So I became Ryan's mom and, as he entered his teenaged years, his co-conspirator, acting as the cushion between him and his by-the-book father.Īfter the break-up I kept a close eye on my step-son, letting him mope when wanted to, listening when he wanted to talk. But I wanted a family, it was clear I couldn't have children, and I'd concluded there was no Mr. John and I weren't smitten teenagers who couldn't live without each other. And so what if the talk wasn't wholly inaccurate.
I knew of the talk, that it was hasty, that I married John for the prestige, that he married me, a semi-trophy wife, to be twelve year old Ryan's mother. So if once in a while I envied my friend and if once in a while a good-looking visiting resident - I was careful, they were always from another department - was invited to share this doctor's bed, what was the harm? I showed them a good time.Īnd yes, maybe John and I married too soon after Ann passed. Unfortunately my important men were far too often self-obsessed blowhards and mediocrities in the sack. A successful attractive doctor, I dated important men, went to the right parties, ate at the best restaurants. And on those nights she needed to be held, she and I, like we had in medical school, would turn down the lights, split a bottle of wine, snuggle, touch, strip, make love. Husband and wife had more electronic than face-to-face communications and John, always at work, became an interloper in a family ever more centered on Ann and Ryan. As John, consumed by work, became increasingly unavailable, independent Ann volunteered here, championed a cause there, was active everywhere. Their marriage, despite John's growing reputation, had been successful. I was with her - we were eating lunch on a lovely spring day - when she was introduced to John, the brilliant young eye surgeon and rising star of the hospital's staff.Ĭhoosing stability and family, Ann married John a year later. We became friends, roommates, and served our residency - Ann in neurology, I an internist - at the same hospital. Ann, Ryan's mother, and I met in medical school. So while I, the good step-mother, had always been ready to listen, I'd gotten out of the way and let the relationship run its course.Ī bit of background. This was something he had to do on his own and, in any case, his friends had already tried to intervene. I'd wanted to say something, to do something, but hadn't.
I don't know whether it was conscious manipulation or just that she was an insecure young woman with limited tools stumbling through a relationship, but her constant condescension and criticism, penchant for blaming Ryan for her own bad behavior, and incessant discounting of his feelings had battered my step-son's confidence and self-esteem. I wasn't surprised things had been rocky and, other than the pain it caused him, wasn't upset. She was going to the prom with an old boyfriend just returned from a year in Europe. Katie, his girlfriend of eighteen months, had dumped him.
I suggested dinner at his favorite neighborhood Uzbek restaurant There it came out. I tapped on his door and asked if he'd join me for a cup of tea.Įyes red, trying to hold himself together, he appeared about twenty minutes later. Not like him, and wasn't he supposed to be with Katie? Half-an-hour later I went upstairs, heard him crying through his door, silently backed down the hall, and re-entered it making noise more than sufficient to announce my presence. One Friday afternoon, about a month before his high school prom, my step-son burst through the front door and headed for his room, nary a nod or hello. I want to thank all who have taken the time to write and post comments while I was gone.Īs always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older. It's been some months since I posted a story.