Page 17 of Woman on the Verge

I gave her a hug. Hugs with Merry have always been awkward. She is not the affectionate type. I’ve always longed for the mothers from sitcoms who embrace their children with ferocity, mothers who say things like “You’re my favorite human,” things I say to Grace and Liv all the time. It would be easy to assume that Merry just never felt it was appropriate for a stepmom to say those sitcom-mom things, but I think the truth is that she doesn’t have it in her. She never had her own kids, for reasons I’ve never investigated. One time she mentioned, randomly, “I’m not a touchy person. My parents were German.”

“I made it,” I said.

“Who’s there?” my dad called from upstairs.

“It’s Nicole, Rob,” Merry said.

She looked at me and shook her head. “I just told him that you would be here soon.”

The house was warm because Merry is always cold and sets the thermostat at seventy-seven at all times. Unlike mine, her perimenopause days are long behind her.

“I’ve got your room ready for you upstairs,” she said, as if she were a hotel manager.

She insisted on taking my suitcase, and I followed her up the stairs and to my old bedroom, which was painted and turned into a guest room about five seconds after I left for college.

She set my suitcase on top of the queen-size bed and said, “This will do, right?”

“Mer, of course it will do. It was my bedroom for eighteen years.”

“I guess that’s true, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

I found it hard to remember what it had been like as my room. I’d had artwork and Polaroid photos taped or tacked to the walls. It was veryme. Or the me I used to be. I thought of the face Kyle would make if I came home and insisted on covering every inch of the walls with visual inspiration. He would have me committed.

“Dad’s in bed?” I asked.

“He is,” she said. “Just to warn you, he’s even worse at night.”

I followed her to their bedroom. The TV was on, an infomercial for a food processor that was described as “revolutionary.” My dad was sitting up against the headboard in his boxer shorts and a T-shirt, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked like he’d lost weight.

“Hey, Pops,” I said.

He turned, and there was shock on his face when he saw me.

“Nikki! What are you doing here?”

Merry sighed loudly behind me.

“I decided to come visit, remember?”

“You did? Are you pulling my leg? Is this a surprise?”

“I guess it’s a surprise for you,” I said, forcing a laugh.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

“Well, let me give my girl a hug.”

That’s when he took a step in my direction, and I saw immediately that something was very wrong. He looked like someone walking on the deck of a boat in rough waters.

He teetered from one foot to the other with each step, his gait unstable and staggering. I looked to Merry, my mouth agape, tears coming at just the sight of him. She looked at me likeSee, I told you.

When he finally made his way to me, he wrapped his arms around me with the strength and tightness that Merry never gave me. He was warm and solid, and I buried my face into his shoulder, drying my eyes on his shirt. I didn’t want him to see me upset.

“Daddy, what’s wrong with your legs?” I asked him.

“Oh, I don’t know. My balance is off.”