Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bernie
I really don’t have anyone to blame but myself as I stand in front of a brick-and-white colonial-style house. It has a nice yard and lights along a brick path that leads to the front door. Everything feels different on the East Coast. I even had to look up this style of the house—colonial style. Things feel older here. A different kind of old from the mishmash of bungalows, midcentury, Victorians, and ranch houses of the Northwest.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Come on sunshine, it’s going to be fine.”
“You have nothing to prove; your family already loves you.” I didn’t realize I had repressed ‘meet-the-family’ trauma from meeting my ex’s family until I got on the plane.
Stephen’s family had not liked me. That was the simplest way to put it.
They didn’t think I was good enough. I was either too young or not what they expected. Stephen’s forty-eight, sixteen years older than me; I guess I don’t really blame them. All of Stephen’s family were in STEM, either doctors or computer scientists, all in prestigious positions. They didn’t really know what to do with the much younger sociologist who worked in the ‘soft sciences.’
“They’re going to love you because I love you.” Ash presses a fleeting kiss to my cheek before dragging me toward the steps.
My breath whooshes out of my lungs when he says it. He says those three words like they’re easy. I haven’t quite found the courage yet.
I return my focus to the house. Ash’s parents live about two hours outside of the city, in what looks like a fairly modest suburb. Their house seems normal. His parents bought it a few years ago, after his mom retired, because they wanted to be closer to Ash and his brother.
“Why did we have to come so early?”
“It’s Tuesday, Bernie. It’s customary to spend time with your family during the holidays. Were you expecting we’d just drive out here on Thanksgiving Day?” He laughs, opening the front door and pulling my suitcase inside. I step into the warmth.
To be honest, I kind of was.
When you’re a family of two, it’s common to go to a distant relative or family friend's house for Thanksgiving. If my mom and I had a Thanksgiving tradition it would be to go to someone else’s house and do and eat whatever they ate for Thanksgiving. I haven’t really spent Thanksgiving with her since high school.
“Kind of,” I murmur and copy his movements, removing my boots and placing them next to the door.
“You can either stay in your socks, or my Mom probably got you some slippers.” He can’t stop smiling, he’s practically bouncing from foot to foot.
“Okay.” I shove my hands into my coat pockets for lack of something else to do. I’m not necessarily nervous to meet them. I’m nervous that I’m going to let Ash down. What if I can’t measure up? Last week he caught me looking at his mom’s Google Scholar and taking notes.
“Dad!” he yells. “Mom, we’re here!” He turns to me and starts to unbutton my coat. “It’s going to be fine, Bernie. I promise.” He slides the wool off my shoulders and pulls off my hat and scarf with it.
“What, you don’t call for me? You don’t want me to meet her?”
“Shut up, Rav. You’ve met Bernie.”
“Through Zoom. How was I supposed to ask for her autograph through Zoom?” Ash’s brother Ravi walks into the living room full of swagger. He’s taller than Ash and has lighter skin but the same hazel eyes. His jaw and chin are sharp and clean-shaven. I wave at him from where I’m standing, and he laughs.
“Don’t be an asshole, Ravi.” Ash loops an arm around my waist and walks forward, taking me with him.
“Nonsense, you hardly let me talk to her at all. It’s like you’re ashamed of us.” Ravi shoulders Ash out of the way and scoops me up into a feet-dangling bear hug. “Good to meet you in person, Dr. Murphy.”
“Hello Ravi,” I laugh, hugging him back. He’s like an excited puppy, and it’s hard to hold on to my nerves.
“Rav, stop manhandling the girl,” a stern voice admonishes, and I swear Ravi tightens his arms around me in defiance.
“Hey Papa,” Ashish says beside us, and I turn my face to see him hug his dad.
“Why are you here so late? I thought you were going to be here in the morning. Your mom kept checking her phone.”
“No, I told you we would be here before dinner. We only flew in yesterday, and I wanted to give Bernie a chance to relax at my place before the drive.”
Rakesh Mishra turns toward me with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Finally, we get to meet the famous Bernadette Murphy,” he says, clasping my hand between his warm ones. Rakesh is shorter than his sons, maybe the same height as me, with grey hair and a slim build. He has a close-cropped beard and large almond shaped eyes, just like Ravi.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mishra.”
“Please call me Rakesh, love.” His faint British accent is charming as hell, and I smile before he tugs me into his arms for a surprisingly firm hug. The Mishras are definitely huggers. I feel Ash’s big hand on my lower back and step back into him.
“Where’s Mom?”
“She went upstairs to rest, but I’m sure she’s heard you’re here and is on her way down.” Rakesh turns his head toward the stairs and shouts, “Sandy, the kids are finally here!”
“Is she feeling okay?” I hear Ash start to ask before my attention is snagged by Ravi, tapping my shoulder.
“Are you hungry? Or want something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
“Of course, let me know if you need anything.” He winks, and Ash punches him in the shoulder.
“I will get her something if she needs anything.”
“Sorry, Bhaiya , I didn’t realize you were so sensitive.” Ravi lifts his hand to cover his mouth, stage whispering to me, “he’s probably worried he’s going to piss you off again.”
I laugh awkwardly and glance at Ash’s flushed face.
“Don’t listen to him. He was dropped on his head as a baby, and we’re pretty sure something broke.”
“I think you were the one that dropped him,” an amused voice says from the stairs, and Ash leaves me to go hug his mother. He picks her up like Ravi did to me.
Yep, definitely huggers.
She laughs and pats his shoulder as he sets her down. Sandra Mishra is average height and slight. Ash told me she had been diagnosed with cancer right before the pandemic and though in remission, I would guess she hasn’t put the weight she lost from the treatment back on. Her short hair is in a pixie cut and is stark white and a little curly. She looks at me with squinty hazel eyes and a big smile, just like Ash’s.
“Dr. Mishra.” I hold out my hand. “A pleasure.”
She laughs, bypassing my hand and hugging me. I look at Ash over her shoulder with wide eyes. I think I’ve met my hugging quota for the month. He shrugs like he’s telling me to get used to it and picks up my bag to carry it up the stairs, leaving me with his mother.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Bernadette. Please, call me Sandy.” She steps back and leads me to the kitchen.
“Alright Sandy, I go by Bernie.” The wood floors creak under my feet, and I follow her, a little pissed at Ash for abandoning me.
“What can I get you to drink? I think I’ll have some hot chocolate. Does that sound good?”
“Sure, I would love some.” I sit on a squeaky barstool and don’t know what to do with my hands. “Can, I, umm, help?”
“No, no, tell me about your trip, Ash says the flight was good?”
I watch Sandy pull down some cups and hot chocolate powder. “Yep, no delays. It was a little busy because of the holiday.”
She turns on an electric kettle and then faces me with a big smile. Ash’s smile. I sit still for her judgment. Stephen’s mom never invited me into the kitchen. I was encouraged to sit in the living room, for company. Everyone knows kitchens are for family.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and I want to die from embarrassment. How am I so transparent?
I wipe my hands on my jeans and nod.
“Yeah, just nervous, sorry.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, did you want to go with Ashish? I didn’t mean to make you nervous. We all feel like we already know you, Ash talks about you so much.”
“Oh.”
Oh?
That’s all you can say, Bernie? I think frantically but I don’t really know how to get myself out of this mess so I smile weakly instead. “He probably exaggerated.”
Sandy smiles, turning to the kettle and filling mugs she’d prefilled with cocoa mix and spoons. She hands me mine and leans on the counter across from me, tilting her head. “Are you sure?”
“Ash is–” I stir the spoon in my mug, digging the powder up from the bottom. “He sees the best in everyone.”
“Hmm, not sure if that was always true. We were all in a pretty dark place at the beginning of the pandemic.”
“Who wasn’t?”
“I think a lot of people were confronted with an opportunity to change their point of view. He’s different because of that. Works a little less, is a little less serious. But he doesn’t see things in people that aren’t there.”
“Hmm,” I hum, blowing on my mug before drinking the too-hot liquid. I love hot chocolate. This one is rich and bitter and burns my tongue, but I drink it anyway.
“Sometimes, we meet someone or are inspired by someone, and it changes our lives. Like you did for Ashish. I think it’s wonderful you’re together now.”
I can feel myself flushing. “As much as I’d like to think attending a conference panel could help someone like Ash achieve so much, I think we both know his achievements have a lot more to do with him than me. I’m just a failed PhD, trying to figure out what to do next.”
“What do you mean?” Sandy’s voice is cautious and I squirm with more embarrassment. Way to go, Bernie, do exactly the opposite of impressing Ash’s mom.
“Umm, well my postdoc was…unproductive, so I’m in a staff job. If I want to do research, I have to do it on the side.”
“Why was your postdoc unproductive? Bad supervisor?”
I think about my next words carefully. Sandy was a full professor, she’ll be familiar with the nuances in a way that Ash isn’t.
“Not bad, necessarily.” I avoid her eyes, so like Ash’s, they make me want to tell her everything. I circle the rim of my cup, speaking the words I’ve only told one other person. “The PI decided to monetize all of our work, so he pulled all of the manuscripts from consideration until he could figure out how they wanted to publish everything. They’ll, um, give me some credit, but they likely won’t turn into peer-reviewed publications that I will get credit for. Probably a book or consulting structure.”
Sandy sucks in a breath, and I feel shame eating at the pit of my stomach.
“Yeah, and almost all of the data was connected to my doctoral work, so they embargoed my dissertation for five years while they pursue monetization.” It’s the most shameful thing in my life that the person who vowed to love me forever so royally fucked over my career just as it was starting. And I just shared it with the one person I should be trying to impress.
Lifegoals.
Sandy shakes her head. “But you’re not from a STEM background. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Umm, yeah, in my postdoc, I built off my dissertation and created a formula to predict whether a proposal would be awarded federal money. It turned out to be pretty accurate, so I guess similar to the attempt to protect technology as STEM. And you know how hard it is to get an assistant professor job these days. With basically no teaching experience and only a couple of publications, what sociology department would touch me?”
“Did you sue?” she demands. “Your doctoral work is your intellectual property.”
“It’s really complicated, Sandy.” There’s a pleading note in my voice, and she considers me. “All of my data was from the university, and I was kind of put in a position that I either embargoed or they would withdraw from my study. When I consulted with IRB, it was really unclear how that would even work after the dissertation was published, so basically, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. And the postdoc stuff, I mean, that’s all co-authored, but I was second author and I didn’t own the data since it also belonged to the university.”
“Well, shit. That is complicated.”
“Honestly, that’s only half of it,” I mumble drinking more cocoa.
She offers me a smile, and I try to smile back.
“I’m sorry, this wasn’t meant to be so serious.”
I laugh and shrug, relieved she’s willing to drop it. At least for now. “No, no it’s fine. I just, I don’t want to take credit for Ash’s accomplishment.” I sip my cocoa and frantically search my mind to say something else. “I hear we’re doing a turkey trot on Thursday?”
“Oh yeah, did Ash already give you the costume?”
“Costume?”