“It messes with proper hormone messaging,” she said. “And that’s just the beginning.”

“Sounds like that orangutan thing,” Helen said.

“What orangutan thing?” asked Lily.

“In some orangutan communities, there’s only one male, and he can’t stop growing,” Helen said. “He grows giant flat cheeks and a big fat throat. It’s called a flange. It’s all about hormonal messaging. Everyone in the medical community is talking about it. They’re wondering what kind of implications it has for humans.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” I said.

“Sure you have,” she said.

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “And I’m a nurse.” I was a nurse, but I hadn’t talked to another nurse since Perley was born. There were no nurses at our party. I hadn’t invited them. I couldn’t bear to hear their plans for improving Perley: shots, doctor visits, regular bathing, combing out his cradle cap. I couldn’t bear to be around people who thought of my son as just another body to be managed. Now that I knew Perley, I’d stopped believing in the ordinariness of humans, or at least didn’t want to be made aware of it. I didn’t want to know about other bodies, other baths, other wiping, other chapping and applications of ointments and administering of medicines. All these duties that I’d been proud to see to, now I wanted to reserve only for my son. When the clinic number showed up on my tiny screen, I held my breath until it disappeared. Still, everyone in the medical community? Everyone?

“This is bullshit, Helen,” I said.

“Why does the flanged orangutan get so big?” asked Lily, shifting Perley to her other hip.

“He’s the only male,” Helen said. “There’s no other male in the vicinity to compete with, so his hormones are unchecked.”

“And is he the strongest?” asked Lily.

“No,” Helen said. “That’s the peculiar thing. He’s not that strong. He’s got a weak heart and he doesn’t live very long.”

“We have to do something,” Lily said.

“About what?” I asked.

“About Perley,” Lily said.

“What does this have to do with Perley?” I asked.

“He’s the only male in the vicinity,” said Lily. “What if that happens to him?”

“It’s the hormonal message that’s important,” Helen said. “You just need to get his brain to send the hormonal message.”

“So we need Perley to, what, smell men?” Lily asked.

“I think that would do it,” Helen said. Perley looked into all of our faces and laughed, kicking Lily in the stomach. Our neighbors just watched us, respectful as cable TV. I took Perley out of Lily’s arms, against his squirming. “He’s my kid, Helen, and I’m telling you to back off,” I said. “This is ridiculous.”

“But what if it isn’t?” asked Lily.