Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides [213]
“I’ll need to run further tests,” Luce was continuing. “I’ll need to perform a complete psychological assessment. Once I have the necessary information, then we can discuss in detail the proper course of treatment.”
Milton was already nodding. “What kind of time line are we talking about, Doctor?”
Luce jutted out a thoughtful lower lip. “I want to redo the lab tests, just to be sure. Those results will be back tomorrow. The psychological evaluation will take longer. I’ll need to see your child every day for at least a week, maybe two. Also it would be helpful if you could give me any childhood photographs or family movies you might have.”
Milton turned to Tessie. “When does Callie start school?”
Tessie didn’t hear him. She was distracted by Luce’s phrase: “your child.”
“What kind of information are you trying to get, Doctor?” Tessie asked.
“The blood tests will tell us hormone levels. The psychological assessment is routine in cases like this.”
“You think it’s some kind of hormone thing?” Milton asked. “A hormone imbalance?”
“We’ll know after I’ve had time to do what I need to do,” said Luce.
Milton stood up and shook hands with the doctor. The consultation was over.
Keep in mind: neither Milton nor Tessie had seen me undressed for years. How were they to know? And not knowing, how could they imagine? The information available to them was all secondary stuff—my husky voice, my flat chest—but these things were far from persuasive. A hormonal thing. It could have been no more serious than that. So my father believed, or wanted to believe, and so he tried to convince Tessie.
I had my own resistance. “Why does he have to do a psychological evaluation?” I asked. “It’s not like I’m crazy.”
“The doctor said it was routine.”
“But why?”
With this question I had hit upon the crux of the matter. My mother has since told me that she intuited the real reason for the psychological assessment, but chose not to dwell on it. Or, rather, didn’t choose. Let Milton choose for her. Milton preferred to treat the problem pragmatically. There was no sense in worrying about a psychological assessment that could only confirm what was obvious: that I was a normal, well-adjusted girl. “He probably bills the insurance extra for the psychological stuff,” Milton said. “Sorry, Cal, but you’ll have to put up with it. Maybe he can cure your neuroses. Got any neuroses? Now’s your time to let ‘em out.” He put his arms around me, squeezed hard, and roughly kissed the side of my head.
Milton was so convinced that everything was going to be okay that on Tuesday morning he flew down to Florida on business. “No sense cooling my heels in this hotel,” he told us.
“You just want to get out of this pit,” I said.
“I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you and your mother go out for a fancy dinner tonight. Anyplace you want. We’re saving a couple bucks on this room, so you gals can splurge. Why don’t you take Callie to Delmonico’s, Tess.”
“What’s Delmonico’s?” I asked.
“It’s a steak joint.”
“I want lobster. And baked Alaska,” I said.
“Baked Alaska! Maybe they have that, too.”
Milton left, and my mother and I tried to spend his money. We went shopping at Bloomingdale’s. We had high tea at the Plaza. We never made it to Delmonico’s, preferring a moderately priced Italian restaurant near the Lochmoor, where we felt more comfortable. We ate there every night, doing our best to pretend we were on a real trip, a vacation. Tessie drank more wine than usual and got tipsy, and when she went to the bathroom I drank her wine myself.
Normally the most expressive thing about my mother’s face was the gap between her front teeth. When she was listening to me, Tessie’s tongue often pressed against that divot, that gate. This was the signal of her attention. My mother always paid great attention to whatever I said. And if I told her something funny, then her tongue dropped away, her head fell back, her mouth opened wide, and there were her front teeth, riven and ascendant.
Every night at the Italian restaurant I tried to make this