Nature vs. Nurture

Veronica was so preoccupied with how she was going to make little Randolf uniforms for the Barbie dolls, she didn’t even notice at first they were eating vegetable lasagna. This was a Morgan family favorite, and a meal Veronica’s mother usually kept portions of in the freezer for emergencies.

“I thought we were having Hunan Delight,” Veronica said.

“I know, but as I was ordering I remembered we had it last night.”

“And the night before…”

“I guess that’s why I thought enough,” Mrs. Morgan said. “For a day or two anyway. Please pass me the salad.”

Veronica was still thinking about her science project. What would be the best way to display the Barbies? She hoisted herself and the enormous salad bowl down the table to her mother. No one except for Mr. Morgan could pass it to anyone without standing. The leaves of arugula in the salad gave her an idea.

“I am intrigued,” her father said. “Have you and this Sylvie person become friends?”

“Yes.” Veronica hadn’t seen friendship with Sylvie coming, but here she was acknowledging that yes, it had arrived.

Her parents looked at each other.

“What?” Veronica asked.

“Nothing,” her mother said.

“You obviously have some opinion,” Veronica said. “Some theory about child development and psychoneurotic something…”

“No. We’re just happy,” her mother said.

Both parents nodded.

“How is the work going?” her father asked. He clearly thought it was adorable that his eleven-year-old daughter had work.

“Pretty good,” Veronica said, chewing on a crunchy lasagna noodle, one from the top that was especially brown and crisp. The top and the sides of the lasagna were her favorite parts.

“We made a flipbook that is really cool,” she told her parents.

“What is so cool about it?” her mother asked.

“Well, we had to record our observations so Sylvie took our drawings, well, mostly my drawings, and she cut them out on separate little pieces of paper and stapled the top together and made it into a flipbook. You can watch the plant die or come back to life depending on which direction you go.”

“That sounds very creative,” her father said.

“Lovey, do you want some more?”

“No thank you, I’m full.”

“You are? Usually you eat so much of this.”

“I had coq au vin at Sylvie’s.”

“I beg your pardon?” her father said.

“She has really weird snacks at her house,” Veronica said.

“Does she have a caterer?” her father asked. “I will have more of your wonderful lasagna, Marion, thank you.”

“No, Daddy. There isn’t a caterer. There is no one, actually.”

“Did you order out?” her mother asked.

“No! Sylvie’s just a really good cook. Her mother died when she was little and it’s how she entertains herself.”

There was a charge in the air that meant Veronica’s parents had simultaneously arrived at a number of theories about Sylvie Samuels based on the fact that her mother had died and all the case studies they’d read. It wasn’t fair. They didn’t even know Sylvie. But they were alive and she tried to be grateful for that.