After sheâs evicted, Eddie begins a free therapy study at the nearby university to help her decide what to do. She wants to be a good mom and do whatâs best for her nine-year-old daughter, Grace. Once she moves to Rossville, a suburb of Detroit, itâs clear that Eddie doesnât look like she belongs. Right away, tension rises between her and the townâs residents and she succumbs to the rules of suburbia for the sake of her daughter. When she butts heads with the townâs PTA President, it becomes a battle of two moms; a single, purple-haired, tattooed outcast against the PTA President. Both are hiding something. One has the community on her side. But which one? Sometimes it takes someone different to disrupt the status quo. Is Eddie strong enough to save suburbia?
After sheâs evicted, Eddie begins a free therapy study at the nearby university to help her decide what to do. She wants to be a good mom and do whatâs best for her nine-year-old daughter, Grace. Once she moves to Rossville, a suburb of Detroit, itâs clear that Eddie doesnât look like she belongs. Right away, tension rises between her and the townâs residents and she succumbs to the rules of suburbia for the sake of her daughter. When she butts heads with the townâs PTA President, it becomes a battle of two moms; a single, purple-haired, tattooed outcast against the PTA President. Both are hiding something. One has the community on her side. But which one? Sometimes it takes someone different to disrupt the status quo. Is Eddie strong enough to save suburbia?
Seeking Participants for: VIDEO THERAPY Study
Video Therapy is an innovative way to achieve better mental health. Participants control their counseling by taking an active role in therapy. Video Therapy focuses on the people in your life instead of the situations you are in. Participants take a survey at the end of the yearlong study. Why Video Therapy? Because sometimes you need someone to only listen.
⢠Yearlong Study.
⢠Innovative Therapy.
⢠Sessions are at the Psychology Research Lab on campus.
⢠Completely Confidential.
⢠Free. No cost to you.
⢠A licensed therapist will guide you to further help if needed.
⢠Stop by Lab for more information and to sign up.
Research Study Introduction:
What if the best advice you can get for yourself is from you? When someone is listening, it gives strength to our voice, even if the person listening doesnât respond. Hearing our life out loud gives us clarity to self-heal. When listening to what is going on in your life, you often hear the solution.
Method:
Participants:
Adults living near the University Research Lab who volunteer for the study.
Materials:
Subject room with window to therapist room, vintage-style video camera, blank VCR tapes, white board/marker, stool, microphone.
Procedure:
SUBJECT enters room with a list of people in their life and writes the first name on the board. A therapist and vintage-style video camera are visible through the glass window in the adjoining room. Therapist doesnât speak to SUBJECT, but hears SUBJECT over the microphone. Therapist turns camera on; a red light glows, indicating recording. Therapistâs room darkens. SUBJECT freely talks about person on the board. Everything said is confidential. Sessions are scheduled at SUBJECTâs convenience, with a minimum weekly attendance. During the next and subsequent sessions, SUBJECT discusses the next person on the list. SUBJECT may not talk about the same person in consecutive sessions. At the end of the yearlong study, SUBJECT takes a survey on the therapy received. The videotape is theirs to keep or destroy. Lab keeps no record of what is on the tape.
Session 1 - Subject #57: Eddie
Topic: Grace
So, this is weird, alone in a room, spilling my guts to no one. No one I can see, anyway. But I know youâre listening, and Iâll assume youâre watching through that window. Even though itâs dark in there, I can see a tiny red light from the video camera. You do realize no one has a way to watch a VHS tape anymore, but the vintage aspect is cool. Okay. The rules were on the flyer. Write a name on the board. Sit on the stool. Speak into the microphone. And, no one else will hear this, right? First, my name is Edwina. People call me Eddie, and Iâm fine monologuing, by the way. I like to hear my voice. Itâs just...itâs nice to see some kind of reaction, so I know how far I can take things. So hereâs my warning. Some things Iâm going to say will be shocking. At least Iâm going to try. I refuse to be seen as mundane.
Iâm starting with my daughter Grace. Sheâs the reason Iâm here. Sheâs special, has this curiosity to soak up as much of the world as she can. I like to think Iâve had some influence there. Sheâs alive because it was my choice to have her, even though the circumstances werenât ideal. Sheâs my purpose for living, and I want to be the best mom possible, which, Iâm aware, is hard for some people to believe, those who judge as soon as they see me. This last thing is where Iâm having some difficulty. I mean I like drama, but this is too much. Our happy little world suddenly exploded, and for the first time, I donât know what to do.
Where to begin? We live just north of the university, and weâre happy here. Iâm in the dining room, sewing at my worktable when Grace comes home and says, âIt was outside, leaning on the wall next to the door. Everyone got one.â This was three days ago. Sheâs holding a large envelope the color of caution. It canât be good news. She must know it, too. Sheâs gone pale.
Iâm a fabric artisan, fancy name for a seamstress, and was making curtains for a new client when she came in. Theyâre a mucky blah-tone. Who chooses brown when there are marvelous colors like teal and magenta? Or a calming purple, like my hair. I should have recognized the muck to be an omen. The death knell to life as we know it presents itself as a bright yellow envelope. I blame the ugly curtains.
My friend Arjun peeks in right after, and says, âDid you hear?â His face is full distraught. Iâm not sure why, but Iâm suddenly anxious, and I flee the muck at my machine. Grace hands me the envelope and waits, frozen. I open it, but canât focus, so I pretend to read the top page of the small stack of paper while Arjun makes everything clear. âTheyâre selling the building.â And just like that, my mind is vacant, and so is our future.
â
So why should this matter? We move a lot. Always have. This happens when youâre renting. Grace is on her fifth home, and next fall sheâll be in fourth grade. So if you do the math, we move about once every couple of years. People question if this is good for Grace, but she transitions well, and all that moving has taught her how to make friends quickly, and thatâs good. Right? So, why is this time different? Because itâs insulting. Weâre not wanted. Itâs being forced upon us. And itâs not my choice.
I shouldnât take it so personally, but an eviction is not the image I have for myself as a good mother. Iâve never been kicked out of anything unless I wanted out and did something out of spite. I donât like Grace to see me as the target. It sucks because we finally found a place thatâs decent, one where we fit in. Arjunâs singsong accent softens the blow, reminding me to force several lengthy exhales. So, Iâm focusing on the tune of his voice instead of what he says. Maybe I donât want to register the words. Grace looks from Arjun back to me. Her usual smile is gone, and sheâs still pasty. She knows what the letter means, even though it takes me a few seconds. Weâre losing our home. We have to move again. And mostly, she probably thinks Iâm a failure as a mother.
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Our complex is a diverse mix of older students and ex-student dropouts. Plus some eclectics (me and Arjun), and a couple other weirdos I wonât mention. Iâm trying to be nice. Grace and I get along with everyone, almost everyone. Sheâs very outgoing, and sheâs thriving here. Thereâs sixteen apartments, and we all take care of each other.
Whenever Arjun is cooking, Grace yells, âArjun is in the Yard.â Sounds like a prison term, and that would be almost accurate because there isnât much to the Yard. Itâs a common area with a lot of concrete and patches of grass in the dirt. But in the middle of this nothing is a barbecue grill, erecting like a monolith. Arjun is from India, and his cooking is phenomenal. Everyone congregates there when Arjun is cooking.
âWait,â he tells Grace, and she lingers, watching with wide eyes, her curls hanging in her face. He performs his own little ceremony, spreads a towel before placing his spice case on the nearby picnic table. He carefully opens the lid, and quietly stands, looking at his spices. Iâm not sure if heâs taking inventory or saying a silent prayer. Maybe he thinks of his home? The case is old, like it was his grandmotherâs or something.
âOkay, get the garam masala,â he tells her. The jars arenât labeled, but she knows which one to grab, even though the colors are almost identical.
When I ask her how she tells them apart, she says, âThe texture is different. Some powders are more clumpy and some are balls or look like brown rice.â Iâve asked him where to get the spices, but he says you canât buy them here, and heâll mix some for me. Iâm still waiting. Maybe he knows I couldnât pull off a proper Indian meal with any amount of spice, and heâs trying to save me, and Grace, from myself.
Later, we usually move indoors, taking turns on whose apartment, depending. Weâre usually up pretty late, and my Grace is right there talking with us. She sometimes has a hard time getting up for school the next morning, but sheâs fine. Donât get judgmental on me. Sheâs the only kid in the complex, and gives us the kidsâ point of view on things, one with no filters. Itâs refreshing. Itâs good for her to be around different types of people, different lifestyles. You know, to see that there are different ways to live. âDare to be differentâ is my motto. Something Granny taught me, but itâs like society is yelling at me to conform. Be the mom they want me to be instead of the one I want. I want Grace to recognize that with everything, there is a choice. Except for us to stay in our apartment.
Anyway, that evening, after we get the eviction notice, the other tenants gather in my apartment and discuss what weâre going to do. Everyone but Beth, which is fine with me. She kind of reminds me of my ex in the way she doesnât look you in the eyes. I know what sheâs hiding. Grace is in her usual place on the arm of our old couch, listening. No one has any answers. When thereâs talk of trying to fight it, I see hope in her eyes.
Darrel, the ex-law student, says, âNope. We donât have a case to stand on. I checked. Itâs written in our contracts.â The text about what would happen if the owner sells the building or if itâs demolished is highlighted in the copy of the contract that comes with the eviction letter. They only have to give us thirty days. Seems the lawyers thought of everything. I see Grace contemplating Darrelâs words, probably picturing us standing on our suitcases among boxes of belongings, the both of us defiantly claiming our ground.
Someone else suggests we rent a house together. I donât remember who. My book reading buddy Daria says, âIâm going to move to the other side of town, closer to my new job,â which is sad because she always brings cake. She asked me once if it was hard on Grace being the only kid in our little village of adults, which I thought was odd. Daria isnât as sad that weâre all splitting up. She doesnât seem to need these people as much as I do, as much as Grace does. Grace keeps looking at me for answers, but I got nothing.
I canât cook, so I order pizza for everyone, thinking this helps the situation. Grace doesnât eat, even though I get her favoriteâpepperoni and pineapple. The crisis doesnât affect my appetite. I devour enough for the both of us. She has a piece of Dariaâs cake, though. Mark, who has a business degree but works as a bartender, brings beer, and I open a couple bottles of wine I have in the cupboard. A good motherâs supposed to make things right, and all I can do is pick up the paper plates as people finish eating. And eat cake. A few stragglers stay late into the night. Grace stays up to hear every word we say.
After they leave, she climbs in my bed, and I hold her. Iâm trying to invade her thoughts with some sort of osmosis. For the first time, I donât want to move Grace again. I donât want to put her in another new school. Moving no longer feels good. It might be a repeat of the last place, so the timing of this therapy study couldnât have been more perfect. And itâs great that the research lab is so close to my apartment. Anyway, Iâve got one month to figure this out, and it shouldnât be this hard. Granny always said I have a superpower, but never mind that. Anyway, I need some help, so I hope this works. It has to.
Catherine Castoroâs Eddie Hest vs. Suburbia is a wildly entertaining novel that cleverly mixes humor with suspense to uncover the darker side of suburban life. The story follows Eddie Hest, a single mom with purple hair, tattoos, and a fierce love for her 9-year-old daughter. When she moves to a seemingly idyllic suburban town, Eddie quickly realizes that her appearance and unconventional approach to motherhood make her an outcast. She believes itâs just the judgmental stares and whispered comments about her style, but soon discovers that something much more sinister is at play.
As Eddie tries to fit in for her daughterâs sake, she finds herself drawn into the townâs secrets, led by the manipulative Psycho Soccer Mom, who also happens to be the PTA President. This woman, who embodies everything Eddie despises about suburban conformity, controls the town with an iron fist, and Eddieâs attempts to blend in quickly spiral into a high-stakes battle. The novelâs tension builds as Eddie finds herself up against not just societal expectations but the hidden, darker truths of the community. The stakes couldnât be higherâEddie must protect her daughter while also trying to win a battle that seems impossible.
Despite the tension, Eddie Hest vs. Suburbia is filled with laugh-out-loud moments, thanks to Castoroâs sharp wit and knack for capturing the absurdity of suburban life. Eddieâs snarky, resilient character provides plenty of humor, even as she grapples with serious issues like social pressure, the fear of being an inadequate mother, and the need to stand up for whatâs right. The novel skillfully balances these elements, making it not just an enjoyable read but also a thoughtful exploration of the lengths one will go to in order to protect their child and stay true to themselves.
A humorous and suspenseful tale that hilariously explores the pressures of motherhood and suburban life, Eddie Hest vs. Suburbia is a quirky, engaging read.