#8: BLAINE FAMILY (a.k.a. Red Snapper)
2x12 "A Rose for Everafter" and Season 5
Note: Part of this is a revised excerpt from This Nikki Heat Thing.
"I've put up with more humiliation than I care to remember." –B. B. King
Her eyes are as cold as ever before, and he can't help but resort to quips and sardonic insinuations to survive this encounter.
"Sheila didn't approve of struggling artists," he tells Beckett, who's still standing in the path of a woman the likes of whom she will never truly know. He turns to his might-have-been mother-in-law and offers a wry smile. "You must like Greg, though. He's from money, right?"
Sheila sees his insinuation and raises him an insult. "It was never about the money, Richard. It was about character, and you would know that, if you had any."
And just like that, she's gone, leaving the stench of a hundred confrontations recommitted to his memory.
"Wow," says Beckett, apparently impressed with even this small shred of wrath. "Just imagine. If things had worked out, you'd be spending Thanksgivings with her."
At that, the stench becomes a taste. Wordlessly he shudders, a visceral reaction to what just that one prompt has evoked in him.
He didn't finish his second book. At least, not the one he began as his second book—not until much later. Such was the distraction of falling in love, of summer meetings on the secret rooftop. He was derailed enough that he had to put aside Flowers for Your Grave and start a different novel; a practice he did not feel good about indulging, even with only one bestseller under his belt. But at least he was still writing.
They spent that Thanksgiving with Kyra's family. They'd been together for just under a year, which was already longer than any of Castle's previous relationships, and he was feeling the pressure. It was the first time that he was meeting the Blaines, and he wanted to make a—well, he didn't want to fuck it up.
As it turned out, he'd done that long before he got to the front door.
Sheila Blaine had his number. Relentlessly she grilled Rick over dinner: most memorably their nontraditional entrée of grilled red snapper, which Rick decided was all too aptly named for the occasion.
Whenever the going got really tough, he longed to bury himself in his dish, seeking refuge from one red snapper with another. But he stayed strong; back straight, best behavior. Small enough bites to seem civilized, but not so small as to offend the hosts.
Sheila had heard about his one publishing accomplishment and wanted to know if he intended to continue writing "low-brow literature" in the future, and whether he intended it as a career or as a hobby while holding down a Real Job—especially if he was going to continue to "spend his money as fast as he made it."
He rather meekly responded that, wherever his career path led, he believed his writing quality would improve over time, like a fine wine. The metaphor did nothing to appease Sheila Blaine, who had already decided that his writing niche was not a fine enough wine to begin with.
Then she wanted to know why he hadn't managed to publish anything in the year since In a Hail of Bullets hit the shelves. "Kyra tells us you're always writing. All this writing and nothing to show for it?"
"I've got a good portion of another novel completed," he assured her, carefully neglecting to elaborate that Flowers for Your Grave had bit the dust. "And I've just started a new one, which I'm really excited about, called A Rose for Tonight."
Kyra offered him a bright smile from across the table; he'd mentioned that she had somehow inspired his newest novel, but this was the first time that she was hearing anything about the title.
Sheila Blaine scoffed. "Sounds like something Danielle Steel turned down."
Rick opted not to ask whether that was an insult because Sheila approved of Danielle Steel or because she condemned her. It was pretty clear that it was an insult either way. He smiled back at Kyra and attended to his red snapper, the one that was on his side.
It was a very long Thanksgiving dinner, and when it was finally over, Rick had never been more thankful in his young life.
Kyra said he deserved a medal for it all, but Rick declared that dating Kyra was its own reward. That made her smile. He remembered that.
He'd turn a phrase as often as he could just to see that smile.
Then, a year later, he published what had become A Rose for Everafter and dedicated it to Kyra Blaine.
It was just in time for their second anniversary, and for a moment there he didn't know which surprised him more: that they were together that long or that he'd turned into the kind of guy who remembers an anniversary with a girlfriend. When had that happened, anyway? He guessed it was probably when he'd finally dated one for more than a year.
And he really liked this one. If staying with her meant he'd die a thousand deaths of humiliation at her mother's dinner table, he could do that. He could do anything for her.
Anything except forget her. He never expected her to leave him and never look back.
It took seeing her again, decades later, to realize that she was worth everything he went through when they were together and everything he went through when they were apart. That he really was right about her; that he wouldn't regret for a moment the few short years they shared, humiliation and hurt and happiness all.
"Castle, are you listening to me?"
"Hmm?" He startles out of wherever he'd gone, but she can tell he hasn't heard a word until now.
"I said Madison recommends Land Thai Kitchen or Red Snapper Thai Grill."
He still looks a little fuzzy, not quite himself. Poor guy. He's been working hard on his next book, Deadly Heat, and it shows.
She refreshes his memory. "Earlier you said you wanted to try a new Thai place tonight. I told you I'd call Maddie for ideas."
"Right. Yes," he says, the light returning to his eyes.
"Does either one of those sound like one you want to try?"
"Not the Snapper one. The other one."
"Land?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," she agrees. "I'll change."
There's no doubt in her mind that tonight he deserves a break, a relaxing dinner out. No future deadlines to plague him. No plot twists to consider. No dialogue to script except for the conversations they'll share.
Nevertheless, the novel seems to be coming along well this year. Between work and play, she's kept him busy, but he's told her whenever he's needed to take time to write. She's glad not only for his diligence and self-respect, but also for his openness with her.
He's getting so much better at telling her what's on his mind.
