The Rosie Effect

by Graeme Simsion

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Rosie. ‘We need to call Dave. I was so caught up in not screwing up, I forgot about Dave.’

  ‘Dave?’ said Lydia to me. ‘There’s another Dave? Your father? I thought he was another Don.’

  ‘I’ve called Dave,’ I said.

  ‘This is getting surreal,’ said Gene. ‘Now we’re relying on Don to look after the people issues.’

  We were becoming distracted. Distractions were everywhere. Text messages, Lydia consulting her watch, Gene responding to Lydia consulting her watch.

  ‘Do you have to be somewhere?’ he said to Lydia.

  ‘Not really, but I have to eat. I feel like this is going to take a while.’

  ‘I’ll order pizza,’ said Gene.

  While Gene was on the phone, there was a knock. It was the young journalist and the photographer who had been interviewing the Dead Kings: Sally and Enzo.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Sally. ‘We just wanted to check that everything was okay with the lady who went to hospital. And…it seems there’s a story here, if you’d like to share it.’

  ‘Not if it means Don going through it again,’ said Gene, who had rejoined us. He paused. ‘I suppose I’m here all night anyway. I’ll get some pizza for you guys too.’

  ‘We won’t be that long,’ said Sally.

  ‘That’s what you think,’ said Gene. ‘Family-size margheritas and pepperonis to share?’

  Sally the journalist was obsessed with the details of the Sonia Emergency, whereas I remembered Rosie’s and B1’s concern about misreporting of the Lesbian Mothers Project. I considered it vastly more important for their readers to have information about important research than an isolated instance of a pregnancy complication. Although I did my best to relate both stories accurately, while accommodating Sally’s frequent requests to omit detail, I suspected she did not achieve a full understanding of events. Rosie spent most of the time on the phone.

  After Sally and Enzo left, I resumed the conversation with Lydia, Rosie and Gene. I had classified it as very important, but not so urgent as to require refusing the press interview. I was having to perform some real-time schedule adjustment to maintain sanity.

  ‘I’ve been trying to reach Dave,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To find out what’s happened with Sonia and the baby, that’s why.’

  ‘Emergency caesarean, as predicted. No permanent damage to either party.’

  ‘What? How do you know?’

  ‘Text message from Dave 138 minutes ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  I explained about priorities. Now I could resume the explanation of the therapy deception.

  ‘Boy or girl?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Male, I think.’ I checked my message. ‘No, female.’ It was a detail that could have waited. It would be years before the difference was important.

  ‘Wait,’ said Lydia. ‘Why did Sonia do all this for you? She could have gotten herself in a lot of trouble. She still could.’ The last statement was obviously a threat, but even I could see that Lydia lacked conviction.

  ‘She said it was in compensation for assistance that I gave to Dave. I did some work that was necessary to prevent his business failing. In fact, it was necessary but not sufficient. Dave’s filing and computer systems were also inadequate. His invoice generation procedure—’

  Rosie interrupted. ‘Dave’s business is in trouble?’

  ‘Was. I’ve now rectified all problems. Except the lack of time for administration. I sourced a Hewlett Packard four-in-one and reconfigured—’

  It was Gene’s turn to interrupt. ‘Dave’s filing system is all very interesting but can we focus on the Number One priority: Don’s got it into his head that he’s not going to make it as a father. That Rosie’s better off without him. And Rosie’s picked up on that and thinks he doesn’t want to be a father. That’s crap. Don can do whatever he puts his mind to. Am I right, Lydia?’

  ‘Technically, I’m sure he can,’ said Lydia. ‘My concern was about him understanding others’ needs and being supportive.’

  ‘Like understanding that his friend’s business is failing and that if it happens everything is going to come tumbling down, marriage and all? And then fixing it?’

  ‘I’m talking about emotional—’

  ‘I only provide practical advice,’ I said. ‘I avoid emotional issues.’

  ‘I try not to provide advice at all,’ said Lydia. ‘This is something you have to work out for yourselves.’

  ‘Not so fast, Lydia,’ said Gene. ‘Don left Rosie because you told him he was bad for her. He made a life-changing decision based on your advice.’

  ‘In response to a fictitious scenario. An accountant pretending to be an Italian peasant girl pretending to be an Australian medical student.’

  I corrected Lydia’s oversimplified scenario. ‘You assessed me as unsuitable prior to meeting Sonia.’

  She spoke to Gene. ‘I was concerned. I’d met Don before. Over lunch.’

  Rosie stood up. I recognised anger. ‘You had lunch with Don? And then saw him as a patient? When did you have lunch with him?’

  ‘With my friend, Judy Esler.’

  ‘My friend Judy Esler. At the Japanese fusion place in Tribeca? So you’re the bitch from hell who diagnoses autism at twenty paces? Fuck.’

  ‘Judy called me that?’

  Lydia stood up, then Gene stood up and put one hand on Rosie’s shoulder and the other on Lydia’s. ‘Let’s hear Lydia out first. She’s not the only one who overstepped the mark.’

  Lydia sat down. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I was out of line at lunch. Don got under my skin. I stayed involved because I felt for Rosie…Sonia…because I felt sorry for any woman having a baby with a man who wasn’t connected.’

  Rosie sat down too.

  ‘After all this,’ Lydia continued, ‘I’m not concerned with Rosie becoming psychotic or depressed and nobody noticing. If you’d told me you had an eminent professor of psychology, a trained observer, living in the house’—she smiled at Gene and Gene smiled back—‘I would have let it go.’

  It seemed that the problem was solved. But Lydia had not finished.

  ‘I’m not Don’s therapist. But you two are going to have some challenges. I don’t think Don’s dangerous, and I’m sure he’s done many good things for his friends, but he’s—’

  I saved Lydia the problem of finding tactful words. ‘Not exactly average.’

  She laughed. ‘Good luck working it out. You’re both smart people but parenting isn’t easy for anyone. And forget any of that evolutionary-psychology crap that idiot friend of yours told you.’

  The evolutionary-psychology crap was presumably the information I had shared about sexual compatibility on the day of the Bluefin Tuna Incident.

  ‘How are you getting home?’ said the person Lydia had just called my idiot friend.

  ‘I’ll get the subway.’

  ‘I’ll come for the walk,’ said Gene. ‘Sou
nds like we have a common issue with these geneticists who think they’ve got human behaviour sewn up.’

  Rosie and I were left alone in the apartment. There was some pizza left over. I pulled out the cling wrap and Rosie moved to take it from me. I held on to it and in a practised motion—a very practised motion—I tore off a perfectly sized sheet and wrapped the pizza.

  Rosie watched. She had not spoken since identifying Lydia as someone that Judy Esler had criticised.

  ‘You don’t have to go back to Dave’s tonight,’ she said. ‘But you know I’ve got a ticket home tomorrow, don’t you?’

  ‘Lydia’s assessment didn’t change your mind?’ I asked.

  ‘Did it change yours?’

  ‘My reason for leaving was that I was a net negative in your life. Based primarily on Lydia’s evaluation of me as an unsuitable father.’

  ‘Don, she’s wrong. It’s the opposite. You’re probably the world’s greatest father. For the right partner. You know everything. You know about diet and exercise and what pram to buy. You know stuff about prolapsed cords that I don’t even know as a medical student. We’d be arguing all the time and you’d be right all the time. As you always are.’

  ‘Incorrect. I—’

  ‘Don’t give me your counter-example. I’m sure you’ve been wrong once. I’m speaking broadly. I want to care for and love and bring up my baby without you telling me what to do. I don’t want to be just a pair of hands. Like I was tonight.’ Rosie stood up and walked around. ‘Or a part of your Baby Project. I just want to have a relationship with my baby that’s my own.’

  ‘You think my input would be in opposition to yours?’ Claudia had been right. Rosie wanted a perfect new relationship without interference.

  Rosie walked to the kitchen and activated the kettle. The hot-chocolate cycle was commencing for the night. I spent the time trying to construct an argument that would keep Rosie in New York. Approximately six minutes passed before she returned to the living-room zone.

  ‘Maybe we wouldn’t disagree on anything. That’d be a problem too. I have no other role now except to be a mother. And you’d just keep walking in and doing it better. Part-time. Trying not to be a fuck-up as a mother is hard enough without having a partner who reminds me every time I get it wrong.’

  ‘Maybe I can transfer my knowledge to you rather than apply it directly.’

  ‘No! Maybe I’m being too nice. I’m making you sound like Superdad, but there’s more to being a parent than theory. Babies need more than the nappy being folded the right way.’

  ‘You’re definitely going home? Without me?’

  ‘Don, I didn’t want to bring it up, but I told you: there’s someone else. It’s the hardest decision I’ve ever made. I did a spreadsheet.’

  34

  We slept in the same bed again, for what I expected would be the last time. Sex did not seem appropriate, especially considering the existence of ‘someone else’, and we were both extremely tired. I had vast amounts of confusing information to process, and I knew that there was no point beginning until my head was clear again. There was no longer any urgency. I would conduct a post-project review in due course.

  ‘I can’t face Dave and Sonia,’ Rosie said in the morning. ‘I’ll stay here. Judy’s picking me up at ten.’

  This was the second goodbye to Rosie, after my original departure for Dave’s. The research I had read earlier indicated that complicated separations generated more pain. My experience supported it.

  Rosie was packing up her study when I returned from my scheduled run. She looked extremely beautiful, as always, but her new shape contributed an additional dimension.

  ‘Is it still moving around?’ I asked.

  ‘I’d be worried if it wasn’t.’

  ‘I mean right now.’

  ‘Not right now. A few minutes ago.’

  I was conflicted. I knew, from talking to Dave, that someone who was exactly average would have wanted strongly to feel the baby under development ‘kicking’. I didn’t. There were three possible reasons:

  1. If it turned out to be a powerful emotional experience, I would be increasing the pain I would feel at Rosie leaving. If Dave or another average person was in the same circumstance, he might well have reached the same conclusion.

  2. I was still in some form of denial that an actual baby existed, relating back to the lack of planning. Feeling it move would act in opposition to that comfortable denial.

  3. My natural aversion to body contact with strangers. Rosie had slept with me the previous night, but there had been a definite change in our relationship.

  I knew that I might influence Rosie’s opinion of me if I acted differently, but the behaviour would be deceptive. Instead, I behaved with integrity—as myself.

  ‘Can I have a copy of your spreadsheet?’ I asked. My best chance was that she had made an error.

  Gene and I went to see Sonia in the hospital. He had not met Sonia prior to the previous evening, but his motivation made sense.

  ‘We’re there for Dave. Men hand out cigars because they need something to do. There’s stuff-all to do for the first six months. And don’t talk to me about bonding. If Dave’s expecting the baby to throw its arms around him and say “dada,” he’ll be waiting a while.’

  Gene’s advice was in line with what I had read. Males were advised to assist with domestic chores, work that could easily be subcontracted, particularly in a country which had a low minimum wage. Dave’s focus on working at his profession, earning a higher hourly income, was rational.

  ‘Where’s Rosie?’ asked Sonia as soon as we arrived. The baby was sleeping in a crib in a dormitory, while Sonia had a private room. Dave was due to arrive once he finished a job, but he had already viewed the baby. It had no apparent faults and its appearance would not change substantially on a day-to-day basis.

  ‘Unfortunately, no change in status. In fact, separation has been confirmed. Rosie is on her way home to Australia.’

  ‘No! Why? What you did for me—you guys were such a great team.’

  Sonia’s logic was faulty. According to it, professionals working on a common project would transition into permanent relationships. Obviously this happened sometimes, but it was insufficient in our case.

  The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a nurse carrying a baby, which I assumed was Sonia and Dave’s. I was well aware from the Antenatal Uproar that social convention took precedence over maximising immunity through the sharing of breast milk.

  Sonia commenced the nutrition and immunity-improving process.

  ‘So what happened?’ she said, once the baby was attached. ‘With you and Rosie? If it’s Lydia, I’m going to report her. Seriously.’

  Sonia was an accountant. She would understand the logic of decision-making. I took Rosie’s spreadsheet from my pocket and gave it to her. She held it with one hand while steadying the baby with the other. I was impressed with her proficiency after such a short period.

  ‘My God, you guys are both nuts,’ she said. ‘Which is why you should be together.’ She looked at the spreadsheet for a few more seconds. ‘What’s this about already purcha
sed the air ticket?’

  ‘Rosie’s ticket was non-refundable. She felt obliged not to waste the investment. It was obviously a factor in her decision to go home.’

  ‘You’d break up over the price of an air ticket? Anyway, she’s wrong. It’s the sunk-cost fallacy. You don’t take nonrecoupable costs into account in making investment decisions. What’s gone is gone.’

  Gene took the spreadsheet from her. ‘Strike the air ticket. Nice work, Sonia. Sometimes you need to speak to these guys in their own language.’

  He looked at the spreadsheet. ‘Rosie’s been lying to you.’

  ‘How do you deduce that?’

  ‘Where’s her other man? Your Number 34? Who, if you want my opinion, is not Stefan. I know Stefan. He’d run a mile from a woman with a baby. Even Rosie. If he was a factor, he’d be the biggest factor and she wouldn’t need a spreadsheet.’

  It was true that there were no emotional factors on the spreadsheet. The focus was on practicalities such as child care (father and extended family in Australia), job opportunities (approximately equal) and whether or not to continue the MD (multiple factors, no clear result).

  ‘Maybe she made the spreadsheet to make me feel better,’ I said.

  ‘You know,’ said Gene, ‘a statement like that is only possible in your and Rosie’s relationship. You need to be together to protect the rest of us. Don, there is no Number 34. He’s an excuse.’

  ‘There was a Skype message.’

  ‘I don’t know about any Skype message. What I know practically is that Rosie is a handful. And theory tells me that men don’t generally volunteer to take over a baby who doesn’t have their genes.’

  Sonia gave Gene an incomprehensible look. ‘If you worked in IVF—’

  But my mind was working in another direction. Rapidly. I have always been better with numbers than names. Now I remembered where I had seen the number thirty-four.