{"id":11565,"date":"2017-08-20T21:32:13","date_gmt":"2017-08-21T01:32:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jennytrout.com\/?p=11565"},"modified":"2017-08-20T21:32:13","modified_gmt":"2017-08-21T01:32:13","slug":"sunday-night-bedtime-reading-the-sister-chapter-one","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/?p=11565","title":{"rendered":"Sunday Night Bedtime Reading: THE SISTER, Chapter One"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"The<\/a><\/p>\n

I will not throw up on this woman. I will not throw up on this woman.<\/em><\/p>\n

The studio lights were way brighter than I remembered from last time I was on the Wake Up! America<\/em> set. I\u2019d been auditioning for a job at the time, but somehow, I was more nervous today than back then. A very blonde woman of indiscernible age sat across from me on the bright orange curved sofa. I followed the line of her gaze to the teleprompter and accidentally caught sight of myself on the monitor.<\/p>\n

The shade of blue they put me in flattered my suddenly green complexion, and my long, dark hair seemed too meticulously curled. Like, approaching uncanny valley perfection.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd we\u2019re live in five, four, three\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWelcome back, America,\u201d the anchor said. \u201cIt\u2019s eight forty-six here on a beautiful sunny morning in New York. I\u2019m Amanda Tanner. If you\u2019re just joining us, we\u2019re about twenty minutes from Ariana Grande rocking the block as part of our Rock The Block summer concert series. But right now, we\u2019re talking to Sophie Scaife, founder and co-editor-in-chief of Mode<\/em> magazine, as well as author of the new memoir, Does She Have to Call Me Grandma?,<\/em> which is out tomorrow. Sophie, It\u2019s a pleasure having you with us this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou, too.\u201d You, too? You, too! Why did you say that, Sophie? Why? You\u2019re going to have to go into hiding after this.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have quite a unique story, here. You\u2019re twenty-eight years old. Never thought you\u2019d have children. And now, you find yourself a grandmother. How did that happen?\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed nervously and tried to remember what the answer was supposed to be. I\u2019d rehearsed all of this with a production assistant in my dressing room. \u201cWell, my husband is older than I am, and he has a daughter who\u2019s my age. Olivia is her daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019re not a grandmother?\u201d Amanda teased, in that friendly, but not overly familiar way that interviewers generally had.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Olivia doesn\u2019t call me grandma. She calls me Sophie.\u201d And sometimes, mama, which really creeped me out, so I tried hard to curb that.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, your stepdaughter and her husband tragically passed away over a year ago, and you talk about that in the book. Can you tell us a little about what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

A little? I could tell anyone hours of information about Emma and Michael. About their love story, about their desire for children and their struggle that seemed hopeless. About how cruel life was to give them the thing they wanted most, then snatched them away from it.<\/p>\n

But I was getting better about not doing that. \u201cEmma and Michael died after a car accident when Olivia was seven months old, and my husband and I are her guardians now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour husband is Neil Elwood, correct?\u201d Amanda asked, and when I answered in the affirmative, she followed-up, \u201cSo, here you are, running a brand-new online magazine, you have a very successful husband, and suddenly, you\u2019re mothering this child\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t say I was mothering.\u201d It might break protocol to interrupt an interviewer, but I didn\u2019t care. If there was one thing I always wanted to keep clear, it was that. \u201cI\u2019ll never be able to replace Emma.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d Amanda said, taking control once more. \u201cBut you talk in the book about making that transition from, as you described it, \u2018Long Island trophy wife who identified as child-free\u2019 to a more parental role. And it hasn\u2019t been all that easy, has it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, obviously losing Emma and Michael was very hard for us as a family. And Neil and I never planned to have children. We still don\u2019t. But I don\u2019t see this as taking on a maternal role or being a stand-in for Olivia\u2019s mother in any way. I see it as doing something out of love for Emma and Michael. Olivia is a part of our family. The way I was raised, you take care of your family.\u201d I\u2019d written something similar in my book, and I\u2019d meant it with all my heart. \u201cThere\u2019s no way we could refuse to care for a child we love, regardless of what our plans were.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that old saying, life is what happens when you\u2019re busy making other plans?\u201d Amanda joked mildly. I nodded and laughed in agreement, but inwardly, I cringed at hearing one of the most difficult times in my life reduced to a trite coffee mug quote.<\/p>\n

That was the last hard question. The rest of the interview coasted by so easily, I was startled when Amanda thanked me again for being on the show and directed viewers to buy the book.<\/p>\n

Before I had time to barf on her, it was all over.<\/p>\n

I shook her hand and thanked her, and a woman in a headset put her arm protectively around my back without touching me to herd me away from the set.<\/p>\n

I exited through one half of a double door and ran directly into Neil waiting in the hallway. Even after five years of all the joys and heartbreaks our life together had given us, his smile still swept me away like it had on the first day we\u2019d met. In his arms, Olivia squirmed and fussed, until she saw me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were wonderful, darling,\u201d he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek as Olivia situated herself between us.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, no,\u201d she babbled sternly, pushing Neil\u2019s face away from mine. She was going through this phase where she didn\u2019t want Neil and I to kiss, ever.<\/p>\n

Children were so weird.<\/p>\n

The headset woman directed us back to my dressing room, where I changed into the tight black jeans and oversized pink cashmere sweater I\u2019d arrived in. As I pulled my boots on, I watched Olivia methodically jerk diaper after diaper out of my alligator leather Birkin, wondering when Neil would notice what she was up to. But he was too lost in his own thoughts.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d I said softly. When he looked up, I asked, \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Talking about Emma would probably always be hard for him, but it seemed more so recently. The book coming out and the interviews I\u2019d been giving about it had him a little more shaken up than usual.<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm?\u201d He snapped back to reality. \u201cOh, yes. Fine. Everything\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you take that second Xanax today?\u201d I asked casually, not trying to sound overly concerned. He\u2019d been hospitalized for two months at an inpatient psychiatric facility following a suicide attempt the year before. Emma\u2019s death had almost been his, too, and in some ways, he was still recovering.<\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cNo, really, I\u2019m fine. I haven\u2019t felt that I needed it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pulled up the zips on my calf-length boots and stood. \u201cGood to know. I feel really guilty that this is so hard on you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t,\u201d he insisted, stooping to gather up the diapers Olivia had strewn across the floor. \u201cTruly, it isn\u2019t. I love that you\u2019re writing, again. It seems as though it helps you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt really does. It helps me to sort my thoughts.\u201d It would be nice if I could drum up enthusiasm for it without requiring some major tragedy to get the creative juices flowing. \u201cBut I\u2019m going to be glad when the release stuff is over.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat time is your signing tomorrow?\u201d he asked, handing me the bag.<\/p>\n

I slung it over my shoulder and reached for Olivia\u2019s hand to hold so she could toddle along beside me. \u201cEight to nine-thirty. I\u2019m debating just staying in town after and meeting you at the airport in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

When we reached the elevators, Neil scooped Olivia up in his arms; she couldn\u2019t be trusted not to bolt the moment the doors opened. \u201cYou don\u2019t sound terribly enthusiastic. Is it the signing you\u2019re dreading, or the trip?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not dreading the trip.\u201d Not all of it. Olivia had never met my family before, and I wanted them to get a chance to know her. And I wanted her to grow up knowing that not everyone lives in a thirty-five thousand-square-foot house and travels by private jet. Neil had never even been grocery shopping on his own until we moved in together, so he was hardly up to the task of keeping her grounded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just kind of dreading the whole class reunion thing,\u201d I told him as we stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis, again?\u201d Neil rolled his eyes. \u201cYou\u2019re not seriously still worried about this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t help it,\u201d I protested. \u201cWhat if I go back and nobody talks to me because they think I\u2019m\u2026 I don\u2019t know. Full of myself? Like I think I\u2019m better than everyone?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you going to act full of yourself or like you\u2019re better than everyone?\u201d he asked, his mildly condescending tone enhanced by his posh English accent. Sometimes, I felt like I was being scolded by the male version of Mary Poppins.<\/p>\n

\u201cObviously, I\u2019m not. But it\u2019s a small town. People talk. And I know I would have been a little intimidated and envious if one of my friends had moved to New York and become some rich asshole.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLanguage,\u201d he reminded me, reaching up to cup Olivia\u2019s ear.<\/p>\n

The not-swearing was the worst part of raising a child.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry. Some rich\u2026apple\u2026core.\u201d Not my best. I cursed under my breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoing splendidly as always, darling.\u201d Neil smiled. \u201cAre you coming with us or going to the office?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to work.\u201d For once. Lately, everything else in life seemed to get in the way of work. For most people, it was the opposite.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are coming home tonight, though, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, absolutely. I have to pack and stare at myself in the mirror and freak out because nothing fits me the way it used to.\u201d I really didn\u2019t need to lay it all out like that. He knew the routine by now. \u201cBut I\u2019ve got to get back to work.\u201d<\/p>\n

We paused in the lobby to part ways; Neil would return with Olivia to our home in Sagaponack, while I caught a cab to my Brooklyn-based office.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat time should I expect you? I\u2019m cooking tonight.\u201d He leaned in for a kiss that Olivia intercepted with a cranky whine and a hand over my mouth. Neil shifted her to his other arm and tried again, this time, more successfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cAround seven-thirty, god willing. I\u2019ll call you when I\u2019m in the car.\u201d The commute was long, but Neil needed the helicopter more than I did. Trying to keep Olivia entertained in her car seat for two hours was a special kind of hell, and we were currently in an air traffic battle with the neighbors.<\/p>\n

While Olivia was distracted by something across the lobby, Neil leaned in for another kiss. \u201cI love you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLove you, too,\u201d I said, and quickly dropped a kiss on Olivia\u2019s head. \u201cTell Tony five o\u2019clock, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

It kind of broke my heart to leave them. It always did. During the first year taking care of Olivia, I\u2019d looked for any excuse to escape when I could. Not because I didn\u2019t love her. I\u2019d just been overwhelmed. After I\u2019d gotten used to it, I hated to leave her and Neil for any length of time. I even had a picture of the three of us on my desk.<\/p>\n

That was a future I definitely had never planned on.<\/p>\n

The Mode<\/em> office was in Brooklyn, in a brick building we\u2019d previously rented, then bought when the opportunity arose. Though we\u2019d started out as online only, we were trying to transition to a print version, as well. Which had created ten times the work for my co-editor-in-chief, Deja, and me. Luckily, we had a great assistant.<\/p>\n

Mel looked up from her desk as I approached. As always, her eyeliner was preternaturally symmetrical, her outfit scorchingly stylish\u2014she wore her YSL puff-sleeved black blouse as though it had been designed for her\u2014and her manicure glistened as though the polish were still wet. Her heels were Louboutin; her hijab was Herm\u00e9s.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Ms. Scaife,\u201d she said with a big smile. \u201cAnd good interview.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d I did a little a curtsey. \u201cI tried my very best.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, you succeeded.\u201d She turned to her computer and typed with unnerving speed. She\u2019d missed her calling as an airline ticket counter worker. \u201cOkay, all of your messages have been forwarded, you\u2019re late for the August pitches and you\u2019ve got the run-through at eleven.\u201d<\/p>\n

I checked my phone and hissed through my teeth. \u201cYikes. That doesn\u2019t give me a lot of time to pull the Michael Kors bags, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll put Patricia on it.\u201d Mel\u2019s fingers started flying, again. Those bags would be in my office within minutes. \u201cDid you see Daisy\u2019s new outfit?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mel had a Chihuahua named Daisy, and Daisy had her own Instagram account, wherein she posed in different, rarely repeated outfits, daily. Sometimes, she and Mel matched.<\/p>\n

\u201cI did not,\u201d I admitted. \u201cBut I am going to look, right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

And that wasn\u2019t a lie. Daisy\u2019s OOTD\u2014Outfit of the Day\u2014was as essential to getting me through the morning as caffeine.<\/p>\n

I dropped my purse and jacket in the office and headed straight for the conference room, where Deja and the four other editors\u2014two for fashion, one for beauty, one for lifestyle\u2014were seated around the table. Deja sat at the head, leaning her elbows on the table and fiddling with a stylus as she listened intently to Dana, our lifestyle editor. Always the epitome of cool, Deja had taken the bold step of totally shaving her perfectly shaped head.<\/p>\n

I paused outside the glass door and waited, watching for a break in the conversation. When Deja looked down at the tablet in front of her and started scrolling, I saw my chance and pushed open the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re late,\u201d she said without looking up as she dragged the stylus over the screen.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a good excuse today,\u201d I reminded her. \u201cI was on TV.\u201d<\/p>\n

Deja grinned at me. \u201cI know. We were watching. \u2018You, too?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Light laughter rippled around the table. I sank into my chair with a good-natured shake of my head. \u201cUgh, I know. I can\u2019t believe I said that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s like when you buy something at an airport kiosk, and the guy says, \u2018Have a nice flight!\u2019 and you\u2019re like, \u2018You, too!\u2019\u201d Stephenie, one of our fashion editors, said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOther than that, I think it went pretty well,\u201d I said with mock\u2014okay, and a little bit real\u2014defensiveness.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did good,\u201d Deja reassured me. \u201cOkay, we were about to talk Gwyneth Paltrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVeto!\u201d I said automatically, raising my hand. \u201cI use my veto card.\u201d<\/p>\n

Deja arched an eyebrow. \u201cYou just walked into this meeting. Do you want to wait a second and see what\u2019s going on before you jump right in?\u201d<\/p>\n

I made a sheepish, apologetic face.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. Put that card back in your deck.\u201d Deja cleared her throat. \u201cOkay, on the subject of our lifestyle piece debunking<\/em> several vaginal health claims made by Gwyneth Paltrow\u2019s website\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

****<\/p>\n

After the meeting, I slunk into my office and put my head down on my desk. I had about half an hour before the beauty editors would show me every single piece they\u2019d picked to feature in the August issue, and I would sit and make notes and generally not feel like such a failure.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d known that running a magazine would be hard. I\u2019d worked at one for long enough. But I\u2019d been an assistant. My old boss, Gabriella Winters, had made the entire process seem effortless. And Neil was more than capable of managing the day-to-day at a magazine; his entire fortune was built on them. What was wrong with me?<\/p>\n

Deja knocked on my door before she opened it and stuck her head in. \u201cHey, do you have the run through coming up? I though you wanted to pull those Kors?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMel got Patricia to do it.\u201d I propped my elbows on my desk and rubbed my temples. \u201cDeja, why am I such a fuck up?\u201d<\/p>\n

She sighed and closed the door behind her then leaned on it. \u201cYou\u2019re not a fuck up. You\u2019re just\u2026really bad at coming to work and doing your job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I shouldn\u2019t be!\u201d I exclaimed. \u201cI worked for the most demanding editor-in-chief at the most demanding fashion magazine in the world, and I survived for two years. I know how to do all of this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know in theory,\u201d she reminded me. \u201cNot in practice. You were Gabriella\u2019s assistant. You kept track of things for her, but you never had to do<\/em> them for her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUgh. She made it look so easy.\u201d I dropped my head to my desk then looked up miserably. \u201cYou\u2019re so good at this. I actually feel guilty dragging you into it with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Deja rolled her eyes. \u201cOh, no, you dragged me into running an extremely lucrative fashion magazine. All of this financial security is unbearable.\u201d<\/p>\n

I snorted.<\/p>\n

\u201cBesides, I did kind of get the inside track,\u201d she said guiltily.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d first met Deja when I was still the assistant to\u2014and not yet girlfriend of\u2014my husband. He hired her, she eventually fell in love with and married my best friend, and yeah, committed some corporate espionage for my old boss at the same time.<\/p>\n

Things had gotten pretty messy for a while there.<\/p>\n

But Deja was right. Her time as Gabriella\u2019s mentee had prepared her far more thoroughly than my stint as Gabriella\u2019s assistant had me. And that wasn\u2019t something I should have been ashamed of.<\/p>\n

What I should have been ashamed of was how little effort I\u2019d put into the entire magazine endeavor. We were a success, but I had very little to do with that aside from having a rich husband.<\/p>\n

There was a lot I needed to think about, but my day was jam-packed, and it was always easier to just ignore the big, scary life questions in favor of doing literally anything else. And there was plenty \u201canything else\u201d that needed doing.<\/p>\n

Despite my best efforts, I didn\u2019t arrive at home until quarter to nine.<\/p>\n

The solar-powered lights lining the circular drive hadn\u2019t turned on yet; the sun had only barely set. I asked Tony to drop me off under the porte cochere, rather than the front door, so I could go directly to the kitchen. I\u2019d expected to find dinner waiting for me in the warming oven, but to my surprise, Neil waited behind the counter, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cSeven-thirty?\u201d he asked with a tilt of his head and a smug smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cLike you\u2019ve never worked late in your life.\u201d I kicked my shoes off with a relieved groan and went to him. He looped his arms around my waist, and I leaned my head against his chest to breathe in his familiar scent. \u201cIs Olivia asleep?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI had to put her to bed,\u201d he said with an apologetic kiss on top of my head. \u201cShe was an absolute tyrant at dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

I glanced over at her highchair, still smeared with food. \u201cAm I the worst Sophie ever?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d he reassured me. \u201cAnd not for nothing, you\u2019re my favorite Sophie.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reluctantly stepped back, my stomach growling. While Neil leaned down to get a dish from the oven, I hopped up on one of the stools at the island. \u201cI feel like I never see her or spend time with her, anymore. Or you, for that matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I had time to feel neglected, I would, I promise,\u201d he quipped, depositing a round white ceramic dish on the trivet on the counter. \u201cCaprese stuffed chicken?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOoh.\u201d I leaned over the dish and inhaled deeply. \u201cGive me a fork.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can give you a plate, as well,\u201d he offered as he handed the utensil to me. Then, chagrined as I dug directly into the baking dish, he added, \u201cOr you could dine from the trough this evening.\u201d<\/p>\n

I put up one middle finger as I chewed. I\u2019d taken way too big a bite. When I could get words out around it, I mumbled, \u201cSince when are you Mr. Sixties Housewife?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSince all I do these days is chase after a toddler. Who is also chased after by a nanny, thank god.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cYou know, I wouldn\u2019t survive parenting a child without support staff. How on earth do people manage?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was still hard not to roll my eyes at Neil\u2019s cultural disconnect. He\u2019d lived his entire life as a billionaire. His father had owned a major media company. His mother had come from the oldest of old money. As soon as he\u2019d graduated college, he\u2019d started building a media empire of his own. I\u2019d once caught him Googling \u201cpoverty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey get by, somehow, I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

I watched Neil as he wiped down the counter with a kitchen towel. He\u2019d done a complete one-eighty since we\u2019d met. Well, since we\u2019d met, again. <\/em>It had been six years between our bonkers day of sex in an L.A. hotel and the morning that he\u2019d walked into my boss\u2019s office and informed me that he<\/em> was my boss, now. After four years, cancer, the death of his daughter, and his subsequent hospitalization, he was a completely different Neil Elwood. He looked a little older, his hair was grayer, but he was still just as heart-stoppingly handsome as he\u2019d ever been, and he could still melt the panties right off me with a single emerald-green glance. He\u2019d quit working nonstop the way he had in the past, though he spent most of his time backseat-managing some of his businesses and calling in funding favors for the rape crisis center he\u2019d founded. Everything he\u2019d been through in our years together had changed him.<\/p>\n

It had changed me, too. I\u2019d gone from never-settle-down to a husband and somebody else\u2019s kid. I\u2019d gone from a dinky Chinatown apartment to an eight-figure mansion in the Hamptons\u2014oh, and a stunning Fifth Avenue penthouse, an ultra-modern Reykjavik home, a palatial estate in the English countryside, a London townhouse, and a Venetian apartment I\u2019d never even seen. Not to mention a closet I wouldn\u2019t have dared to dream about on the salary I\u2019d earned as a mere assistant at a fashion magazine. All of that seemed like it should have made me a kept woman, but my life with Neil had made me far more independent.<\/p>\n

Even if I was really, really bad at that independence, I was determined to hold onto it.<\/p>\n

\u201cNeil\u2026do you think I\u2019m good at what I do?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked up with a devious smile. \u201cI think you are very <\/em>good at what you do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, perv.\u201d I rolled my eyes. \u201cI meant the magazine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t say. I don\u2019t work with you. The magazine\u2019s selling well. The issues themselves look wonderful, even if I\u2019m not particularly fond of some of the formatting\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

I cleared my throat.<\/p>\n

Neil stopped himself and shrugged. We\u2019d had the don\u2019t-criticize-my-magazine conversation more than once. \u201cIf the magazine is successful, then you aren\u2019t bad at your job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUnless it\u2019s ninety-nine percent Deja,\u201d I admitted sheepishly.<\/p>\n

He waited for me to continue, eyebrows raised quizzically.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m always late,\u201d I explained, using my fingers to tick off all the things I failed at every day. \u201cI never know what\u2019s going on, the only thing I\u2019m really good at is picking out clothes, I take heaps of time off\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Those couldn\u2019t possibly have been all the reasons I sucked. It seemed like there should be so many more.<\/p>\n

Neil braced his hands wide to lean on the counter. \u201cYou do realize that these are problems only you can control?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded miserably.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it possible that the stress of your book release might be making you slightly more self-critical than you usually are?\u201d<\/p>\n

Again, I nodded. \u201cNot to mention the class reunion.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Sophie, we\u2019ve been over this,\u201d he said, straightening and moving to toss the kitchen towel into the sink. \u201cThere is no reason for you to be insecure about going to your ten-year reunion when you\u2019ve got two memoirs under your belt and you own a magazine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t understand what it\u2019s like. When I was growing up, I always heard that poor people like us were hardworking, noble people, and rich people were sitting around getting something for nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is part of it,\u201d admitted the man whose investments made him an annual upper-middle class salary every day.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just don\u2019t want anyone to think I\u2019m putting on airs. Now that I\u2019ve been on national TV promoting my book about me and my billionaire husband, it\u2019s going to be a little hard to convince anyone that I haven\u2019t changed.\u201d My dread intensified. \u201cMaybe I shouldn\u2019t go to the reunion, after all. There\u2019s so much going on at the magazine\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOut of the question,\u201d he said quickly. \u201cYour mother would be crushed. Tony is meeting your family for the first time. Olivia has never met them at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I promised my grandma.\u201d I stabbed miserably at my dinner. \u201cI just wish everything wasn\u2019t coming one on top of the other. The print issue, the book, the morning show, the signing\u2026 By the time we actually get to Calumet, I\u2019m going to be an even bigger ball of stress than I am now. I\u2019m going to be a veritable Katamari of stress.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll pretend I know what that is and just move along, shall I?\u201d He reached across the counter and put a hand on the arm that wasn\u2019t shoveling chicken into my mouth. \u201cHow about I come to the signing tomorrow night? We can stay in the city; it will be closer to the airport, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to make a big deal out of all of this. I feel like everything is just\u2026out of control.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded thoughtfully and got me a San Pellegrino from the refrigerator. Twisting the top off, he came around the island to sit on the stool beside mine. As he handed me the bottle, he said, \u201cYou\u2019re not making a big deal. It won\u2019t cost anything to change our plans. I\u2019m already nearly packed. It won\u2019t be any trouble at all to put together an overnight bag for Olivia and me.\u201d<\/p>\n

One of Neil\u2019s most appealing qualities as a husband was that he often knew exactly what I needed, even when I had no clue myself. \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely. As for the out-of-control part of the equation, I know how to fix that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh?\u201d<\/p>\n

He inclined his head toward the door. \u201cWhen you\u2019re finished with that, go put your collar on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sophie and Neil return August 22nd, 2017<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I will not throw up on this woman. I will not throw up on this woman. The studio lights were way brighter than I remembered<\/p>\n

Read moreSunday Night Bedtime Reading: THE SISTER, Chapter One<\/span><\/a><\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11565"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=11565"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11565\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11566,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11565\/revisions\/11566"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=11565"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=11565"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=11565"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}