The Rosie Effect
Page 50
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I could have added that I had made no major recommendations about food or exercise or study since the Anniversary Meal, which represented a high point in our relationship. Why was Rosie becoming upset now?
‘I get that you were trying to help,’ she said. ‘I really do. But let’s get this straight: my body, my work, my problems. I’m not going to get smashed, I won’t eat salami and I’ll get there my own way.’
She walked towards her study and indicated that I should follow. From her bag, she retrieved The Book.
‘This the book you’ve been reading?’ she asked.
‘Obviously.’ I hadn’t noticed it missing.
‘You could have saved yourself a few bucks and taken my copy. It’s a bit basic for me. I’m onto it, Don.’
‘You require zero assistance?’
‘Keep doing what you were doing. Go to work, eat cow, get drunk with Gene. Stop worrying. We’re doing okay.’
I should have been pleased with the outcome. I was relieved of responsibility at a time when I had plenty of other things to worry about. But I had been working hard at building empathy for Rosie and now I had a vague sense that despite her words she was not happy with me.
Her solution to the diet issue—in fact all pregnancy issues that I had seen as joint projects—was to proceed alone. At least I had clear direction for the follow-up meeting with Lydia.
‘You’re over-functioning,’ said Gene. ‘You know what my doctor said about that book you’ve been reading? “Give it to someone you hate.” All that obsessing, and the difference you make to the outcome is negligible compared to the big game.’
It was our second boys’ night out in five days, encouraged by the proximity of George’s baseball-watching and drinking facility. Rosie had not objected.
‘And the big game is?’ said George.
‘You’ve heard me before,’ said Gene. ‘Genes are destiny. You guys made your biggest contribution when you supplied a bit of your DNA.’
It was obvious Dave disagreed. ‘All the books say that genes are just a start; parenting makes a big difference,’ he said.
Gene smiled. ‘They would say that. Otherwise no one would buy books on parenting.’
‘You said so yourself. Kids pick up behaviour from their parents.’
‘Only what’s left over after the genes have done their work,’ said Gene. ‘Let me give you an example from a field in which I have some expertise. Your wife is of Italian extraction?’
‘Grandparents. She was born here.’
‘Perfect. Italian genes, American upbringing. Now, I’m going to predict that she has a histrionic personality. A bit loud, a bit flamboyant, a bit of an actress. Panics under pressure, hysterical in an emergency.’
Dave didn’t say anything.
‘Ask a psychologist about cultural stereotypes and they’ll tell you it’s all nurture,’ said Gene. ‘Culture.’
‘Correct,’ I said. ‘Evolution of behavioural traits is far slower than the formation of geographic groups.’
‘Except for selective breeding. A certain trait becomes sexually attractive for genetic or cultural reasons, doesn’t matter which, and people with that trait breed more. Italian men love histrionic women. Ergo, the histrionic gene takes over. Your wife’s personality was programmed before she was born.’
Dave shook his head. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. Sonia’s an accountant. Completely level-headed.’
‘I don’t think I can do this. It isn’t making sense. It’s the opposite of what I told her before.’ Sonia was becoming increasingly agitated as our appointment with Lydia approached. She seemed to be having difficulty discarding her own personality.
‘It’s simple. You need to say you made an error; that you don’t want any help.’
‘You think she’s going to believe that?’ said Sonia.
‘It’s the truth. Assuming you’re Rosie.’
‘If you knew how desperate I am for Dave to just take an interest. Five years we tried and now it’s like he doesn’t want it.’
‘Possibly he’s too busy working. Providing financial support.’
‘You know something? On their deathbed, nobody ever wishes they’d spent more time at the office.’
It was difficult to see how Sonia’s statement contributed to the discussion. Dave was not dying, nor did he work in an office. I brought the conversation back on track.
‘As you caused the problem last time, and since I am more familiar with Rosie’s position, I propose that I provide the necessary information to Lydia and you merely confirm its accuracy.’
‘I don’t want to be too passive or she’ll think you’re oppressing me. She’s already got it in her head that I’m some sort of peasant girl.’
It seemed a reasonable conclusion on Lydia’s part, given the dress and the accent. Today Sonia was wearing a conventional suit, as she had come from work. It struck me as equally uncharacteristic of medical students.
‘Excellent point. Probably you should be like Rosie—angry that I tried to control her.’
‘Rosie was angry?’
Now that I had said the word, I realised it was true. I did not need to be an expert at interpreting body language to realise that ‘Fuck people telling me what to eat’ was an aggressive statement.
‘Correct.’
‘I get that you were trying to help,’ she said. ‘I really do. But let’s get this straight: my body, my work, my problems. I’m not going to get smashed, I won’t eat salami and I’ll get there my own way.’
She walked towards her study and indicated that I should follow. From her bag, she retrieved The Book.
‘This the book you’ve been reading?’ she asked.
‘Obviously.’ I hadn’t noticed it missing.
‘You could have saved yourself a few bucks and taken my copy. It’s a bit basic for me. I’m onto it, Don.’
‘You require zero assistance?’
‘Keep doing what you were doing. Go to work, eat cow, get drunk with Gene. Stop worrying. We’re doing okay.’
I should have been pleased with the outcome. I was relieved of responsibility at a time when I had plenty of other things to worry about. But I had been working hard at building empathy for Rosie and now I had a vague sense that despite her words she was not happy with me.
Her solution to the diet issue—in fact all pregnancy issues that I had seen as joint projects—was to proceed alone. At least I had clear direction for the follow-up meeting with Lydia.
‘You’re over-functioning,’ said Gene. ‘You know what my doctor said about that book you’ve been reading? “Give it to someone you hate.” All that obsessing, and the difference you make to the outcome is negligible compared to the big game.’
It was our second boys’ night out in five days, encouraged by the proximity of George’s baseball-watching and drinking facility. Rosie had not objected.
‘And the big game is?’ said George.
‘You’ve heard me before,’ said Gene. ‘Genes are destiny. You guys made your biggest contribution when you supplied a bit of your DNA.’
It was obvious Dave disagreed. ‘All the books say that genes are just a start; parenting makes a big difference,’ he said.
Gene smiled. ‘They would say that. Otherwise no one would buy books on parenting.’
‘You said so yourself. Kids pick up behaviour from their parents.’
‘Only what’s left over after the genes have done their work,’ said Gene. ‘Let me give you an example from a field in which I have some expertise. Your wife is of Italian extraction?’
‘Grandparents. She was born here.’
‘Perfect. Italian genes, American upbringing. Now, I’m going to predict that she has a histrionic personality. A bit loud, a bit flamboyant, a bit of an actress. Panics under pressure, hysterical in an emergency.’
Dave didn’t say anything.
‘Ask a psychologist about cultural stereotypes and they’ll tell you it’s all nurture,’ said Gene. ‘Culture.’
‘Correct,’ I said. ‘Evolution of behavioural traits is far slower than the formation of geographic groups.’
‘Except for selective breeding. A certain trait becomes sexually attractive for genetic or cultural reasons, doesn’t matter which, and people with that trait breed more. Italian men love histrionic women. Ergo, the histrionic gene takes over. Your wife’s personality was programmed before she was born.’
Dave shook his head. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. Sonia’s an accountant. Completely level-headed.’
‘I don’t think I can do this. It isn’t making sense. It’s the opposite of what I told her before.’ Sonia was becoming increasingly agitated as our appointment with Lydia approached. She seemed to be having difficulty discarding her own personality.
‘It’s simple. You need to say you made an error; that you don’t want any help.’
‘You think she’s going to believe that?’ said Sonia.
‘It’s the truth. Assuming you’re Rosie.’
‘If you knew how desperate I am for Dave to just take an interest. Five years we tried and now it’s like he doesn’t want it.’
‘Possibly he’s too busy working. Providing financial support.’
‘You know something? On their deathbed, nobody ever wishes they’d spent more time at the office.’
It was difficult to see how Sonia’s statement contributed to the discussion. Dave was not dying, nor did he work in an office. I brought the conversation back on track.
‘As you caused the problem last time, and since I am more familiar with Rosie’s position, I propose that I provide the necessary information to Lydia and you merely confirm its accuracy.’
‘I don’t want to be too passive or she’ll think you’re oppressing me. She’s already got it in her head that I’m some sort of peasant girl.’
It seemed a reasonable conclusion on Lydia’s part, given the dress and the accent. Today Sonia was wearing a conventional suit, as she had come from work. It struck me as equally uncharacteristic of medical students.
‘Excellent point. Probably you should be like Rosie—angry that I tried to control her.’
‘Rosie was angry?’
Now that I had said the word, I realised it was true. I did not need to be an expert at interpreting body language to realise that ‘Fuck people telling me what to eat’ was an aggressive statement.
‘Correct.’
