Page 2 of Enemy Daddy Next Door

She shakes my hand with more strength than I know what to do with.

When I finally get control of my hand back, I drop it under the table and shake it out. That’s going to leave a mark. “I’d be happy to answer your questions.”

“Fantastic!”

Fiona pulls up a chair for Gina to sit across from me. She has a recorder to capture my answers and also writes at a breakneck speed on her pad of paper. She asks me all the usual things: why I’m a writer, how long I’ve been doing it, what I like best about it. Funnily enough, as a children’s writer, people tend to ask me extremely infantile questions. I read interviews with some of my favorite fiction writers and am astonished at how cerebral the conversations are. But with me, interviewers ask me questions with the same cadence as if you were to ask someone what their favorite color was.

“Now this new book –“ Gina picks up a copy from the table. “Petunia’s Parental Predicament.”

“Yes.”

“Interesting title. Tell us where it came from.”

I smile, “Well, all of the titles in the Petunia series are alliterative, staring with Petunia, the Peculiar Porcupine, which –“

“I’ve always found it so interesting you started your series with a title that seems to suggest that Petunia is a bit of a…weirdo, shall we say?”

I laugh. “Yes, that was the point! I wanted to create a character that was out there and so into being herself that people – or should I say porcupines – couldn’t question it.”

“A very ‘be yourself’ narrative.”

Okay, this conversation is fun. “Precisely.”

“Precisely, Petunia. That’s actually one of my favorites. My kids love it.”

“I didn’t know you were a fan.”

Gina beams. “Absolutely! I would have brought them if I wasn’t on the job. And…well, that brings me to the subject matter.”

My insides lock up. I knew I’d be getting backlash. It’s one thing from parents who don’t know what to do with themselves when their children’s precious worlds are split with reality. It’s another from a reporter for the Arts and Culture section. “Sure. Let’s get into it.”

“Literature about divorce for children is no longer uncommon as it once was. But it’s interesting for you to introduce such dramatic subject matter into a series which many children read every volume of. Care to comment?”

I frown. “I don’t know if I’d say it’s a dramatic subject matter when fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.”

Gina’s eyes widen. “Well, divorce’s impact on a child –”

“What I mean is, it shouldn’t be so taboo to talk about. Don’t your children have friends whose parents are divorced?” I ask. Then I clock Gina’s ringless left hand. This is California – it’s not uncommon for people to live in domestic partnerships even when children are involved. But from her reaction, I know I’ve struck a chord. “I was that friend. And because none of my friends were in that situation, they didn’t know how to talk about it with me, because it was something no one could relate with. I felt like I was literally a weirdo, just like Petunia. But it was just a fact of my life. As simple as if you are right-handed or left-handed. Parents were either married or divorced.”

“Well, forgive me, Ms. Solace, but that’s usually a subject that parents prefer they seek out when the time comes rather than be shown it in a children’s book series.”

“That’s just the thing, though. Children with happily married parents will read this and will be able to harness their empathy toward friends whose parents have chosen a life apart.” I’m being much too generous to my own parents’ divorce in this case, but I’m on the record. “I would have loved a book like this when I was a child. For me and for my friends who did what they could to be there for me, but just didn’t have the capacity to understand it.”

Gina’s furrowed brow lightens. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

I shrug. “That’s why you’re a reporter, right? So you can ask the questions.”

She grins. “I suppose you’re right.” She scrutinizes the book in her hands again and then says, “How much are these going for?”

“For you, Gina, it’s on the house,” I reply.

* * *

“Are you okay, Amy?”

I glance over at Fiona in the driver’s seat. “Huh?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”