Chapter 6 - The Flying Monkeys Attack
By Wednesday morning, the legal machinery in California had done its work, but the social machinery of my extended family was operating at maximum velocity.
I sat at my kitchen table in our Brooklyn apartment, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea while Maya sat across from me, managing my original phone which we had plugged into a laptop to archive messages for my attorney.
"Okay, this one is from Uncle Robert," Maya said, her eyes scanning the screen with an expression of profound disgust. "He says: Hannah, I cannot believe you would have your own mother and sister put in jail over a simple communication breakdown. Your grandmother is rolling in her grave. Call your father immediately before you destroy this family forever."
"Archive it," I said flatly, not even looking up from the permission slip I was signing for Leo’s school. "What else?"
"Aunt Susan," Maya continued, clicking to the next thread. "We saw the photo Chloe posted. Clearly, she was just making a lighthearted joke about the security guards being helpful! You have always been jealous of Chloe’s free spirit. You need to drop these charges before Chloe loses her promotion at the marketing agency."
"Free spirit," I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. "She left a seven-year-old child unattended in a commercial zone for nearly an hour while she drank alcohol by a pool. If a paid babysitter did that, Aunt Susan would be leading the lynch mob. Archive it."
The phenomenon of the "flying monkeys"—the third-party enablers recruited by narcissists to do their bidding and apply social pressure—was something my therapist had warned me about years ago when I first established boundaries with my mother. But seeing it in action, watching people I had known my entire life ignore the documented abuse of a child to protect the reputation of two adults, was a different kind of heartbreak.
At 11:00 AM, my doorbell rang.
Maya froze, her hand hovering over the laptop keyboard. I stood up, motioning for her to stay put while I walked down the short hallway to the front door. I checked the peephole.
Standing in the hallway of my apartment building was my cousin, David. He was dressed in his business suit, clearly having stopped by on his way to his finance job in Manhattan. He looked impatient, checking his Rolex as he tapped his foot against the welcome mat.
I didn't open the door. I pressed the intercom button on the wall panel.
"David, why are you here?" I asked, my voice echoing through the small speaker in the hallway.
He jumped slightly, looking up at the camera lens above the door. "Hannah? Open the door, let's talk about this like rational adults. Your dad called me from California. He's a mess, Hannah. He’s sixty-eight years old and he spent the night in a concrete holding cell because you lost your temper."
"He spent the night in a cell because he committed a crime, David," I replied through the intercom. "And you are trespassing in a secure residential building. I did not invite you here."
"Come on, don't be like this!" David argued, leaning closer to the door, his tone shifting from conciliatory to condescending. "Look, Mom and Aunt Chloe screwed up, okay? They admit they lost track of time. But putting a criminal record on Chloe? She’s twenty-five! You’re going to ruin her entire future over one stupid mistake!"
"Her future is her own responsibility," I said steadily. "If you do not leave my building floor in the next thirty seconds, David, I will call the building superintendent and the NYPD to report you for harassment. And I will add your name to the protection order my lawyer is currently serving on the rest of the family."
David stared at the camera for several long seconds, his face darkening with anger. He muttered an expletive under his breath, turned on his heel, and marched toward the elevators.
I walked back into the kitchen, my hands shaking slightly, but my posture straight.
May you like
"You handled that like a boss," Maya said, handing me a fresh cup of tea.
"I'm done explaining myself to people who are committed to misunderstanding me," I said, sitting down. "Now let's check the mail. Attorney Briggs said the temporary restraining order documents should have arrived by courier this morning."
