way: it’s the choices we make when we ignore our scornful intellects and follow our thumping hearts.
—
Before I could text Emma back, there was a tap at the conference room door, which opened to reveal the gray head of Margery Blitstein, director of the Weekday Preschool. “Pardon me for the interruption, ladies,” she said. “Could I steal you for a minute, Zadie?”
“Of course,” I said pleasantly, feeling my stomach clench up. This could not be good. Please, please, don’t let Delaney have bitten anyone, please.
“I’m afraid Delaney has bitten someone,” Margery said as soon as the door had shut behind us. “Again. I’m terribly sorry, Zadie, but you know that our handbook specifies that if the biting is an ongoing problem unresolved by redirection and positive reinforcement, we have to ask the parents of the biter to remove the child. I sincerely hope you understand that we at the preschool feel tremendous love for Delaney, and for all of our children, but I think we’ve reached the point where we need to try something a little more actionable.” (Et tu, Margery?)
“I . . . of course,” I said weakly. “I am so sorry. I can’t imagine why . . . Ah, who did she bite?”
“I regret to say that it was Sumner Cooper. Again.”
Oh hell.
“Is there anything going on at home?” asked Margery kindly. “Any changes or potentially upsetting events for Delaney?”
“No! I mean, no, nothing. Everything’s fine.”
Margery Blitstein stopped walking and patted me on the shoulder. “Zadie,” she said, “I’ve known you since Rowan, your oldest, was a baby—that’s what, eight or nine years ago? Parenting four children isn’t easy, but I know what a wonderful mother you are. And I know by reputation what a wonderful doctor you are. This is no reflection on you. Sometimes children bite. This will pass.”
“Thank you, Margery,” I mumbled. “Ah, when you say the child needs to be removed, what kind of time frame are we talking about?”
“Well, I am certainly not suggesting that Delaney has to stay out forever. Why don’t you take a few days, a week maybe, and let’s think outside the box here about ways to handle this?”
So Delaney was being suspended. From preschool. Wonderful. I mentally reviewed everything I had coming up in the next few days that was incompatible with having a three-year-old biter in tow, which of course was pretty much everything. I worked at my pediatric cardiology practice every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and the rest of my time seemed to be spent juggling the schedules of my four children. In theory, that didn’t sound difficult, but in reality, each child added an exponential level of complexity, so that we’d had to plaster an entire wall of the playroom at home with a whiteboard covered in Venn diagrams and annotations about the logistics of everyone’s soccer, ballet, field hockey, and guitar lessons. I made a mental note to find help in the mornings: my college-age nanny, Nina, only worked early mornings and late afternoons.
We reached Margery’s office. I could hear Delaney giggling inside, probably playing with Margery’s assistant, Clare. Sure enough, as we entered, I could see that Delaney was utterly unfazed by her disgrace. “Hi, beloved dear!” she called out in delight as she caught sight of me.
I knelt down. “Delaney,” I hissed quietly as Margery murmured something to Clare in the background, “why did you bite Sumner?”
Brightly: “I don’t know, Mom.”
“Delaney. This is not okay.”
“Well . . . maybe I bited her because she is so bad.”
I said, “Sumner is not bad. She is a nice little friend.”
“She is bad. She breaked up my puzzle even though I telled her not to.”
“Okay, we are going to have plenty of time to talk about this at home.” Plenty of time. “Let’s tell Mrs. Beaufort and Mrs. Blitstein thank you for taking care of you.”
“Okay! Fank you, honey dears!”
After apologizing again, we headed for the parking lot. I checked my cell phone: shoot. Missed call from Emma. As I was contemplating returning it, the phone rang: Drew, my husband.
“Hello, beautiful wife,” he said.
I was suspicious. “Are you working late tonight?”
A slight pause. “Um, yes,” he said. “I’m flying to New York for the day. Can you hold down the fort?”
“I always hold down the fort,” I pointed out. “I’m a fort-holding specialist.”
He sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Another silence, then: “I told the boys I’d hit balls with them after their lesson today.”