Nuclear Family

by Susanna Fogel

  Call meeeeeeeeee

  Jane

  Your Grandma Rose Just Heard about Your Dad’s New Fiancée

  Julie, I hear your father is engaged to someone new already. What’s the matter with him? I guess I’m not surprised. Well, if you want to know what I’m really surprised about, I’m surprised it’s a woman. I always had a funny feeling about your dad.

  Your Dad, a 50-Something Neurologist, Can’t Fucking Wait for His Bachelor Party

  Dear Julie,

  It appears that I will be in your neck of the woods on April 18.

  As you may recall, Martin Rothman, my best friend from Yale, is now a Manhattan-based historian who studies the evolution of Soviet forced-labor camps. He was thrilled to hear about my upcoming nuptials and generously offered to host a gendered gathering in my honor, though I will refrain from using the phrase “bachelor party” since, as I’m sure you can guess, I am wary of any event that celebrates a descent into Bacchanalian behavior.

  That said, I am theoretically amenable to the idea of “having fun.”

  I will be meeting several male acquaintances in front of the Lichtenstein in the south wing of the Museum of Modern Art at noon. I felt this was a fitting meeting place, as Roy Lichtenstein’s work also serves as a potent metaphor for the randomness and ineffability of true love. We will then enjoy a cocktail or two at the Yale Club. Finally, as is customary at these events, we will attend a performance by the American Ballet Theatre—dancing that is, indeed, “exotic” in its discipline and rigor.

  If your schedule allows and you would like to meet me for dinner afterward, plans are in the works to connect with Mei-Ling and her cousin Wen, an aspiring comedienne from Beijing who’s in the States studying sketch comedy at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre. Let me know. The venue is a restaurant in Chinatown by the name of 明代故宫 that comes highly regarded by the natives. There is no English translation or sign, but all the many restaurants in that area have Mandarin characters printed on the building’s façade, so you shouldn’t have any trouble distinguishing this one.

  Also, I will not be extending this invitation to your sister, as I’m reluctant to distract Jane in any way from her schoolwork. That said, I’m pleased to report that I think she really enjoyed our recent visit to Tufts and agreed with me that it could be a perfect fit for her.

  How goes your progress with the Great American Novel?

  Love,

  Dad

  Your Mom, Who Just Found Out Your Dad Is Getting Remarried, Is Really Ready to Get Back Out There

  Hi sweetie,

  Thank you for your e-mail letting me know your dad has decided to get remarried. I just want you to know that I’m fine. I’ve always been a very resilient person. I’m a little surprised, given how often he used to talk about how he thought the institution of marriage was outdated, but it’s none of my business.

  This must be something his fiancée is insisting on due to her cultural background and the expectations and norms for Chinese women. According to the stories Dr. Leung tells me when I go in to get my dental work done, it can be a very rigid culture when it comes to expectations for women, especially women of a certain age. I’m just so happy that at this point in my life I don’t feel obligated to do or be anything I don’t want to do or be. I can feel free to make wonderful connections with people without the pressure to conform.

  I’ve never been a conformist.

  In fact, I have the pictures to prove it! Just the other day, I was looking through an album of old photos from my college theater troupe, which was founded in 1968 to create plays to protest the Vietnam War. We called ourselves the Characters of Conflict.

  I’ve attached one of the photos if you’re curious to see me in action. In this picture, I’m in the middle of my monologue as Lady Macbeth—even though, as you can see, I’m wearing a Richard Nixon mask.

  Also, if you “zoom in” on the back left corner of the photo, the man staring at his own reflection in the mirror is Art Garfunkel. Wherever we performed, Art would always find a mirror. You can probably guess what his personality was like.

  Still, he was a very good kisser!

  I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable that I just shared that with you. Art Garfunkel never became my boyfriend, but as you can imagine, at that moment in history emotions and passions were running high.

  Looking at this picture of Art Garfunkel, I can’t help but remember how it felt to just experiment and explore and find new ways to express ourselves. I feel inspired to reach out to men who have a similar background to mine, with similar ideals, to see if I could make a connection with one of them. My friend Rena, from temple (I left you a message last week about a wonderful exhibit of sculpture we saw together about the Diaspora), told me about a retreat in Tanglewood for single people my age who were once activists or involved in political movements. I think I may sign up. I’ll keep you posted. Wouldn’t it be wild if I ran into one of the other Characters?

  I’ll let you know how it goes.

  Give me a call this weekend if you have some time. I would love to hear how everything is going at work. Were you able to get the office manager to stop making those comments about your body? Feel free to tell him your mother’s from the Bronx and she’s not afraid to give anyone a knuckle sandwich!

  Love,

  Mom

  Your Mom Found the Singles Retreat She Just Attended Problematic

  Hi sweetheart,

  I tried to leave you a voice mail but the woman in your phone told me your mailbox was full. Give me a call when you get a chance. I’d love to tell you about my weekend at Tanglewood at the Activist Singles Retreat.

  It was not what I thought it would be.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve been disconnected from the activist community since I was an undergraduate (except for my yearly contributions to Dianne Feinstein, who I’ve always thought of as a real “kindred spirit”), but I found the people at this retreat to be quite angry and discontented with their lives.

  I also felt like I was “on the clock”—as a therapist, I couldn’t help but find myself listening to most of the men I met and talking them through ways to manage and process their anger. I felt reserved about admitting any of my own vulnerabilities. I was hoping I’d have a chance to let it all hang out during the sing-along, but it turned out the songs we sang were mostly about oppression and set a bit of a somber tone (though slave spirituals are often beautiful and inspiring in their own right, in terms of what they represent and the melodies themselves).

  On the bright side, I did get a chance to see how many of these men handle conflict under pressure. At dinner, an argument broke out between those who opted for the barbecued meat that was served and those who were staunch vegetarians and believed it was hypocritical for any activist to be otherwise. The debate became quite heated, and many of the men who had otherwise seemed quite relaxed became enraged, showing a side of themselves I wouldn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole, much less feel comfortable being intimate around!

  One man in particular, who I had had my eye on, turned out to have a very unintegrated idea about how to channel his anger. His name was Lewis. Earlier in the day, during the group hike, I had found myself drawn to him because he had a very kind face. Unfortunately, during the conflict at dinner, he began hurling epithets at the organizer of the retreat that showed a very ugly side of him. Something clicked in me and I stopped seeing his face as attractive at all.

  This could also be partly due to the fact that, as I later learned, most of Lewis’s features were reconstructed. His face was very badly burned in 1972 after he blew up a science lab that was testing nuclear weapons. I found it telling that, as a Jewish man, he had chosen conventionally “WASPy” features to replace his previous features, which suggests some deeper issues of self-loathing about a heritage I am very proud of! No thanks!

  But I don’t want you to worry that this was a traumatic experience for me. I actually appreciated how effective the acti
vist retreat was as a sort of “speed dating,” expediting the process of seeing how potential partners would deal with opposition and how receptive they would be to other views. Unfortunately, in this case it seemed that most people at this retreat were unable to accept any opinions that were different from their own—which sounds a lot like someone we both know who I was already married to for twenty years!

  So I guess it’s back to the drawing board, but at least now I feel ready to draw.

  With so much love,

  Mom

  Your Dad Has Some Feedback on the Wedding Toast You Gave

  Julie and Jane,

  Thank you for making the trip to Cambridge to attend my nuptials last week. It was, without contest, the happiest day of my life, and I was thrilled to be able to share it with my daughters, biological and otherwise.

  Specifically, Jane, I wanted to praise your command of rhythm and meter as you recited the Milton quotation I picked out for you. It gave your speech a very personal touch, though in fairness, that person was John Milton.

  And, Julie, your comedic timing was equally impressive in your impromptu “roast” of me—though I’ll admit I don’t remember the anecdote you recalled from your youth, in which you threw your stuffed animals down the stairs while bellowing “Animal brigade!” and I, in turn, allegedly imitated the sounds of the various species of animal as they appeared at my feet. Although a charming story, it may have disturbed some of Mei-Ling’s guests, as upper-class Chinese families generally do not encourage this kind of chaos in their child-rearing. That said, your delivery evoked a young Gilda Radner, as did your manelike shock of hair that stood out amidst the sea of smooth, shiny locks native to those of Asian descent.

  Now, ready those refrigerator magnets—postcards from our honeymoon to the ancient shrines of Japan are forthcoming.

  Love,

  Dad

  Your Sister Thinks Your Dad’s Speech Was Bullshit

  Jules u online?

  I just read Dad’s email and got super fuckin pissed all over again. “Biological and otherwise”? Thanks for reminding me of that wonderful memory of you telling a room full of randomass people from China that I was adopted!!! It’s just rude. Not that most of the people there even understood his speech lol.

  At least now I don’t feel as bad telling him I’m not going to college. I’m gonna call him now and tell him I have chosen to do OTHERWISE with my life!!!!!

  OK u are not there … if i dont text you later tonight just assume he murdered me …

  xo

  Your Dad’s Friend Who Makes You a Little Uncomfortable Thought It Was Great Seeing You

  Dear Julie,

  Thank you for approving my friend request. It was such a pleasure talking to you at your dad’s wedding. And a relief! You never know who you’re going to get stuck sitting next to at these things. I’m sure you felt the same way when you found out you were seated next to me—even though, as I said when you sat down, I didn’t recognize you at first since I hadn’t seen you since you were a little girl. I know I’m a doctor, so the miracles of the human body shouldn’t surprise me, but what a difference a few years makes.

  Anyway, I really enjoyed hearing a little bit about your life in New York and your budding writing career and I wanted to extend an invitation to you: I’d like to offer up my guesthouse on Nantucket any time you want to get out of the city for a little writer’s retreat. As you may remember from visiting me in the summer with your family when your parents were still married (as was I, to a woman who never really understood me), the guesthouse is just a few yards from the main house, where I now live year-round. Among other amenities, it has a full bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and a trail right out the back door to a private pond. My daughter and her friends always find it very comfortable when they come down from Bard for the weekend. I think I mentioned she’s abroad in Madrid this semester. Speaking of Alicia, she always leaves a few outfits in the guest-room dresser, so if you decide to come at the last minute and don’t have time to pack, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you wearing them. She’s about your size, though I think your waist is a little smaller.

  Suffice it to say, the compound is a great place to find inspiration—very Henry David Thoreau. Though I’m not a writer, I once wrote an ode to the island that was featured in the Dartmouth Alumni Magazine. Speaking of Dartmouth, it also occurred to me that I have several friends from college who are professional writers and might be able to advise you or help you get a writing job. I know how hard it is to make those initial contacts. If you do end up taking me up on my offer, maybe we could take a walk in the woods one afternoon and chat about what introductions you’d like me to make. I should also mention that if travel costs are an issue, I’d be happy to help you out with airfare. I know how important it is to have a Room of One’s Own, so to speak, while trying to be creative. I’ve always been a big fan of Virginia Woolf myself. What can I say? I’m a feminist.

  Which reminds me: I also keep an extensive collection of records from some of the grand dames of jazz in the main house. If you come during the winter, when it’s snowing, there’s really nothing like making a fire in the fireplace, cracking open a bottle of Malbec (I still have a case in the shed from a medical conference I attended in Argentina—I was the keynote speaker for my work on precancerous moles), putting on an old Lena Horne LP, and just letting yourself get lost. Not that I only like old music. I enjoy a lot of new stuff too—I have several new-music stations programmed into my satellite radio. I once introduced my daughter to a track by Belle and Sebastian she’d never even heard of. As you may have gathered by now, I’m not exactly your typical dad. In fact, I can’t remember the last time anyone called me that. Everyone just calls me Larry, even Alicia.

  Anyway, I should sign off now. Diane Sawyer (whose house is down the road—if you take me up on my offer, I’m happy to make an introduction) flew in a sushi chef from New York to teach a few of us locals how to make rolls. I always say yes to new experiences. Something tells me you’re a kindred spirit …

  Fondly,

  Larry (Shepherd)

  PS—If memory serves, you always loved horses. My friend down the road owns two Arabians. If you wanted to go riding, I could make that happen.

  Your Asian Stepmother Would Like to Reassure You That Your Dad Doesn’t Have a Power Thing

  To My Stepdaughter Julie,

  This is Mei-Ling. Your father and myself appreciated you at our wedding very much and just received your special red pot from the list to which we registered at Macy’s. It is very beautiful and practical—when you make your next visit home, I will cook dinner for all of us in the pot. I am looking forward to truly getting to know you better, as I know it was not fortunate that we had such a little time to spend before the wedding occurred. The sunny side is that we are now in a family and can all find love and intimacy together.

  There also exists another topic that I wish to confess, more personal in nature. Since living in America, I have been observant of the American’s thinking that white men loving women from Asia must have strange sexual tendencies or power ideas. It is a possibility that other men find this true. However, I do not want you to worry about your father. He has no fetish. We make love that is quite simple and similar from time to time. Only mission style, and sometime he fall asleep in center of sex. Efforts are made often and his energy is ambitious, but the end product far from blows minds. So, I hope you aren’t concerning yourself with this.

  Once again, I look forward very much to gathering with you for a pot dinner soon.

  Yours truly,

  Mei-Ling Feller

  The Gerbil You Drowned in 1990 Would Like a Word with You

  Hi, you fucking bitch.

  Oh, I’m sorry, was that a harsh opener? Do I give a shit? Bet you forgot all about me, didn’t you? Well, here I am, after fifteen years, to remind you. Did you know gerbils have memories like elephants? Guess what? They don’t. Know who does, though? Dead gerbils in fucking heaven w
ith nothing to do all day but replay every second of our short, miserable lives, some made even more miserable by little eight-year-old shits who aren’t ready for the responsibility of the puppy they asked for. Was that why you did it? Because I was just some goddamned consolation prize? I hope you never got that dog. Then I hope you try to have kids later in life, and it turns out you’re infertile. That’s what someone like you deserves.

  I’m not a gerbil who believes in regret. If I did, I’d say I fucked up the second I decided to trust you. I don’t know, you just honestly didn’t seem like a fucking murderer to me. When you walked into the Pet Depot on that spring day in ’90 in those little terrycloth shorts and your Rainbow Brite shirt, the faint remains of chicken pox on your angelic little fucking face, every single one of us in that cage wanted to go home and snuggle the shit out of you while you learned long division. I was just the only motherfucker smart enough to do a backflip when I knew your mom was looking ’cause I knew she’d eat that shit up. And when it was me you carried out of the store to your Dodge Caravan, I didn’t look back through that little glass box once at my brethren. I was like, sayonara, bitches! Guess I laughed all the way to my untimely fucking death, didn’t I?

  Who gave you the idea for a “Gerbil Olympics,” anyway? What kind of Olympics has one fucking contestant? And who even cares about the fucking swimming competition in the Olympics? You drop a motherfucker in ten inches of water for what—just to show off for some little ginger kid with a lisp? What was his name again? Lo and behold, I don’t give a shit. All I know is that the last thing I heard as I choked on mouthfuls of tepid bathwater laced with the bitter residue of No More Tears baby shampoo was him screaming at the top of his tiny little lungs. I hope he never spoke to you again, then became a fucking male model. What are you planning on doing with your life now, by the way? Border Patrol have any openings? Slaughterhouse technician? Nazi work camp reenactments? No, really, I’m dying to know.