Everything's Relative

by Jenna McCarthy

  “Funny you should say that, because he did offer that,” he said. “You’ve got that man wrapped around your little finger, whether that was your intention or not. My dad hasn’t wanted to socialize with anyone outside of the family, with the single exception of Frank for some strange reason, for more than a decade. Hell, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if he offered to throw a New Year’s Eve party for a thousand of your closest friends. You’re good for him, Alexis. I guess I’m going to have to keep you around.” It was exactly what she wanted to hear.

  Their Thanksgiving dinner had been one for the books. Robert had insisted that Lexi sit directly next to him and had shot questions at her like machine-gun fire all night. Lexi had never met a boyfriend’s father before, let alone a famous, reclusive one with a potty mouth as bad as hers. But for some reason—maybe because of their shared affinity for both Rob and profanity—she felt completely at ease around him. She had sensed Rob watching her all evening; he told her later that he had never, not once in his entire life, seen Robert Maxwell Cooper look so genuinely interested in anyone or anything that wasn’t a canvas. Lexi thought her heart might actually explode, it felt so full.

  “Well, I like him, too,” Lexi said now, smiling at Rob. I almost threw all of this away, she realized. She shuddered at the thought.

  “That’s not all he said,” Rob said. He polished off the last of his beer and set down the bottle on the trunk-style coffee table. “I don’t know if you know this, but it’s practically impossible to get your work into an art gallery in this town. There’s this whole unwritten protocol for up-and-coming artists, where you have to do this many small shows and be invited to that many openings and be seen at so many events before anyone will even consider showing your work, and even then you’re lucky to get it up in a coffee shop.”

  “Okay,” Lexi said slowly. “So what’s your point?”

  “Well, there’s one exception to everything I just said: If the one and only Robert Maxwell offers to show some of his previously unseen works alongside an unknown artist.”

  Lexi’s mouth fell open. “What are you saying?”

  “My dad wants to do a show with you,” Rob said. He looked as excited as any kid waiting in line to sit on Santa’s lap and unload his six-page wish list ever did. “He wanted to ask you himself but I told him you might freak out, so I wanted to be the one to present the idea. He doesn’t have all of the exact details worked out yet, but he’s working on that part as we speak. But you’ll do it, right?”

  “But, Rob, all I have is a big, sloppy pile of sketches!” Lexi cried. “Nothing is matted or framed or anything. I’m not a professional artist. I have no training at all. I’m nobody. I’ll humiliate him!”

  He squeezed her hand. “Close your eyes and come with me.” Lexi did as she was told, walking carefully on trembling feet.

  “Open,” Rob instructed. Lexi gasped. The walls of Rob’s entire spare bedroom, floor to ceiling on all four sides, were a patchwork of her sketches, each one beautifully matted and expertly framed. She had to admit; the collective effect was stunning.

  “It’ll look better under the spotlights and everything,” Rob said bashfully. “And these are just the copies—Brooke lent me the portfolio she made. I didn’t have them seal the backs, because we’ll have to use the originals and you’ll need to sign them and all, but . . . what do you think?”

  Alexis Alexander didn’t cry. Not as a child, not even when she watched them lower her father’s body into the ground, and not as an adult when any of seven million horrible, heartbreaking things had happened to her. When she was hurt or sad or embarrassed, she bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste the salty blood, but she never, ever cried.

  “I . . . I . . . can’t . . .” She shook her head from side to side, her hands covering her mouth.

  “Do you hate it? Are you mad? Alexis, please don’t be mad. I only thought—” Seeing Rob so distraught sent Lexi careening over an unfamiliar edge.

  The tears came hard and fast, as if someone had turned on an old faucet that had been gathering pressure for years. She heaved and sobbed and Rob had his arms around her, rocking her gently.

  “You don’t have to do this, Alexis,” he was saying. “I didn’t mean to push you. It’s just, my dad got me so worked up, and he really thinks you can be a huge, famous artist—and not like when you’re dead, but now, in this lifetime, in our lifetime. But if it’s not what you want, we can forget this ever happened. Okay? Alexis? Talk to me, please.”

  She pulled away from him. Her eyes were wet and red and her lips were quivering.

  “I’ve never been good at anything,” she whispered. “Ever.”

  “Not true,” Rob said.

  “Blow jobs don’t count,” Lexi said, smiling despite herself.

  “Actually, you’ve probably always been good at lots of things, but nobody ever told you that you were,” Rob said, holding her face in both of his hands. A fresh tear slipped down her cheek; he wiped it away with his thumb and tilted her chin up toward his face. “Or maybe they told you but you didn’t believe them. But I want you to listen to me now: You, Alexis Alexander, are the most incredible woman I have ever met. You’re smart and beautiful and funny and fierce and have balls the size of Texas and more talent in your pinkie toe than an army of artists has in all of their bodies combined. And you do, in fact, give the world’s best blow job.”

  Lexi melted into his arms, wondering why in the hell nobody had ever told her that a good cry felt better than any drug ever created.

  The Sisters

  Jules had called Mr. Wiley the Monday after Brooke’s race and told him the news: They hadn’t merely met their mother’s conditions in turn, but they’d beaten their deadline by more than three weeks. Alexis had a job, Jules had an agent and her manuscript was making the publishing house rounds, and Brooke had a shiny half-marathon finisher’s medal and a handsome new boyfriend that everyone adored. Mr. Wiley had been speechless. Then he’d apologized and explained that he was at that moment en route to LAX and would be gone through the holidays. They made an appointment for January fourth. Jules assured him that they could wait.

  “I heard from Billy today,” Jules said. The girls were in her Honda, driving to their meeting with Mr. Wiley. Jules hadn’t changed much in a year, at least outwardly, but Brooke and Lexi looked like entirely different women. Jules couldn’t wait to see Mr. Wiley’s reaction.

  “How is Billy?” Brooke asked. He’d been so sweet and understanding about the whole Thanksgiving visit mix-up, she almost felt bad about choosing George over him. But her heart knew what it wanted, so she had no choice but to follow it.

  “He met someone on the plane on the way back to Miami,” Jules said. “How funny is that? They’ve been dating for a month and he thinks she might be ‘the one.’ He said to tell you thank you.”

  “Are we really going to talk about Billy McCann right now?” Lexi interrupted. “I think we should talk about the millions of bucks we’re on our way to pick up. Seriously, what are you guys going to buy first? I’m buying a car. A Porsche. No, wait, a vintage Mustang GT. Or maybe one of those big square Mercedes that look like toasters. Shit, how am I going to pick one?”

  “You don’t have to pick one,” Jules reminded her. “You’re about to be loaded. Splurge a little. Get two.” She was snaking her way through the miserable downtown L.A. traffic, looking for a parking spot—a task not unlike finding a decent-looking pair of shoes on the clearance rack at Ross.

  “Holy crap, I don’t have to pick,” Lexi shouted, amazed that it was practical, conservative Jules who’d thought of this. “You guys, I’m buying two cars! Maybe one of them will be a pickup truck. Or a Jeep. Or a motorcycle!”

  Jules and Brooke laughed. “I guess I’ll buy a house?” Brooke said with great uncertainty.

  “First of all, you don’t have to buy a house right away,” Jules
said. “Maybe you could rent a place and make sure you like the neighborhood and everything before making it official.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Brooke said. “That’s what I’ll do, then, I guess. What about you, Jules? What are you going to buy first?”

  “I’m putting a pool in the backyard,” Jules said.

  “You’re going to stay in Reseda? In that shitty little house? I mean, no offense,” Lexi said. “But seriously?”

  “I’m not sure where we’ll move or when, and it’s just something I’ve always wanted,” Jules said, flipping on her blinker. Finally, she’d found a car about to pull out of a metered spot. “I’ll make sure when we sell the house that the buyer has kids. Every kid wants a swimming pool, right?” Lexi and Brooke nodded in agreement.

  They got out of the car and Jules led her sisters purposefully toward the same building they’d entered a year—or was it a lifetime?—ago. She threw open the door and motioned her sisters ahead of her.

  “Let’s do this,” Lexi said, grabbing one of each of her sisters’ hands and pulling them toward the elevator bank. They made a stunning, formidable trio.

  They sat for what felt like an eternity in Mr. Wiley’s waiting room. Finally, his secretary announced that he was ready to see them.

  “Jules, Brooke, Alexis—” Mr. Wiley did a terrible job hiding his shock at the transformation in Brooke and Lexi. “You ladies all look wonderful, wonderful! And congratulations on all of your accomplishments. Please, have a seat.”

  The sisters lowered themselves expectantly into the three chairs across from him. Mr. Wiley pulled out two large envelopes, scanned some notes written on the outside of each and put one back into his drawer. He tapped the edge of the second one on his desk.

  “I guess we should just get straight to it, then,” he said. The girls nodded in agreement. Mr. Wiley took a slender silver letter opener from a cup on his desk and sliced the envelope open, handing copies of the letter inside to each of them to read. He cleared his throat and began:

  Dear Julia, Brooke and Alexis,

  If you’re listening to these words, that can only mean one thing: You’ve met the conditions I laid out for each of you. I will admit that if I were alive, I’d be surprised. In fact, I’ve written another letter in the event of a failure, but this is the one I certainly hope you’ll hear.

  Before I go any further, let me say this: I know that all three of you blame and resent me for the way your lives turned out, but I did the best that I could, and I have only ever wanted what I thought was best for you all. Maybe now that you’ve enjoyed these achievements, you will finally believe that.

  You’ve probably spent the better part of this past year imagining your affluent futures, and I’m sure those images motivated you when you were struggling to succeed—which was my intent. Because your successes are my gift to each of you. My legacy, if you will. Your inheritance. I hope that achieving these goals brings you great happiness, because the truth is, there isn’t any money. There wasn’t any life insurance policy. Your father and I were young and foolish and never dreamed we’d need one. Depending on the circumstances of my death, there may be a small sum of cash to be distributed—probably in the five-digit range—as well as my condo and the Caprice. Mr. Wiley can help you divide these things should there be any contention. I’m hoping there won’t be.

  I understand that you might be angry at me, especially when I tell you that if I did have millions of dollars, I wouldn’t leave them to you, because money cannot buy happiness. I want you each to have something that you made for yourselves, something that can never be taken away. In all truth, I believe what I’ve given you is a far greater gift than any dollar figure could ever be.

  You’re welcome,

  Mom

  Mr. Wiley cleared his throat. The girls sat in stunned silence, each poring over her own copy of their mother’s letter, looking for a loophole or a punch line or, better yet, a “Gotcha!” None could be found.

  “Any questions, comments?” Mr. Wiley asked nervously.

  Brooke was dumbstruck; Jules opened and closed her mouth several times but no words would come out.

  “That fucking bitch,” Lexi finally said. But she was smiling when she said it, and her sisters laughed.

  Readers Guide for

  Everything’s Relative

  by Jenna McCarthy

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. From the opening chapter of the book, the three sisters epitomize the common traits that studies on the relationship between birth order and personality suggest: Jules is the eldest and a classic type A, responsible and a bit controlling; Brooke is the middle child, the people pleaser and peacemaker; and Lexi, the youngest, is rebellious and self-centered, with an “everything will work out” worldview. Do you see any of these common birth-order traits in your family or in families of those you know?

  2. When the girls’ father died, they lost their mother, too. She became overly critical and controlling while at the same time handing over many of the motherly duties to Jules, who was only twelve. Losing a spouse is one of the most traumatic events in a person’s life, but it is clear that Juliana never fully recovered, nor did she help her children through the grieving process. Do you empathize with her and feel she did the best she could, or do you feel her actions are inexcusable? Did your feelings about her change from the beginning of the book to the end?

  3. Jules had to write a book and try to sell it, Brooke had to dump Jake and date someone more deserving and train for a race, while Lexi had to begin using her full name—Alexis—and get a real job. These are very specific requirements that only a person who knew the sisters well could have set. What does this level of knowledge about their personal lives demonstrate about Juliana and the relationship that she had with her daughters, despite the difficulties they experienced? What sort of final conditions would your parents put on an inheritance in this same style? What changes or goals do you think they would demand of you?

  4. Juliana’s controlling nature seems to be born from some desire to control the uncontrollable in the wake of her husband’s senseless and unexpected death. Do you think Juliana’s critical and harsh words for her daughters were meant to, in some way, keep them safe? Can you think of a time when either you as a parent or your own parents reacted harshly or explosively to some mistake or event that you or they later admitted was more about fear than the actual mistake or event?

  5. Jules’s relationship to her sisters feels more like a parent-child relationship at the beginning of the book, and Lexi especially treats her like an overbearing mother figure. Do you feel those relationships change and become more sisterly as the novel goes on? And if so, what are some key moments when this change occurs?

  6. When Jules is young, she sacrifices a lot to care for her sisters, and even as an adult, she can’t seem to shake the habit of sacrificing the little comforts—for example, a fresh, warm towel—in order to achieve some tiny practical goal that may seem insignificant to those around her. Why do you think Jules continues to do this into her adult years? What little sacrifices did your parent or parents make for you, or what sacrifices have you made as a parent?

  7. Brooke’s relationship with her deadbeat boyfriend Jake seems, at first, to make little sense. Why would someone stay with a guy who is so obviously a leech on her life? But this type of relationship is all too common. Why do you think Brooke was settling for Jake? How do you think Brooke’s childhood contributed to this habit of allowing herself to be taken advantage of?

  8. Brooke has a tough start fulfilling her running goals, but as soon as she sees ways that she can help her sisters satisfy their requirements of the will, she is extremely motivated to create a portfolio for Lexi and get herself into some awkward situations trying to sell Jules’s book for her. What do you think this says about Brooke as a person?

  9. Meanwhile, Jules is trying to play cupid for her
sister with her long-lost high school sweetheart via Facebook. What do you think of this meddling—is it the same as what Brooke is doing, or does the dating/romance aspect set it in a different category?

  10. Growing up as the youngest sister, Lexi has no memory of her family as a happy, functioning unit, and it’s clear from the opening scene of the book that she has always been a headstrong and rebellious person. How does that add up to the Lexi we meet around the time of her mother’s death: a party girl who swaps sex for favors and can barely hold down a job at a dive bar? What do you think are the root causes behind Lexi’s self-destructive behavior, and how do you think a mother’s controlling nature may have led to her daughter’s wild ways?

  11. Why do you think Lexi never explored her talent as an artist when she was younger? Did it just not fit into the “tough chick” image she had cultivated for herself, or was it something more? Based on her behavior, how do you think Lexi estimates her self-worth?

  12. Why do you think it was so natural for Lexi to jump to conclusions about Rob’s Thanksgiving plans? How do you think you would have reacted in her situation—when someone says he is going to one place and then you find out he’s somewhere else?

  13. All of the girls idolize their father—Jules perhaps the most of all, as she yearns to follow in his footsteps and become a writer. It’s impossible to know what their actual relationship would have looked like, but it’s obviously important to Jules to keep his memory alive. Is there anyone like this in your life? Someone whom you barely remember or never knew but whom you think about each day and imagine What if? and contemplate the guidance or support he or she would give you?

  14. How did you feel about the ending? Were you expecting it or surprised? How would you feel if you were one of the sisters?

  15. What do you think the other letter said, the letter that the lawyer was meant to read to the sisters if they did not complete their tasks?