This week’s story, “Deal-Breaker,” will appear in your new collection, “This Is Not About Us,” which comes out in February. It gathers the stories you’ve been writing about an extended family, the Rubinsteins, over the past decade. What was it like to look at the stories collectively when you were putting the book together?

It was so interesting and satisfying to put these stories together. The name Rubinstein means ruby stone, and I often felt as though this family was a multifaceted gem that I was turning toward the light. With these stories, I explore a family from the perspective of age and youth, husband and wife, parent and child. The reader can see these people from all sides. You can see how misunderstandings develop; how the family pulls apart and also pulls together. Instead of taking one side, I take all sides.

“Deal-Breaker” is one of the last stories you wrote for the collection, and it’s about a woman in her fifties named Pam, who has been dating a divorced father. When did you start thinking about this scenario?

It was my editor at the Dial Press, Whitney Frick, who suggested that I write a story about Pam. She pointed out that in the book all the cousins had stories of their own, but Pam was left on the periphery. I thought she had a good point, and so I began thinking about Pam and her life and that she is still single in her fifties. Of course, since all families are interconnected, that led me to thinking about Pam’s parents, who have no grandchildren, and how excited they might be to have even a partial grandchild or a tangential grandchild. This funny-sad story evolved from there.

Pam is Jewish, and her boyfriend, John, is not. She always thought this would be a deal-breaker, if not for her, then for her mother, Helen. When she finally tells her parents about John, she’s surprised by their response. Did you know what they’d think from the outset?

I have been writing about the Rubinstein family for years, and I know them well, so I did know exactly how they would respond to this news of Pam’s boyfriend, John. I knew that they would surprise Pam with their reaction because I had already imagined them so deeply. One of the best parts of writing fiction is knowing your characters and then just allowing them to talk and riff with each other on the page. It’s like jazz improvisation. You set the parameters; you’ve got the theme—and then you get to explore.

John has a daughter, Isabella. Pam is eager to meet her, but hasn’t done so yet. As you mentioned, her parents light up at the idea of a ready-made granddaughter. Especially one who, it appears, may have a Jewish mother. In the conversation, Pam always seems to be one step behind her parents. Was it fun to write this?

Yes! It was fun to write, and it was easy. I could see all sides of this discussion, and I was allowing the reader in as well.

When Pam thinks she’s finally going to meet Isabella, she discovers that the outing to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum she’d planned must be cancelled, because Isabella’s mother—John’s ex-wife—has broken her foot. Pam’s disappointment seems outsized to John, but entirely understandable to a reader. Do you think he’d ever understand Pam’s feelings?

Ha! I think John feels for Pam. He feels bad that she’s disappointed. But he will never feel with her. He will not share Pam’s feelings. He is still completely absorbed by the lives of his ex-wife and his daughter.

The collection opens with “Apple Cake,” a story in which a dispute over homemade desserts, of all things, results in an ongoing estrangement between Helen and her sister, Pam’s aunt Sylvia. The stories often reveal the ways in which seemingly small things—a comment about a cake, an unwritten college-application essay, a cancelled outing—bring with them all the joy and pain of life. Is it challenging to remain so embedded in the everyday?

Who was it who said, “It’s the little things; they’re not so little”? Fiction comes alive with details and particularities. In my book, a cake can cause a feud. A cancelled outing can end a relationship. But, of course, the feud is not really about the cake. The end of the relationship is not really about a change in plans. These little domestic details stand in for big feelings and contribute to a larger picture. By the same token, the stories that comprise “This Is Not About Us” come together as pieces of a larger narrative. Six of these stories have been published in The New Yorker over the years, and two have been published in other literary journals. This may be the closest I come to writing a serial novel.

How important is faith to the Rubinsteins? Some members of the family are more observant than others, but they come together, in various combinations, for Passover and Yom Kippur, for a celebration of life (without a rabbi), and for a bris. How significant are these kinds of gatherings in holding together an extended family like this?

These holidays and gatherings are hugely important for holding the family together. I was interested in exploring a Jewish family which is not uniformly observant but is nonetheless affiliated. Some members of the family, like Helen, Heather, and Debra, are actively involved in their Jewish community. Others are not so interested. I wanted to explore how this plays out. It’s a delicate and complex situation, reflecting what I see in the American Jewish community. Some want to learn, to teach, and to connect. Some feel a sense of apathy. Some want to pull away. And then there are those, like Steve and Dan Rubinstein, who dread Passover when they feel all these impulses at once.

Will you carry on writing about the Rubinsteins, or will you bid them farewell with the publication of the book? If that’s the case, will you miss them?

I believe I’ve said what I want to say about the Rubinsteins, and I’ll be writing about different people now. But never say never! ♦