After her mom died, she still spent time and occasional holidays with her stepfather and, later, his new wife. But a series of events took place that coincided with the beginning of her career: her stepdad did a bunch of self-appointed detective work to determine whether the agent she’d chosen was legit, and he responded to the news that she’d gotten her first book deal, the very best news of her life, by saying Congrats, sweetheart, now listen, you gotta fix yourself up. Not even a period after sweetheart. One sentence.
When her third book came out, she and her husband traveled from Chicago to New York for some events and they met her stepdad and his new wife for sushi in Midtown near his office. She was giving a reading afterward and assumed they were coming. No, no, we can’t tonight, her stepfather said.
Why not, her husband asked, with an edge to his voice that she might have had if she’d said anything at all, which she didn’t, because she was busy turning back into a sullen, disappointed seventh grader who wanted the moment to blow over.
We have to go home and pack, her stepfather said. He was about to retire and they were moving south in a month or two.
It’s an hour of your time, the husband said. Could also be worth noting here that for the last few decades of his life, her stepdad had been going to operas and concerts sometimes several nights a week. Operas and concerts that lasted more than an hour.
Can’t, the stepdad said, unapologetically, adding that he’d read a few of her stories but didn’t need to read any more because he was there when they happened.
So. Yeah. She wants so much to rant about that last statement here, now, still, in the future, but how much is there to say about something that makes no sense and yet still manages to be deeply hurtful.
The husband continued to push the stepfather, and the wife continued to slink under her napkin. I don’t understand. It would mean a lot to her.
Her stepdad’s final answer: It’s not going to happen.
In the moment, she was just trying not to cry and waiting for her husband to drop it or for her stepdad to indicate some regret. The conversation felt like it lasted for an hour, but didn’t amount to much more than however long it took to ask the waitress for Diet Cokes and for her to bring them. In later moments, the wife wonders if anyone has ever defended her so valiantly.