The Rosie Effect

15

‘I’ll let you guys have a romantic dinner alone,’ said Gene when I went to his office after completing my scheduled work the following Tuesday. ‘I’ve got a date.’

I had been expecting him to travel home with me on the subway to provide intellectual stimulation. Now I would have to download a paper to read. More seriously, Inge had left early to prepare for dinner at an upscale restaurant. I detected a pattern.

‘You’re having dinner with Inge?’

‘Very perceptive. She’s delightful company.’

‘I’ve scheduled dinner for you at our apartment.’

‘I’m sure Rosie won’t miss me.’

‘Inge is extremely young. Inappropriately young.’

‘She’s over twenty-one. She can drink and vote and associate with unattached men. You’re in danger of being ageist, Don.’

‘You should be thinking about Claudia. Fixing the problem of your promiscuity.’

‘I’m not promiscuous. I’m only seeing one woman.’ Gene smiled. ‘Worry about your own problems.’

Gene was right. Rosie was pleased with his absence. When we got married, I had assumed I would have to spend uncomfortable amounts of time in the presence of another person. In fact, much of our time was spent apart, due to work and study, and our time together (excluding periods in bed when at least one of us—usually me—was asleep) was now frequently shared with Gene. Dedicated contact with Rosie had now fallen well below the optimum level.

There was one encouraging item in The Book, which I had chosen not to raise in the presence of Gene.

‘Have you noticed an increase in libido?’ I asked.

‘Have you?’

‘An increase in sexual appetite is not uncommon in the first trimester. I was wondering whether you were affected.’

‘You’re hilarious. I guess if I wasn’t throwing up or feeling like shit…’

It struck me that our practice of having sex in the mornings rather than the evenings was contributing to the problem.

After dinner, Rosie headed for her study to work on her thesis. On average, she was devoting ninety-five minutes to this pre-bed session, although the variance was high. After eighty minutes, I made her a cup of fruit infusion, which I accompanied with some fresh blueberries.

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

‘Not so bad. Except for the stats.’

‘There’s a lot of ugly things in this world. I wish I could keep them all away from you,’ I said. Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch in supportive mode. It was probably my most effective line. Opportunities to impersonate Gregory Peck had been significantly reduced by Gene’s presence.

Rosie stood up. ‘Good timing. I think I’ve had enough of ugly things for tonight.’ She put her arms around me and kissed me in passionate mode rather than greetings mode.

We were interrupted by a familiar noise from an unfamiliar location: someone was calling Gene on Skype. I was not sure of the rules for answering another person’s VoIP communication, but perhaps it was Claudia with an emergency. Or a proposal for reconciliation.

I entered Gene’s bedroom and saw Eugenie’s face on the screen. Gene and Claudia’s daughter is nine years old. I had not spoken to her since we moved to New York. I clicked on Answer with video.

‘Dad?’ Eugenie’s voice was clear and loud.

‘Greetings! It’s Don.’

Eugenie laughed. ‘I can tell from your face. I could have told from you saying greetings.’

‘Your father is out.’

‘What are you doing at his house?’

‘It’s my apartment. We’re sharing. Like students.’

‘That’s so cool. Were you and my dad friends at school?’

‘No.’ Gene is sixteen years older than I am and would not have belonged to my social group if we had been contemporaries. Gene would have been dating girls, playing sport and soliciting votes for school captain.

‘Hey Don.’

‘Hey Eugenie.’

‘When do you think Dad will come home?’

‘His sabbatical is six months. Hence, technically December 24, but the semester ends on December 20.’

‘It’s a long time.’

‘Four months and fourteen days.’

‘Hey, move your head, Don.’

I looked at the small image of my face in the corner of the monitor and realised that Rosie had walked into the room behind me. I moved to one side and expanded the image. Rosie was wearing her one item of impractical nightwear. It was her equivalent of a blueberry muffin, although it was black rather than white with blue spots. She did a little dance and Eugenie called out to her.

‘Hey Rosie, hi.’

‘Can she see me?’ said Rosie.

‘Yep,’ said Eugenie. ‘You’re wearing a—’

‘I believe you,’ said Rosie, laughing, and left the room, waving to me from the doorway. Eugenie resumed our conversation but I was now distracted.

‘Does Dad want to come home?’

‘Of course! He misses everyone.’

‘Even Mum? Does he say that?’

‘Of course. I should go to bed. It’s late here.’

‘Mum says he needs to sort some things out. Is he?’

‘He’s making excellent progress. We have a men’s group as recommended in my book on pregnancy, consisting of a refrigeration engineer, your father, a rock star and me. I’ll give you a progress report in a few days.’

‘You’re so funny. You haven’t really got a rock star… Hey, why are you reading a book on pregnancy?’

‘To assist Rosie with production of our baby.’

‘You’re having a baby? Mum didn’t tell me.’

‘Probably because she doesn’t know.’

‘It’s a secret?’

‘No, but I saw no use in giving her the information. She’s not required to take any action.’

‘Mum! Mum! Don and Rosie are having a baby!’

Claudia pushed Eugenie out of the way, which seemed rude, and it was now obvious that the conversation would continue. I wanted to talk to Claudia, but not now and not with Eugenie present.

‘Don, that’s wonderful news. How do you feel?’

‘Excited, end of story,’ I said, combining Gene’s recommended answer with the conversation terminator I had learned from Rosie.

Claudia ignored my signal. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she repeated. ‘Where’s Rosie?’

‘In bed. Possibly not sleeping due to my absence. It’s extremely late.’

‘Oh, sorry. Well, please pass on my congratulations. When is she due?’

After conducting an interrogation on pregnancy-related topics, Claudia said, ‘So Gene’s out, is he? He’d promised to talk to Eugenie. Where is he?’

‘I don’t know.’ I clicked the video off.

‘I’ve lost your face, Don.’

‘Some technical issue.’

‘I see. Or I don’t see. Well, doing whatever he’s doing isn’t going to solve Eugenie’s science problem.’

‘I’m an expert at science problems.’

‘And also a decent person. Are you sure you’ve got time?’

‘When does it need to be completed?’

‘She was very anxious to get it done tonight. But if you have other things…’

It would take less time to answer a primary-school science question than to negotiate an alternative arrangement with Claudia.

‘Proceed.’

Eugenie returned and I restored the video. Eugenie turned it off again.

‘What’s the science problem?’ I asked.

‘There’s no science problem. I just told Mum that. Like I’d have a science problem. Face-palm.’

‘Face-palm?’

‘Like der. I’m top of the class in science. And maths.’

‘Can you do calculus?’

‘Not yet.’

‘So you’re probably not a genius. Excellent.’

‘Why excellent? I thought it was good to be smart.’

‘I recommend being smart but not a genius. Unless the only thing you care about is numbers. Professional mathematicians are usually socially inept.’

‘Maybe that’s why everyone is saying mean things about me on Facebook.’

‘Everyone?’

She laughed. ‘No, just lots of kids.’

‘Can you construct some sort of filter?’

‘I can block them. I kind of don’t want to. I want to see what they say. They’re still kind of my friends. I’m sounding stupid, right?’

‘No. It’s normal to want information. It’s normal to want to be liked. Is there any threat of violence?’

‘Nah. They just say stupid things.’

‘Probably a result of being stupid. Highly intelligent people are often bullied. As a result of being different. That difference being high intelligence.’ I was conscious of not sounding highly intelligent.

‘Did you get bullied? I bet you did.’

‘You would win the bet. Initially violently, until I learned martial arts. Then more subtly. Fortunately I am not a subtle person, so once the violence stopped, things were much better.’

We talked for fifty-eight minutes, including the initial conversation and the Claudia interaction, exchanging information about bullying experiences. I could not see any obvious solution to her problem, but if her distress was at the level I had experienced as a child, I was obliged to offer any knowledge that might assist.

In the end, she said, ‘I have to go to horseriding. You’re the smartest person I know.’ In terms of intelligence quotient, she was probably right. In terms of knowledge of practical psychology, she was wrong.

‘I would not rely on my advice.’

‘You didn’t give me any. I just liked talking to you. Can we do this again?’

‘Of course.’ I had also enjoyed the conversation. Except for thinking about the alternative activity in the adjacent room.

I terminated the connection. As I was leaving Gene’s room, the computer beeped with a text message: Good night. I <3 you, Don.

Rosie was barely awake when I joined her in bed.

‘Sounds like you had a nice chat,’ she said.

‘To begin with, this case should never have come to trial,’ I said, Atticus Finch defending the innocent Tom Robinson, scapegoated because of a minor genetic difference.

Rosie smiled. ‘Sorry, Mr Peck, I’m stuffed. Good night.’

Although I had described the group of males with whom I had recently watched baseball and eaten hamburgers as a men’s group, my suggestion that we formalise it was not well received by George.

‘I’m already in one,’ he said. ‘It’s ruined my life.’

‘Obviously, you should leave it. Join a more suitable one.’

‘Ah, but it made my life, too. I owe it.’ I realised he was talking about the Dead Kings.

‘You don’t want to watch the ballgame with us? And converse on non-baseball topics between innings?’

‘That’s fine by me. Just no beating drums. I get enough of that at work. Are Casanova and the big guy coming?’

I mentally mapped the two descriptions to Gene and Dave and answered after only a brief pause. ‘Correct.’

‘I’ll get my drinking shoes on.’