Maybe in Another Life by Taylor Jenkins Reid Page A

too happy to turn over and let her rub his belly.
    “So!” Tina announces. “It’s a steak-and-potatoes kind of night. Except that Carl has decided to pull out the big guns because you kids are here, so it’s steak with chimichurri sauce, garlic-and-chive mashed potatoes, and brussels sprouts, because . . . I’m still a mom, and I can’t stop myself from making sure you eat your vegetables.”
    My parents made me eat vegetables until I was about fourteen, and then they gave up. I always liked that about them. When I lived with Carl and Tina, I felt as if I was being force-fed riboflavin on a nightly basis.
    Then again, their daughter is a nonprofit executive who married a dentist, so clearly, they were doing something right.
    We all sit down at the table, and Carl immediately starts in with dad-like questions.
    “Hannah, catch us up on what you’ve been doing,” he says as he cuts the steak.
    “Well.” I open my eyes wide and sigh. I’m not sure where to start. “I’m back!” I say,throwing my arms up and flashing my hands for effect. For a moment, I’m hoping this is enough. Clearly, it is not.
    “Uh-huh,” he says. “And?” He starts serving and passing plates around the table. When I get mine, it’s got a lot of brussels sprouts on it. If I don’t eat them all, Tina will say something. I just know it.
    “And . . . I’ve mostly been floating from city to city as of late. The Pacific Northwest for a bit. New York, too.”
    “Gabby said you were living in New York,” Tina says, starting to take a bite of her steak. “Was it fabulous? Did you see any Broadway shows?”
    I laugh slightly, but I don’t mean to. “No,” I say. “Not much of that.”
    I don’t want to get into anything about Michael. I don’t want to admit to them the mess I got myself in. They may not be my parents, but Carl and Tina are incredibly parental. I care deeply what they think of me.
    “New York wasn’t for me,” I say, sipping the wine they put in front of me and then immediately putting it back down on the table. It smells awful. I don’t like it.
    Gabby, seeing my discomfort, steps in. “Hannah is a West Coast girl, you know? She belongs back with us.”
    “Amen to that,” Carl says, cutting his steak and taking a bite. He chews with his mouth open sometimes. “I’ve always said, go where the sunshine is. Anyone who heads for snowier climates is a moron.” Tina rolls her eyes at him. He looks at Mark. “Mark, what are you doing drinking wine with a steak like this?”
    Mark starts to stumble a little bit. I realize for the first timethat Mark is slightly intimidated by Carl. It’s not hard to see why. He’s a formidable man to have as a father-in-law.
    “It’s what was in front of me,” Mark says, laughing. “I’m not too discerning.”
    Carl gets up from the table and goes into the kitchen. He comes back and puts a beer in front of Mark.
    Mark laughs. “All right!” he says. He seems genuinely much more interested in drinking the beer than the wine Tina gave him, but I don’t know if that’s just a show for Carl. He’s also scratching his wrists and the back of his neck pretty aggressively. Must be Barker.
    Carl sits back down. “Men drink beer,” Carl says, sipping his own. “Simple as that.”
    “Dad,” Gabby says, “gender has absolutely nothing to do with someone’s preference for a drink. Some men like appletinis. Some women like bourbon. It’s irrelevant.”
    “While I admit I have no idea what an appletini is, you’re absolutely right,” Carl says thoughtfully. “I was being reductionist, and I’m sorry.”
    Now that I’m back in their home, I remember where it comes from. Where she gets the need to speak clearly and as accurately as possible about gender politics. It’s Carl. He will have these antiquated ideas about men and women, but then he routinely corrects himself about them when Gabby brings it up.
    “So, Hannah,” Tina says, redirecting the conversation,