say to equalize things?”
She thought about this and then laughed self-consciously. “Probably I’d be horrified. I need you to be perfect and have your shit together.”
“You think I’m perfect?”
“Well,” she said. “Let’s see. You’re thin, you have a Ph.D., and you’re married. You make a good living, and you’re really pretty. How bad can your life ever be?”
I laughed. “You’re right: We’re not here to discuss my problems,” I said.
“Right, ’cause then you’d have to pay me, and I’m totally unqualified to help you. But you know what I mean, right?”
“You mean it’s a different kind of relationship. Not like any other one you have.”
“Yeah,” she said.
I nodded and waited to see whether she had more to say. When she didn’t say anything, I said, “How are you feeling about going home for the holidays?”
“Like slitting my wrists,” she said.
“You remember you promised to call me if you ever seriously think you might try that?”
“I meant it figuratively.”
“Good,” I said.
“This time,” she added.
“Okay. Let’s see if we can figure out a way to get you through the visit so you don’t even think about slitting your wrists.”
“Xanax?”
“I’m thinking more like survival strategies. How you can take your stepmother’s power to hurt you away from her.”
“Xanax?”
I laughed. “We’ll keep working on how you feel, but for the purpose of this visit, let’s try to give you new ways to react outwardly to the things she says that hurt you.”
“Like, ‘Oh my God, Amy, that freshman fifteen looks like it turned into the sophomore thirty! I will juice you some organic pomegranates right this minute.’ I hate her so fucking much. I miss my mother. She loved me.”
She cried gutturally for a while, then wiped her tear-smeared face and sighed, then laughed. “That fucking cunt bitch. I want to pop her boobs with a chopstick.”
“A knitting needle might work better.”
“I want to tie her up and force-feed her Cheetos. You know, I’ve fantasized about putting weight-gain powder in her stupid flaxseed, like the mean girls in that movie. I wish my father would dump her for a younger woman. Or, like, ‘Hey, Melanie, your neck looks like shit! Maybe you ought to get it Botoxed!’ All fake concerned. Old crone.” She looked at me. “Sorry. She’s not that old.”
“No need to apologize,” I said. “She’s probably much younger than I am, but your point is well taken. Fight fire with fire.”
“You have any better ideas?”
“Let’s take that statement. ‘That freshman fifteen looks like it turned into the sophomore thirty.’ You could look her right in the eye and say, ‘You may not insult me like that ever again as long as we live. I am your husband’s daughter, and I deserve respect and kindness from you.”
Amy giggled. “Yeah, right, as if,” she said.
“It’s a thought,” I said.
“Like I’m gonna say that to her? A lightning bolt would probably strike me in the head.”
“I will bet you’d be surprised,” I said.
“How do you think she’d react?”
“I’ll bet it won’t be anything you’d expect.”
“Of course, it’s not really that simple,” she said. “Or that easy.”
“But it’s a start,” I said.
“Yeah, well, it’s all very fun to think about that here with you, where I’m nice and safe,” she said, “but I still have to lug these thirty pounds back to L.A. and face that witch, while you get to stay here all perfect in your perfect life.”
“You seem,” I said mildly, “a little angry about that.”
“I know I’m a total fucking spoiled brat, poor little rich girl, but that just makes it worse ! I have no right to complain, and I’m so miserable, I could fucking die! Why is there no comfort? Why is everything so hard?”
“Amy,” I said. “You’re not a spoiled brat. You’re in a lot of pain for some very good reasons. I promise it will lessen, and there will
She thought about this and then laughed self-consciously. “Probably I’d be horrified. I need you to be perfect and have your shit together.”
“You think I’m perfect?”
“Well,” she said. “Let’s see. You’re thin, you have a Ph.D., and you’re married. You make a good living, and you’re really pretty. How bad can your life ever be?”
I laughed. “You’re right: We’re not here to discuss my problems,” I said.
“Right, ’cause then you’d have to pay me, and I’m totally unqualified to help you. But you know what I mean, right?”
“You mean it’s a different kind of relationship. Not like any other one you have.”
“Yeah,” she said.
I nodded and waited to see whether she had more to say. When she didn’t say anything, I said, “How are you feeling about going home for the holidays?”
“Like slitting my wrists,” she said.
“You remember you promised to call me if you ever seriously think you might try that?”
“I meant it figuratively.”
“Good,” I said.
“This time,” she added.
“Okay. Let’s see if we can figure out a way to get you through the visit so you don’t even think about slitting your wrists.”
“Xanax?”
“I’m thinking more like survival strategies. How you can take your stepmother’s power to hurt you away from her.”
“Xanax?”
I laughed. “We’ll keep working on how you feel, but for the purpose of this visit, let’s try to give you new ways to react outwardly to the things she says that hurt you.”
“Like, ‘Oh my God, Amy, that freshman fifteen looks like it turned into the sophomore thirty! I will juice you some organic pomegranates right this minute.’ I hate her so fucking much. I miss my mother. She loved me.”
She cried gutturally for a while, then wiped her tear-smeared face and sighed, then laughed. “That fucking cunt bitch. I want to pop her boobs with a chopstick.”
“A knitting needle might work better.”
“I want to tie her up and force-feed her Cheetos. You know, I’ve fantasized about putting weight-gain powder in her stupid flaxseed, like the mean girls in that movie. I wish my father would dump her for a younger woman. Or, like, ‘Hey, Melanie, your neck looks like shit! Maybe you ought to get it Botoxed!’ All fake concerned. Old crone.” She looked at me. “Sorry. She’s not that old.”
“No need to apologize,” I said. “She’s probably much younger than I am, but your point is well taken. Fight fire with fire.”
“You have any better ideas?”
“Let’s take that statement. ‘That freshman fifteen looks like it turned into the sophomore thirty.’ You could look her right in the eye and say, ‘You may not insult me like that ever again as long as we live. I am your husband’s daughter, and I deserve respect and kindness from you.”
Amy giggled. “Yeah, right, as if,” she said.
“It’s a thought,” I said.
“Like I’m gonna say that to her? A lightning bolt would probably strike me in the head.”
“I will bet you’d be surprised,” I said.
“How do you think she’d react?”
“I’ll bet it won’t be anything you’d expect.”
“Of course, it’s not really that simple,” she said. “Or that easy.”
“But it’s a start,” I said.
“Yeah, well, it’s all very fun to think about that here with you, where I’m nice and safe,” she said, “but I still have to lug these thirty pounds back to L.A. and face that witch, while you get to stay here all perfect in your perfect life.”
“You seem,” I said mildly, “a little angry about that.”
“I know I’m a total fucking spoiled brat, poor little rich girl, but that just makes it worse ! I have no right to complain, and I’m so miserable, I could fucking die! Why is there no comfort? Why is everything so hard?”
“Amy,” I said. “You’re not a spoiled brat. You’re in a lot of pain for some very good reasons. I promise it will lessen, and there will
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