He was not violent in the way people usually imagine when they hear stories about terrible stepfathers. He did not throw furniture or come home drunk with a belt in his hand. Instead, he was cruel in a much quieter and more socially acceptable way.
He specialized in making his unkindness sound like common sense. Rick would tell me not to be soft and to stop playing the victim whenever I looked upset. He reminded me constantly that I was just like my father.
That particular line was effective because it carried an entire mythology of failure along with it. If my father was selfish, then my needs were automatically viewed as selfish. If my father was dramatic, then any pain I felt was labeled as a performance.
When Chloe was born a year after Meredith and Rick married, the house finally had the child it actually wanted. Chloe was blonde like Rick and blue-eyed like my mother, possessing a natural charm that the world rewarded instantly. To be fair, she did not create the hierarchy that governed our home.
She was simply born into it, but she learned very quickly how to benefit from her position at the top. Chloe was praised for simply breathing, while I was constantly corrected for the crime of taking up space. She was given dance lessons, soccer equipment, and elaborate birthday parties.
When her phone started acting a bit slow, she received an immediate upgrade. For her seventeenth birthday, Rick bought her a reliable used car because he said she needed it for her future. I received a small gift card and a long lecture about the importance of being grateful for what I had.
Chloe was invited on the family vacation to the coast while I was told I had to stay home because the car would be too crowded. I spent that week eating frozen pizza and watching photos of them smiling on the beach appear in the family group chat. The chat was titled The Gentrys, and I was technically a member.
That was how most things worked in our life, as I was included just enough so that outsiders could not say I was being excluded. I had a seat at the dinner table, but it was always the chair closest to the kitchen that everyone bumped into while carrying plates. My bedroom doubled as a storage unit for Rick’s tools and seasonal decorations.