Authors: Autumn Cornwell
Carpe Diem (2 page)
Grandmas Don't Blackmail
I
t was Grandma Gerd. Calling collect from Melaka, Malaysia. For an artist, she sure had a good sense of timing. Dad chewed yet more Tums as she insisted on being put on speakerphone. Her exuberant voice boomed up at us from the coffee table. Grandma never talked when she could bellow.
t was Grandma Gerd. Calling collect from Melaka, Malaysia. For an artist, she sure had a good sense of timing. Dad chewed yet more Tums as she insisted on being put on speakerphone. Her exuberant voice boomed up at us from the coffee table. Grandma never talked when she could bellow.
“Let me guess: It's your Hour of Refraction. How's my Leonardo?”
Dad hates his flowery given name and insists on being called Leon. Not that Grandma Gerd ever does.
“Reflection,”
he said in a compressed voice.
he said in a compressed voice.
A series of throaty chuckles, then:
“Happy Birthday, kiddo! How does it feel to be sweet sixteen?” Then, without waiting for my answer: “So, did ya get kissed?”
“She'll have more than enough time for boys after college, Gertrude,” Mom said, in a tone civilized yet squelching.
“Shame. Sweet Sixteen, Never Been Kissed. So how did you celebrate? Tell me you at least had a big party?”
Mom said: “Vassar had an intimate gathering after the Latin Triathlon. Some very nice girls from herâ”
“Girls, bah.”
Mom opened her mouth, then closed it.
“So, kiddo? What do you think of my gift?”
But before I could respond, Mom said with a plastic smile, her dimples now two craters:
“It was very thoughtful of you, Gertrude. Only a month and a half late instead of your usual five. Unfortunately, it's not on The List.”
“The List? What list?”
“Vassar's summer has been planned out far in advance. The List includes AP English,Advanced Latin Camp, a Sub-Molecular Theory courseâ”
“And? What she misses this summer she can make up the next.”
Earth to Grandma! I had the next two summers meticulously plannedâall advanced placement courses and extracurricular activities.
“If I don't keep up with those courses, I won't make a 5.3 GPAâwhich happens to be the new 4.0,” I said. “And then Wendy Stupacker will get valedictorianâ”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Have you ever floated down the Mekong on a rice boat, lulled to sleep by the rustling bamboo?”
The three of us exchanged long-suffering looks.
“Have you ever climbed the ruins of Phnom Bakheng in
Angkor to experience the most mind-blowing, Technicolor sunset of your entire life?”
Angkor to experience the most mind-blowing, Technicolor sunset of your entire life?”
I mentally squared my shoulders. Grandma Gerd can be a bit unnerving.
“Valedictorian and a 5.3 GPA are
very
big deals. In case you weren't aware, they mean entry into Vassar and Ivy League grad schools likeâ”
very
big deals. In case you weren't aware, they mean entry into Vassar and Ivy League grad schools likeâ”
“Would civilization end as we know it if you went to a state school?”
A collective intake of three breaths. A state school!?!
“Come on, kiddo, don't you want to live, feel, explore, experienceâ”
“Gertrude, even
you
know this is impossible on such short notice,” Dad interrupted. He never called Grandma Gerd “mother.” Ever.
you
know this is impossible on such short notice,” Dad interrupted. He never called Grandma Gerd “mother.” Ever.
“Balls. She'll have two weeks to plan. That's more than enough time.”
“Technically, it's one week and six days,” he replied.
Mom gave Dad a nudging look. She often has to do this because he's a “conflict avoider.” If someone cuts in front of him in line at the DMVâhe'll pretend he didn't notice. If a waitress accidentally adds an extra crème brûlée to his billâhe'll pay it. Anything to sidestep confrontation. Reluctantly, Dad cleared his throat and said, “Although it's a very kind offer, Gertrude, it's ⦠it's absolutely out of the question.”
“
Kopi dua
âthanks.” We could hear the clinking of glasses and some static, then: “Well, Leonardo, you're forcing me to bring
it
up. In mixed company, no less ⦔
Kopi dua
âthanks.” We could hear the clinking of glasses and some static, then: “Well, Leonardo, you're forcing me to bring
it
up. In mixed company, no less ⦔
It?
Mom clutched my arm, her clear-polished nails digging into my skin. “Vassar, would you fill up the car.” It was a command, not a request. Her dimples had completely disappeared.
“Don't go to Gus's Gasâhis tanks aren't calibrated correctly,” said Dad automatically. “And take Franklin Avenue. It's two minutes faster than Main.”
Usually there's nothing I like better than to drive the Volvo anywhere, now that I've got my driver's license. But I wanted to witness Grandma Gerd's failed attempts to coerce my parents.
Grandma Gerd's voice again broke the silence. “Hello? Anybody there? Leonardo, it's time she knew the truth aboutâ”
But Mom and Dad simultaneously grabbed for the phone before she could finish.
Truth about what? Well, I'd know soon enough. Mom and Dad never kept secrets from me.
Â
As I carefully navigated the Volvo wagon out of our cul-de-sac toward the nearby gas stationâconvenience storeâcoffee shop (not Gus's), I took offense at what Grandma Gerd seemed to be hinting about my life: that just because I hadn't left the continent or backpacked through Europe, I wasn't well-rounded. Could I help the fact that Dad is deathly afraid of flying? Or that Mom's abhorrence of the outdoors (“too many variables”) prevented camping from
ever being on the agenda? So I hadn't traveled. Who cared? How could that omission remotely affect my life? Or, more important: my academic record? After all, just how many museums, galleries, symphonies, and plays had I gone to? Just how many books had I read? If I wasn't cultured, who on earth was?
ever being on the agenda? So I hadn't traveled. Who cared? How could that omission remotely affect my life? Or, more important: my academic record? After all, just how many museums, galleries, symphonies, and plays had I gone to? Just how many books had I read? If I wasn't cultured, who on earth was?
And her insinuation that I was somehow abnormal because I hadn't yet been kissed infuriated me. None of my friends had boyfriends yet. The only girl at the Seattle Academy of Academic Excellence with any dating experience was Wendy Stupacker, who'd discovered boys in sixth gradeâwhich certainly hadn't helped her procrastination any. Photographic memory and photogenic looksâtough life.
I returned as swiftly as the speed limit allowed. After parking with precision, I took care to slip through the front door noiselessly. Good. They were still on the phone, so wrapped up in their debate they didn't hear the car. I tried to eavesdrop, but could only make out a random word here and there: “Bubble ⦠birth ⦠too young ⦠rubber ball ⦠dying ⦠egg ⦔
Then Mom hissed: “Gertrude! It's blackmail, and you know it!”
The words “dying” and “blackmail” especially intrigued meâthat is, until Mom said, “Is she back yet?”
“I'll check,” said Dadâanything to get out of a Grandma GerdâAlthea Confab.
I darted back into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator just as Dad appeared in the doorway. Beads of sweat
dotted his freckled forehead, and inkblots of perspiration stained his gray polo shirt. “Vassar? Come in here, please.”
dotted his freckled forehead, and inkblots of perspiration stained his gray polo shirt. “Vassar? Come in here, please.”
“Sure,” I said with faux nonchalance as I popped open a can of apple juice.
I followed Dad back through the kitchen into the living room. Mom wouldn't meet my gaze. She concentrated on doodling in her
Journal of Excellence
. I'd never seen her doodle before. This was a rough drawing of a pear. When she noticed I noticed, she quickly turned the page. Dad blotted his face with a paper napkin, leaving a tiny shred of blue stuck just above his eyebrow.
Journal of Excellence
. I'd never seen her doodle before. This was a rough drawing of a pear. When she noticed I noticed, she quickly turned the page. Dad blotted his face with a paper napkin, leaving a tiny shred of blue stuck just above his eyebrow.
I bent over the speakerphone.
“Hello, Grandma Gerd. I'm backâ”
“She hung up,” said Mom, her voice shaking. “Leon, why don't you tell Vassar what we've decided.”
They made room between them on the couch, so I squeezed in. With a quivering hand, Mom tucked an errant strand of hair back into my ponytail. Dad patted my knee, then ran his hand through his red hair, patted my knee, smoothed his hair, patted, smoothed, patted, smoothed. I'd never seen them so agitated, so awkward, so un-Spore-like. Not even last year, when Wendy Stupacker beat me in the regional spelling bee with “ektexine” and went on to place fourth at the nationals in D.C.
“Yes, well, Vassar, we've decided that a trip with Grandma Gerd through Southeast Asia ⦠that such a trip would be invaluable ⦠perhaps help you formulate ⦠would heighten ⦔ Dad stumbled on and on in a highly inefficient
manner. What he said was of no consequence. What was important was that they wanted me to abandon my scholastic endeavors for a mere vacation! As soon as Dad brought his babble to a halt, I said as much.
manner. What he said was of no consequence. What was important was that they wanted me to abandon my scholastic endeavors for a mere vacation! As soon as Dad brought his babble to a halt, I said as much.
They carefully replied that they thought it would be good for me to go, that I should go, that I
must go
.
must go
.
What? Were these the same parents who'd previously said the words “Grandma Gerd” with the same note of horror they said “unsystematic” or “waste of time” or “unplanned”? Who were
now
authorizing her to take meâtheir
only
childâinto the intrepid jungles of Southeast Asia? When they'd just dissuaded me from attending a public school dance a mere six blocks away?
now
authorizing her to take meâtheir
only
childâinto the intrepid jungles of Southeast Asia? When they'd just dissuaded me from attending a public school dance a mere six blocks away?
“But what made you change your minds? You
never
change your mind.”
never
change your mind.”
Dad dug in his breast pocketâempty. He moaned.
Still not quite meeting my eyes, Mom said, “Think how much it would mean to Grandma Gerd to spend some quality time with her only ⦠grandchild.” I could tell it pained her to say it.
It just didn't make sense. Having a daughter named Vassar
not
get into Vassar would be
sacrilege
. Not to mention embarrassing. And it would disprove Mom's theory: If an applicant to Vassar, the elite women's college, was named Vassar in addition to having a stellar academic record, how could they possibly refuse her? All her advanced planning would be for nothingâand I'd be known as “that loser Vassar Spore who goes to State.”
not
get into Vassar would be
sacrilege
. Not to mention embarrassing. And it would disprove Mom's theory: If an applicant to Vassar, the elite women's college, was named Vassar in addition to having a stellar academic record, how could they possibly refuse her? All her advanced planning would be for nothingâand I'd be known as “that loser Vassar Spore who goes to State.”
One of Mom's biggest regrets was not getting accepted to Vassar College. She felt life would have been just
that much
better if her dream had been fulfilled. She vowed if she had a daughter, she'd guarantee she got in. “And whether she chose to attend or not would be entirely up to her. But she'd have the option I never had.”
that much
better if her dream had been fulfilled. She vowed if she had a daughter, she'd guarantee she got in. “And whether she chose to attend or not would be entirely up to her. But she'd have the option I never had.”
But now suddenly that wasn't a priority?
What on earth could Grandma Gerd possibly blackmail my parents about?
It was time to be direct:
It was time to be direct:
“Is she blackmailing you? Is âegg' a code word?”
Mom froze, teacup halfway to her mouth. “Eavesdropping is an odious habit, Vassar! I'm ashamed,
ashamed
of you.”
ashamed
of you.”
“Odious,” echoed Dad weakly. His face was so white, his freckles looked like chocolate sprinkles floating on a latté.
“So,” I processed as I went along. “What you're saying is that I
have
to go on this trip at the sacrifice of my academic record.”
have
to go on this trip at the sacrifice of my academic record.”
Mom's face crumpled. She let out a little wheeze. The next thing I knew, she was racing upstairs to their bedroom and slamming the door.
“Excuse me, Vassar.” Dad unsteadily got to his feet, then slowly climbed the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the banister.
Â
The
American Heritage Dictionary
defines a nervous breakdown as
A severe or incapacitating emotional disorder, especially when occurring suddenly and marked by depression
. Mom had never broken down before, as far as I could remember.
She'd been firmly in one piece with never so much as a chip missing.
American Heritage Dictionary
defines a nervous breakdown as
A severe or incapacitating emotional disorder, especially when occurring suddenly and marked by depression
. Mom had never broken down before, as far as I could remember.
She'd been firmly in one piece with never so much as a chip missing.
Dad closed and locked the door to their bedroom, but I could still hear uncontrollable sobbingâthis from a woman who'd never shed a tear in my presence. (Not even the faintest appearance of moisture when Dad had read
The Yearling
aloud.) I could barely make out Dad's low, consoling murmuring.
The Yearling
aloud.) I could barely make out Dad's low, consoling murmuring.
Then Mom's voice escalated: “She'll find outâyou
know
she'll find out! Gertrude will tellâ”
know
she'll find out! Gertrude will tellâ”
Dad's gentle but firm voice interrupted: “No, she won't. Even Gertrude wouldn't stoop ⦔ Then it became muffled and indistinguishable.
After half an hour, Dad abruptly hurried out of the bedroom (carefully closing the door behind him) and drove off in the Volvo. He squealed into the driveway twenty minutes later and dashed into the house clutching a white paper bag in one hand and a traffic ticket in the other. Back into the bedroom, locking the door behind him. Fourteen minutes, thirty-six seconds laterâthe crying stopped.
I was tempted to call or text-message Amber, Denise, and Laurel. But I dreaded imparting the information that the Spore household was not what it seemed. My friends had always looked up to my parents, wished they were their parents.
“With parents like yours, who needs willpower?” they'd say.
(Wendy Stupacker hadn't been as complimentary. She
said my parents were “weirdos” and that Mom was “overcompensating for hidden inadequacies” and that Dad was “uxorious.” But I knew she was just jealous because both her parents were major players in the finance industry and never had time for her.)
said my parents were “weirdos” and that Mom was “overcompensating for hidden inadequacies” and that Dad was “uxorious.” But I knew she was just jealous because both her parents were major players in the finance industry and never had time for her.)
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