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“I’m Just the Girlfriend.”
Neil rolled his eyes. “I loathe that title.”
Emma made a face. “Why?”
“It minimizes her role in my care, and frankly, our relationship. She was my girlfriend, yes, but not just my girlfriend.”
“I think it’s catchy,” Emma defended me.
“And the point of the title wasn’t to show the reality of the situation, but my perception,” I reminded him for the millionth time.
Valerie nodded. “And once everyone reads the book, they’ll have the whole picture.”
A sudden pang of indigestion hit me as I realized for the first time that people who knew Neil and me were going to read this book. Emma was going to read this book, probably.
“Sophie, are you all right? Did you get one of those cloves?” Valerie’s concerned gaze slid from my face to my plate and back.
“No, I just… I agonized over the decision as to whether or not I wanted strangers reading this intensely personal story… I never thought about, Emma, for example, reading it.”
Maybe I would gift everyone I knew with a copy of the book, whole sections blacked out with a marker.
“Dad, have you read it?” Emma asked, digging back into her food.
“I’ve read parts. Passages that Sophie felt were sensitive.” He took a swallow of water and didn’t meet her gaze.
Emma looked questioningly at me.
“Sex stuff.” It wouldn’t help to tap dance around it.
“Nothing pornographic,” Neil said to sooth her horrified expression. “But there is…frank discussion about sexuality during cancer treatment.”
I hoped she heeded those words as a warning. At India’s urging—and with Neil’s full support—I’d written about the toll chemotherapy had taken on our sex life. Of course, I hadn’t included the fact that we’d had a threesome or had gone on a Parisian sex holiday, but I didn’t think that would matter. Reading about my honest feelings regarding sex with her father would probably not be high on Emma’s list of must-do activities.
“Well, Sophie, I wish you all the best, but that’s a side of the two of you I’d rather not have illustrated.” Valerie held up her glass as if in toast and took a long swallow.
That was fine with me. I’d also written—without naming names—about an ex-partner of Neil’s who’d made me feel profoundly unwelcome when I’d first arrived in England. Valerie had meddled with Emma and her father’s relationship, implying that she wouldn’t be wanted at the house while her father underwent treatment, because of me. I’d never figured out what end Valerie had been trying to achieve by widening the divide between Emma and me, but I was bitter that it had come at the cost of Neil spending time with his daughter while he’d been ill.
Still, we were at peace for once.
When dinner was over, Emma headed for Michael’s, but warned us she’d be back later, as Michael had an early meeting and she didn’t want to disturb his rest.
“He has a full-size bed, and it’s just way too hot and uncomfortable to be squeezed in so close all night,” she said, looping her scarf around her neck.
We stood in the foyer, to see both Emma and Valerie off. Just the mention of a bed and Michael in the same sentence was enough to elicit a scoff of displeasure from Neil.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t wait up, or you’ll be quite put-out.”
“Oh, Neil, I’d almost forgotten,” Valerie said, pulling on one red leather driving glove. “I need to reschedule our meeting with research and development, but I didn’t know when you would be free this week. Do you have your diary with you?”
“I’m going now,” Emma said, leaning up to kiss her father on the cheek. She gave her mother a hug and wished her goodbye and went out to the elevator, leaving just me and Neil and Valerie, standing alone
without Emma as our buffer.
“Well.” Neil cleared his throat. “My laptop is just in the other room, I’ll run off and get it, shall I?”
“Thanks.” Valerie nodded briskly, and I realized there had been some unspoken communication between the two. Valerie wanted to get me alone, and Neil didn’t want that to happen, but he had no way to parry Valerie’s “Let’s talk about work,” strike. I was left there with his ex, the mother of his child, the woman who hated me probably more than anyone I’d ever met.
“So. Sophie. Congratulations again on your engagement.” Her smile wasn’t what I would describe as frozen, but it was certainly stiff. “I guess this makes you Emma’s stepmother.”
