anyway?
— Our family would be the same, of course, says Mom.
LIZZY / She just said that because she had to.
— You can’t exactly say you wish you hadn’t adopted me, I said. Or Wendy. Not to our faces.
— I wouldn’t say it, period. Because it isn’t true.
— But you wish I was less dramatic and Wendy was less shy, and if we weren’t adopted, maybe we wouldn’t be like that. Maybe we’d be more like Bailey, and like you.
BLONDIE / — We’ve lived with you every day for fifteen years, I said. We couldn’t begin to imagine life without you.
— Think of yourself as a body part, said Carnegie.
— Yeah, but what if you could do plastic surgery, said Lizzy. We’re like the tummy flab you would fix.
WENDY / — Speak for yourself, I say. I’m not like tummy flab.
— I’m glad you realize that, says Mom.
— I’m more like a lung or something, I say.
Bailey rocks back and forth, meaning he wants more of something, but it must not be French toast, because when Mom gives him that, first he puts it on his head, syrup and all, and then he sends it flying.
— Bailey! Lizzy yells.
That’s because a piece of French toast lands right between her boobs.
— Perhaps that blouse is a bit revealing, says Mom.
— Perhaps you should feel sorry for me instead of making sure to tell me what you don’t like about the way I’m dressed! yells Lizzy. And anyway it’s not a
blouse.
I wouldn’t be caught dead in a
blouse.
Lizzy stomps up the stairs so loud that even in the kitchen a bird flies away scared from our new bird feeder, which is stuck on the window with suction cups and supposed to be squirrelproof.
Even the bird feeder is yellow today, that’s just the kind of morning it is.
— In my family, this was called overreacting, says Mom. Being too sensitive.
— We can call it that in this family too if you like, says Dad, finally sitting down. — She’s being too sensitive.
— Perhaps I should quit work, she says. People say that the time to be home isn’t the first couple of years, it’s now, when you don’t know when they’ll want to talk.
— If someone quits it should be me, he says.
— Dearest, you’re not going to get laid off.
— Dearest, this is America, says Dad. Anything is possible.
Later I report all this to Lizzy.
— Overreacting! she says. Sensitive! Of course I’m sensitive. I’m sensitive because I totally don’t belong to this family!
Her room is like the most amazing place these days, completely empty and neat like a monk’s cell. It’s like she’s too mad at the world to even have one single thing on the walls, all you see are CDs and headphones and a picture of her new boyfriend Russell the Musician, in the exact same spot that she used to have Derek the Normal. And there’s her cell phone of course. She doesn’t have a regular bed, all she has is a futon on this platform, which I guess I wouldn’t mind having either, now that I lie down on it. It makes the room look so big, like the ceiling is so far away. Like you have all this room.
— You belong to this family, I say. You do.
— Someday I am going to go back to wherever and find my real mom.
— How’re you going to do that?
— I’m just going to, she says.
She’s sitting on her other piece of furniture, her beanbag chair.
Then she says: — At least you know where you come from. At least you can like go back to that orphanage in China.
— That’s not true, I say. They don’t even know my foster mother’s name, forget about my real mother. Or my real father, you can like double forget about him.
— And why is that? says Lizzy. Have you ever wondered how come there are all these adopted girls from China where their parents at least know the foster mother and you don’t?
— They’re not supposed to, I say.
— But some do, says Lizzy. Like Lily does, and Mimi too. Don’t you ever wonder how come?
She says that and looks out her big
— Our family would be the same, of course, says Mom.
LIZZY / She just said that because she had to.
— You can’t exactly say you wish you hadn’t adopted me, I said. Or Wendy. Not to our faces.
— I wouldn’t say it, period. Because it isn’t true.
— But you wish I was less dramatic and Wendy was less shy, and if we weren’t adopted, maybe we wouldn’t be like that. Maybe we’d be more like Bailey, and like you.
BLONDIE / — We’ve lived with you every day for fifteen years, I said. We couldn’t begin to imagine life without you.
— Think of yourself as a body part, said Carnegie.
— Yeah, but what if you could do plastic surgery, said Lizzy. We’re like the tummy flab you would fix.
WENDY / — Speak for yourself, I say. I’m not like tummy flab.
— I’m glad you realize that, says Mom.
— I’m more like a lung or something, I say.
Bailey rocks back and forth, meaning he wants more of something, but it must not be French toast, because when Mom gives him that, first he puts it on his head, syrup and all, and then he sends it flying.
— Bailey! Lizzy yells.
That’s because a piece of French toast lands right between her boobs.
— Perhaps that blouse is a bit revealing, says Mom.
— Perhaps you should feel sorry for me instead of making sure to tell me what you don’t like about the way I’m dressed! yells Lizzy. And anyway it’s not a
blouse.
I wouldn’t be caught dead in a
blouse.
Lizzy stomps up the stairs so loud that even in the kitchen a bird flies away scared from our new bird feeder, which is stuck on the window with suction cups and supposed to be squirrelproof.
Even the bird feeder is yellow today, that’s just the kind of morning it is.
— In my family, this was called overreacting, says Mom. Being too sensitive.
— We can call it that in this family too if you like, says Dad, finally sitting down. — She’s being too sensitive.
— Perhaps I should quit work, she says. People say that the time to be home isn’t the first couple of years, it’s now, when you don’t know when they’ll want to talk.
— If someone quits it should be me, he says.
— Dearest, you’re not going to get laid off.
— Dearest, this is America, says Dad. Anything is possible.
Later I report all this to Lizzy.
— Overreacting! she says. Sensitive! Of course I’m sensitive. I’m sensitive because I totally don’t belong to this family!
Her room is like the most amazing place these days, completely empty and neat like a monk’s cell. It’s like she’s too mad at the world to even have one single thing on the walls, all you see are CDs and headphones and a picture of her new boyfriend Russell the Musician, in the exact same spot that she used to have Derek the Normal. And there’s her cell phone of course. She doesn’t have a regular bed, all she has is a futon on this platform, which I guess I wouldn’t mind having either, now that I lie down on it. It makes the room look so big, like the ceiling is so far away. Like you have all this room.
— You belong to this family, I say. You do.
— Someday I am going to go back to wherever and find my real mom.
— How’re you going to do that?
— I’m just going to, she says.
She’s sitting on her other piece of furniture, her beanbag chair.
Then she says: — At least you know where you come from. At least you can like go back to that orphanage in China.
— That’s not true, I say. They don’t even know my foster mother’s name, forget about my real mother. Or my real father, you can like double forget about him.
— And why is that? says Lizzy. Have you ever wondered how come there are all these adopted girls from China where their parents at least know the foster mother and you don’t?
— They’re not supposed to, I say.
— But some do, says Lizzy. Like Lily does, and Mimi too. Don’t you ever wonder how come?
She says that and looks out her big
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