Rodham

by Curtis Sittenfeld

Our faces were at the same level, and he kissed my forehead then said, “I’m not surprised your dad gave me a hard time. I’m his daughter’s boyfriend, so it’s almost a requirement. But I couldn’t believe the way he treated you.” “How so?” “The relentlessness of his nasty comments. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a father talk to his daughter that way.” I was genuinely perplexed. “Like what?” He adjusted his voice to what I understood was an approximation of my father’s, though the mimicry wasn’t particularly adept. “ ‘That’s an impressive insight for someone of your limited intellect.’ ‘You look good since you’ve put on all that weight.’ ‘Maybe you’re not as awful as everyone says.’ ” “Oh.” I laughed. “He’s said those exact same things hundreds of times. They’re like his personal proverbs.” We still were making eye contact, and Bill said, “Hillary, that stuff is awful. He’s your father.” “He’s joking,” I said. “It’s not funny.” “Well, I agree with that. But it’s how he’s always been. I assume you noticed he did it to Tony, too, and he does it to Hughie. The thing he always says to Hughie is, ‘Does your face hurt? Because it’s killing me.’ It’s not personal, though.” “How on earth is it not personal? Does he say things like that to people other than his children?” “Presumably, he realizes he can’t get away with it.” “That illustrates my point. Daddy—my stepfather—was no prize. Once when I was four, he and Mother were arguing, and he pulled a gun on her and shot it into a wall....