Dearest, p.7
Dearest, page 7
“No, Mom, I don’t think someone is secretly living in my home.”
Although, now that the words were out there, she found herself doubting them. Was there a chance someone had set up shop in the garage or spare room? Flora had been so preoccupied with Iris. But no, those clickbait stories might dominate the news, but their likelihood in her small, boring life is closer to nil and none. Flora needs to get a grip and bring her mother back to reality.
“Well, what does it say?” Jodi asks.
“Huh?”
“The voice. In the monitor. The man’s voice. What does he say?”
Jodi sits on a nearby stump and waves Flora closer. Jodi’s eyes are wide and engaged, her body leaning instinctively forward in interest and fear.
“It wasn’t really words,” Flora says. “At least, not until today. But then earlier… while we were doing dishes, I thought—I thought I heard him say something like ‘Where’s my good girl?’”
There is a long silence as Jodi takes this in. The sun disappears behind a cloud, and the world turns gray. Flora hugs her arms together and blows into her hands for warmth. Finally, she can’t take the quiet any longer.
“Mom?” she asks. “Am I going crazy?”
“Well, I’m probably not the person to ask.” Jodi laughs. “But listen, this could be serious. Does your monitor use Wi-Fi?”
“Yeah.” Flora nods, impressed that her mother would know there is a distinction between monitors with and without internet connection.
“A friend of mine, her daughter went through something exactly like this. She heard a guy’s voice from the monitor and realized that it had been hacked! He was watching the baby whenever he goddamned pleased! Some old-man pervert.”
Flora wants to write this off, wants to believe that this is another of her mom’s strange conspiracy theories, but she suddenly realizes it might not be that far-fetched. And she also suddenly wants to throw up.
“Oh my God,” she says. “Do you really think…?”
“You need a new monitor. One that doesn’t use internet.” Jodi stands from the stump, on a mission.
“This is surreal,” Flora says. “My mother giving me technology advice.”
“Ha ha,” Jodi says, already walking back toward the house. “We need to disconnect that monitor right away.”
“But what will I use instead?” Flora walks side by side with her mother, more quickly now, Zephie on their heels.
“Flora,” Jodi says, “I never used a monitor when you were a baby. You don’t need a monitor.”
Flora wants to argue but decides against it. Her mother has taken the reins, and something about that is comforting. Flora doesn’t have to make all the decisions alone. She has a partner in this impossible task of raising a life. A partner who has done this before.
Zephie’s voice hisses in her ear. “Yeah, but do you really wanna do it the way she did?”
Flora continues walking in step with Jodi and pretends she hasn’t heard.
baby monitor
noun [s]
1. an electronic device that enables a person to see or hear a child who is in another room
2. one of many products you cannot live without because you as a parent are not enough, will never be enough, to keep your baby safe
18
As Flora reaches awkwardly behind the crib to unplug the monitor from its outlet, she has a sudden pang of doubt.
“What if I’m wrong?” she asks Jodi, who still holds a squirmy Iris in the carrier nearby. “Should we wait? See if you can hear the voice, too?”
“I don’t see a downside to unplugging the thing either way,” Jodi says. Iris is complaining full on now, clearly getting hungry, so Jodi bounces and dances to distract her.
Flora pauses with her hand on the plug. Her body is squeezed between the crib and the wall, torqued so she can reach the outlet. And then, as if answering her very question, the man’s voice crackles from the camera.
“… Iris, my girl… night-night…” The smooth, quiet voice emerging from the whispers would almost be comforting if it wasn’t so horrifying.
Flora’s eyes flash toward the camera. It’s pointed toward the empty crib, so the man has no idea she is standing mere inches from the lens.
“Unplug the damn thing!” Jodi shouts.
“So you can hear—?” Flora asks as she simultaneously loosens the plug from the outlet with a hurried back-and-forth motion.
“Yes, of course I can hear that! He knows her name! How long has this been going on? I can’t believe you let him watch her for as long as you did.”
Mission accomplished, Flora stands and frees herself from the confines of the space behind the crib.
“I didn’t let him do anything. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure if it was real. The first time, I came up here and there were all these bugs…” Her voice trails off. She’s barely making sense to herself. Maybe this is her fault. She’s the one who picked the monitor. She should have known this could happen—she should have at least guessed. She didn’t read enough reviews. She didn’t do enough research.
Jodi pulls a now-screaming Iris from the carrier and says to Flora sternly, “She needs to eat.”
“I know, yes, okay. Let me warm up a bottle.” Flora makes her way out of the nursery. Iris’s cries pulse in a steady rhythm of complaint behind her.
“Can’t you just put her on your breast?” Jodi asks as she follows Flora down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Flora grabs the pitcher of pumped milk from the fridge and assembles a bottle. As she sticks it into the warmer, she takes a deep breath to keep herself from unraveling.
“Mom. I told you. Nursing didn’t work for me.”
“I just don’t understand that,” Jodi says, wrestling Iris into the nearby baby swing. “How does it not work? Breastfeeding was the most natural thing in the world for me.”
“Well, gold star for you, then.” Flora stares hard at the warmer’s timer as it clicks down. The hot water swirls around the bottle.
“It just seems cruel to make her wait,” Jodi says. “And isn’t the bond with nursing important? I felt so connected to you when I breastfed.”
Jesus Mom I fucking get it I feel shitty enough about this as it is
“Yeah, I don’t know. I worried about that, too. But. You know. My nipples were infected. Literally infected, so.”
The timer still has two minutes left on it, but Flora pulls the bottle out to feel the sides. Warm enough. She’s more in a rush to shut up Jodi than the screaming baby.
She leads Jodi to the living room, drops a burp cloth on her lap, and turns quickly back toward the swing. Iris is now red in the face. Flora grips her strongly, then lifts and places the baby into her mother’s lap. Iris immediately takes the bottle, her face pruning into a tight contraction as she sucks with so much force that she has to pull off and cough within only a few seconds.
Jodi coos, “I know, sweetie, you were so hungry, weren’t you? You shouldn’t have to wait, I agree.” The words are obviously directed at Flora.
Flora collapses into the neighboring love seat and takes out her phone, where she’s immediately pulled into a deep rabbit hole of cybersecurity and hacking horror stories. Her stomach twists with repulsion and fury. Some man somewhere in the world has been watching her baby daughter sleep, has been whispering things to her. Has Iris already internalized his words on some deep subconscious level? Is she already traumatized? This perfect, untouched creature already wounded by the world—and all while her mother was under the same roof, tricked into believing she had been keeping her daughter safe.
“I wonder if we need to disconnect the Wi-Fi,” Flora says, and Jodi looks up as if she had forgotten Flora was in the room. “It looks like since that guy was able to hack into the system, other people could, too, so we need to reset things—passwords, something about IP addresses. I don’t really know.”
“Whatever you think,” Jodi says, her attention back on Iris.
“I’m asking what you think,” Flora says, annoyed. “Connor usually deals with this stuff.”
“So just turn it off until he gets home. We can go without internet for a few days.”
Flora’s gut flutters. “Can we, though?”
She thinks of all the times she has asked Mother Google for advice. The 5G signal is weak here at the house; she won’t be able to browse the internet without Wi-Fi. What if Iris spikes a fever? What if her poop suddenly changes color? Flora hastily takes screenshots of various feeding charts and sleep cycle diagrams as insurance.
“Yes, Flora, we’ll be fine. Although”—Jodi looks up and smiles—“we might have to buy our own groceries.”
“Mom, this isn’t funny. I’m kinda freaking out,” Flora says.
“Okay, then, don’t turn off the internet. I thought you wanted to. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here, Flora.” Then, quieter and more playfully to Iris, “I never know what I’m supposed to say, do I?”
Flora sighs audibly. “Never mind, I’ll figure it out, it’ll be fine.”
She heads for the cabinet that houses the router when another thought emerges: she should try to call Connor one more time. Once the Wi-Fi is off, he won’t be able to reach her.
“I’m just gonna call Connor and let him know. So he doesn’t worry,” she says to Jodi, who continues to stare at Iris. Flora doubts her mother has heard her.
In fact, it is becoming increasingly apparent that Jodi would be content if Flora wasn’t here at all.
19
As Flora boots up the video-calling app, she notes the time. It’s not even noon. How is that possible? The days get longer and longer.
She used to wish for more hours. Back when she was working at the hospital, she used to curse the clock for moving so quickly. How would she ever get caught up with all the test results and patient calls and internal emails? Even her remote research job quickly ate up the hours of the day, despite its tendency toward the mundane. But now the days drag imperceptibly slowly, and although she has a mountain of housework to get done, she is usually chained to a small human who renders her immobile. So the days are not only long but also unproductive. It’s a deadly combination.
The video turns on and Flora’s face pops on to the screen. It’s a shocking sight. Her hair is thinning around her face, and the spaces beneath her eyes sink farther inward every day. Even her lips, which are cracked in two places, have lost their color.
She makes a feeble attempt to improve her appearance: pinching her cheeks, licking her lips, fastening her baby hairs down behind her ears. But it’s useless. She decides, instead, to apply a filter through the app and play it off as a joke with her husband if he notices.
The ringing tone goes on for almost a minute without an answer. Flora immediately tries again, but she knows the chances are slim that Connor is available to talk. Usually, he’s the one to initiate the calls. She doesn’t even know what time zone he’s in.
Flora opts to leave him a video message that he can view next time he’s at the computer. She tells him about the monitor being hacked and having to switch off the Wi-Fi. She also tells him about the falling leaves on her walk, the bloody clog she pumped out, and Wanda’s hard-to-digest enthusiasm and newly trimmed (unflattering) bangs.
She does not mention her mother.
She almost does; she considers it, almost allows it to slip out while recounting the walk in the woods, but she stops herself. Connor would be upset—frantic, even—if he knew Jodi was here. He never trusted Jodi, but the wedding was the final straw.
They were married at a farm in central Virginia, not far from where Connor spent his childhood. The wedding itself felt like a huge family affair, since many of the vendors were Connor’s friends. Flora loved it. She had always dreamed of having a big family. Both she and Connor were only children, but Connor grew up in a small town with tons of neighbors. It was like having a dozen cousins just down the street. Flora’s family never extended beyond their tiny threesome.
Flora knew her mother probably thought the whole home-grown-wedding vibe was tacky. And Jodi said nothing to correct that assumption. In fact, she spent most of the day sulking. At one point just before the ceremony, Flora spotted her mom at the edge of the property looking out at the approaching storm clouds. Her shawl blew behind her in the warm summer breeze, and she held her arms close to her chest. There was a heavy sadness about her, and Flora was drawn to her by an invisible string. She joined her mom by the rotting yet charming log fence and placed her hand gently on Jodi’s lower back. Jodi turned and smiled the saddest smile Flora had ever seen. There was no joy in her eyes.
Flora was then whisked away for the ceremony. Just after she and Connor exchanged vows, the rain started. The wedding party grabbed umbrellas and held them over the bride’s and groom’s heads as everyone dispersed and ran into the barn, laughing and skipping through the torrential downpour.
It was perfect.
Throughout the reception, whenever Flora caught her mother’s gaze across the room, it was full of grief and sadness. A small smile would spread across Jodi’s lips, as if she were saying I’m so sorry. Finally, when a bus arrived to take the first wave of guests home, Flora couldn’t take it anymore. Her mom shouldn’t get to ruin this day. She shouldn’t get to be all mysterious and sad and lurk in the shadows as a punishing reminder that Flora would always be part of a small, fucked-up family and would never really fit in with this boisterous, huge, loving family of friends to which Connor belonged.
Flora found her mom outside. The rain had stopped during the reception, and Jodi was standing near a puddle attempting to wipe mud from the bottom of her shoe.
“What’s going on?” Flora asked, suddenly catapulted by vigorous energy. “What has been so horrible about this day that you haven’t been able to smile once?”
“What are you talking about?” Jodi said, looking around to see if anyone could hear them. “I haven’t said a word.”
“You don’t have to,” Flora said. “That’s the point. It’s in your face. You’re clearly upset about something, and you obviously want me to ask. Because, of course, you just can’t stand that this day is about me so you’ve got to make it about you—”
“I’m tired, Flora. I’m getting on the bus.”
Flora could have left it at that, could have shrugged and walked away, but something about her beautiful white dress and the sparkly lights and the champagne bubbles in her head gave her the confidence she needed to let it all out.
“You spent this entire day wanting to leave! Counting down the minutes until you’re free.”
“I did not—”
“And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since that’s how you’ve been my whole life. Always waiting. Waiting to be done with the pesky task of mothering.”
“I don’t know where this is coming from,” Jodi said, looking down to fiddle with her shawl.
“Oh, Mom,” Flora retorted with a bite in her tone, “you clearly never wanted to be a mother. It’s so obvious. You always acted like you had to give something up to be my mom, some grand life.” Flora gestured wildly with her arms, as if finally breaking free from the ropes of her mother. “I don’t know what I did to make you so miserable, but you know what? Go. Do what you’ve always wanted to do: leave. I don’t care anymore. I can’t. I don’t have the energy it takes to be enough for you or to prove to you that I’m worth it. So just go!”
Jodi stared at her daughter. She reached out and took Flora’s hand, the first time that entire day she showed any sign of compassion. Her eyes softened, and the moment was intimate. It was what Flora had craved since that morning, since putting on her wedding dress and walking down the aisle and becoming a wife.
“Okay, Flora,” her mother said. She reached up and lovingly wiped a stray hair from Flora’s face. “If that’s what you want.”
And then she left.
Flora doesn’t blame Connor for being protective. And normally, she appreciates his efforts to act as a buffer between her and Jodi.
But telling him that her mother is here would only worry him. And, perhaps even more importantly, she doesn’t want him to tarnish whatever connection she and her mother are miraculously managing to salvage.
Flora can feel it: this time is special. She asked for help, and her mom delivered. She showed up.
This time is different.
20
After Flora finishes her video message to Connor and triple-checks that the Wi-Fi is disconnected, she makes her way downstairs. She has a sudden craving for a crisp BLT on toasted sourdough, but she knows none of those ingredients are in the house.
Her mother is no longer in the living room when Flora returns, and Iris’s bassinet is empty. Flora’s body jumps to high alert. Where could they have gone? She writes an epic narrative within the span of a few seconds that involves her mother kidnapping her baby, Flora hiring a private investigator, and Iris being found years later living under another name in a different country.
Then she hears a clattering noise from the garage.
Flora finds Jodi rifling through a couple of boxes in the far corner. Iris lounges content in a bouncer nearby.
“What happened here?” Jodi asks as Flora enters. She’s pointing to the destroyed activity cube.
“Oh, uh—” Flora is supremely self-conscious. Her fingers automatically find the wound on her forearm and graze the fresh bandage she switched out this morning.
But Jodi has already moved on. “I was thinking there were some old baby toys in one of these boxes I sent you when I moved.” She returns to the task, bent over a large cardboard box, her arms disappearing deep within its contents.
“I honestly haven’t looked through those in ages,” Flora says.
“Well, that much is obvious,” Jodi retorts.
Guilt pangs at Flora; her mother carefully packed those boxes years ago, assuming Flora would get use out of her old things. But Flora barely took inventory of them before placing them in storage. That guilt, though, is quickly followed by annoyance; her mother knows Flora doesn’t like to collect stuff, and yet she shipped it on over when it was no longer convenient for Jodi to keep around.
