Tell Me Three Things introduces readers to 16-year-old Jessie, whose mom died tragically of cancer about two years ago. In the month before the novel begins, Jessie was surprised to learn that her Dad met someone and secretly got married in Hawaii—so within the space of a few months, she and Dad moved from Chicago to Los Angeles to move in with her new stepmom, Rachel, and her stepbrother, Theo, who’s Jessie’s age. This is an understandably difficult transition for everyone as they all navigate the unfamiliar territory of step-parenthood and running a new kind of household amid grief for their former lives. Theo observes at one point that their parents seemingly “thought they could just insert replacement here and forget that someone they loved actually died,” and the novel goes to great lengths to show that he’s right—and to show that this isn’t a healthy or successful way to combine families. Instead, it makes the case that as families combine via remarriage, especially after a death, it’s a constant process to navigate what that new family should look like. And while it won’t necessarily be the same as a parent’s first marriage, it’s still important to not forget those people, like Jessie’s mom and Theo’s dad, who are missing—they, too, are part of the picture, even if they’re not physically there.
In addition to Jessie’s culture shock of moving from the Midwest to a wealthy Los Angeles suburb, life as a newly blended family is a shock for everyone. Jessie often shares with the reader how life proceeded when her mom was still alive—for instance, she and her parents had dinner together nightly, and though their house was small, the walls were covered in family photos. Now, nothing about living with Rachel and Theo at all resembles the way Jessie grew up. Though both Rachel and Dad, on some level, seem just as aware of this as their children, they nevertheless act as though everything is normal and like everyone should be perfectly fine with this arrangement. In practice, this means that Jessie feels alone at a time when she desperately needs support from someone like her dad, whom she trusts and loves. She also craves stability, something that seems tenuous every time Theo says something nasty to her or Dad and Rachel fight loudly enough for the kids to hear. Home and family life, in other words, seems increasingly unsafe or unreliable—nothing is the same, and the adults in charge won’t admit that this is the case or reassure their children. With this, the novel suggests that the inability to trust what’s going to happen in one’s family as it changes only sows fear and resentment—it’s a terrible way to create a loving, supportive family.
Because of the size of the house and the fact that Dad and Rachel mostly leave their kids to their own devices, Theo and Jessie are largely on their own to navigate their new stepsibling relationship. Though it starts out rocky—Theo often says mean, snarky things, and he ignores Jessie when he’s not being mean—gradually, the two begin to reach out to each other and regard the other with curiosity rather than animosity. In particular, what’s most helpful to Theo and Jessie’s budding relationship is that they develop shared routines. Though they continue to drive to school separately, Theo begins offering Jessie boxed juices in the morning when he grabs one for himself. Eventually, Jessie comes to count on and enjoy Theo’s daily peace offering. This one routine leads to them sharing other things—including a bottle of wine and things about their deceased parents—that help them feel more secure with the fact that while they may not be able to count on their parents, they can count on each other. Jessie eventually discovers that a good first step in lieu of developing shared routines with Rachel—whom she refers to alternately as “the stepmonster” and as “Dad’s new wife”—is to regard her with curiosity and respect as a complex human being, just like she did with Theo. As Rachel gradually begins to seem more human and vulnerable, she appears less and less like a dangerous interloper in Jessie’s life—and even like someone that Jessie might be able to like and someday trust.
In addition to the necessity of stability, trust, and routines, the novel also makes a point to show that especially when it comes to blended families that come together after the deaths of one or more parents, it’s important to not erase the deceased person from family life. Jessie comes to understand that much of Theo’s angst comes from the fact that Rachel seemingly forgot her first husband, just like Dad sometimes seems to have forgotten Mom. The novel suggests that being seemingly asked to forget one’s parent and accept a sub-par replacement is traumatizing—and this, more than anything, is where Dad and Rachel went wrong. Jessie eventually suggests to Rachel that she put up some childhood photos of Theo, and possibly some of her first husband. This would make it clear that while Theo doesn’t have his father anymore and has Dad around instead, this doesn’t mean that Theo’s dad has been forgotten. With this, Tell Me Three Things suggests that when families come together after a loss, they’re not just comprised of whatever parents and children are still alive. Rather, they include every family member who is no longer alive as well—and it’s essential not to forget them if those still living are to remain happy and healthy.
Blended Families ThemeTracker
Blended Families Quotes in Tell Me Three Things
The problem was that Mom wasn’t here. That she would never be anywhere again. When I thought about that for too long, which I didn’t, when I could help it, I realized it didn’t matter much where I slept.
Certain facts tend to render everything else irrelevant.
“My dad died of lung cancer,” Theo says, apropos of nothing, and takes another long hit. “That’s why I smoke. Figure if you can run twelve miles a day and get cancer anyway, I might as well live it up.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know, right?” Theo puts out the joint, carefully saves what’s left for later. He stands up and looks me straight in the eye. No trace of his temper tantrum left. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about your mom.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Sorry about your dad.”
This is intimate, and not in the way it was at dinner, when Rachel put her hand on my dad’s, a gesture that on reflection seemed more for Theo’s and my benefit. Now, they are bent together, forehead to forehead, and there’s a photo album I’ve never seen before open on their laps. Must be Rachel’s. Is she showing my dad her before pictures? Her dead husband?
She looks to me to back her up, and I wonder if my existence is a problem for her friendship with Agnes. Scar and I always sat alone at lunch. We weren’t really interested in talking to anyone else. To be honest, I’m not sure how I’d feel if she had invited some new girl to sit with us. Dri not only invited me, but did so excitedly.
For a moment, I think it would be preferable to listen to them have sex. This is somehow more intimate, more raw. Even worse than witnessing her midnight tears.
“You think they’re going to get a divorce?” Theo asks, and it surprises me that my heart sinks at the thought. Not because I particularly like living here, but because we have nothing to go back to. Our house is gone. Our Chicago lives. [...] When Rachel told my dad to not come back, did she expect me to leave too? Are we kicked out?
“They’re both idiots.”
“Stop it.”
“They are. They thought they could just insert replacement here and forget that someone they loved actually died. Even I’m more emotionally mature than that.”
No, I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to feel like this either. Like an interloper in someone else’s home. If I do throw up today, which is more likely than not at this point, I don’t want to have to worry about soiling Rachel’s bathroom. I don’t want to feel in constant danger of eviction.
And at least one mystery has been solved: Gem can do or say whatever she wants because her dad pays off the administration. I guess that’s what a little tax fraud buys you.
There aren’t pictures of him around, which would be weird, but then I realize there aren’t very many pictures at all. [...]
The walls of my old house were covered with pictures of my family. Each of my school photos were framed and mounted in chronological order, even the ones where I was caught with my eyes closed [...]
When I come home to find Rachel in my room, I remember that this is not my room at all. This is Rachel’s guest room, and my sleeping here confirms what I already know: I am merely an interloper.
I will tell her about the mess I’ve made of things, how my new life feels on the verge of unraveling, and she will tell me how to fix it. [...]
And she’ll remind me that everything that is new always feels tenuous, that a lot of this, maybe even most of this, is in my head.
In T minus four hours, I will be home again. Even though my mom won’t be there, at least, finally, I will be someplace I recognize.
I think about the life I’ve built here. SN and Ethan, or maybe SN/Ethan, Dri and Agnes, even Theo. Liam too, I guess. How my new English teacher said I’m one of her brightest students, which is a huge compliment, considering I go to a school that sends five kids to Harvard each year. How Wood Valley may be filled with rich brats, but it also has a beautiful library, and I get to work in a bookstore, and I’m reading college-level poetry with a boy who can recite it back to me. In a strange way, thanks to Rachel, LA has turned out to be nerd heaven.
This is a house full of pain, of bad juju, as Theo said, but it’s also a house of starting over. Maybe we need to light a few candles. Better yet, start putting things on all of the white walls. “You know, I mean, this place is beautiful, but maybe you should put out some pictures too. Of your husband—I mean your, uh, other husband, Theo’s dad, and of Theo as a kid. So he can remember.”