STILL WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
“Go, go, go.” Mrs. Eisenberg pushes on Zwena’s shoulder, hustling her and my mother out of the back of the car as quickly as she had maneuvered them into the rear at the airport. Looking straight ahead, Ash rolls his lips together and keeps his hands at ten and two on the parked car’s steering wheel. I open my mouth, intending to call them out on their lack of stealth, and Ash shakes his head. He’s content to witness this multiculturalGolden Girlsreboot play out their obvious attempt to get me and Ash alone. As Zwena shuts the door behind her, I clearly hear Mrs. Eisenberg proclaim, “Well done, ladies, I don’t think they suspect a thing.” It’s fortunate Mrs. Eisenberg was a hell of a businesswoman because she never would have made it as an undercover agent.
“I should probably help them check in,” I suggest, watching Zwena pull three roller bags while my mom and Mrs. Eisenberg head into the hotel locked arm in arm. “I need to remind Zwena that she can’t raid the minibar just because the room is under your grandmother’s name. There is only one place Pringles are more expensive than in an airport. A hotel.”
As I elbow my door open to step out, Ash reaches across to close it. “Let my grandmother have a little fun with her friends, she’s been pretty miserable stuck at home rehabbing.”
I’m touched that Ash considers Zwena and my mom his grandmother’s friends. Mrs. Eisenberg is a woman used to living large at the Vintage Club, and I can imagine these past few months at home have been hard on her.
“God knows Livy has taken her job as health warden too seriously,” Ash claims, attempting to throw his cousin under the bus. I let out a bluster of a laugh. Does Ash not recall his endless hovering the first few weeks Mrs. Eisenberg was home from the hospital?
“What?!” Ash cries, incredulous.
“Let me read back to you the ten-point action items for safely transporting your grandmother, from Arrivals to boarding the plane, that I received at 11:49 p.m. last night. My personal favorite being the one asking me to have her blow her nose before the plane takes off, so her ears don’t plug.”
Ash drops his head to the steering wheel. “I did do that, huh?”
“You are an exceptional micromanager.”
“You think so?”
“Takes one to know one.” I fan my multicolored script in his face and catch a glimpse of my watch. I am two hours and thirty-eight minutes off my scripted schedule. I can give Ash six more minutes, and then I have to go. “I am curious, though, how is it that you and your grandmother are so close? I mean, there is close, and then there’s you two.” I genuinely am interested, at least for the next five minutes and forty-five seconds. Having grown up without grandparents, that bond is one I didn’t experience. I only met my abuelos once when I was ten and my parents scrimped and saved to take the five of us to Puerto Rico to meet our extended family.
“I love my mom and dad, but they did not follow the child-rearing tip to parent the kid you have, not the kid you want to have. While my parents were busy trying to make me into a genius musician like my grandfather, my bubbe saw me for what I was, a nerdy kid who loved numbers and had no rhythm. I would tell my parents I was at jazz band practice, but really I was at math club or the robotics league, andeventually president of my school’s investment club. All that time my parents were sure I was a Miles Davis in the making.”
“Your young love of numbers just may have out-geeked my love of science,” I rib, understanding what it’s like to be raised by parents who don’t truly see you for who you are.
“And you haven’t even heard the whole story yet. My grandmother covered for me and paid my private trumpet teacher hush money to not rat me out to my parents when I skipped lessons for investment club. That is until my parents were called into the head of school’s office when I was a junior in high school. The whole idea of the investment club was to play the stock market with pretend money and see if we could make a profit from our fake investments. Instead, I collected real money from the club members and started my own hedge fund to manage. I promised great returns. Completely illegal by the way. Bubbe and I both got in trouble from my parents on that one,” Ash chuckles, lost in the memory. “But, once the yelling was over, Bubbe and I strategized how I could build a big life rooted in numbers during our Sunday afternoon ice cream dates at Baskin-Robbins.”
Ash’s childhood trajectory was not so different from mine, he just lived in a different zip code and income bracket. Mami and Papi chose to parent me based on who they believed I should become. They did not prioritize the path I was demonstrating I wanted to be on as a curious scientist staining the side of our house with sticky Diet Coke. Gloria wanted my quinceañera to be the pivotal moment in my teenage life, but instead my summer at UCLA with other academic-minded kids was. On campus, alongside students who had their parents’ blessings and perhaps a handful, like me, whose interests were foreign to their families, I absorbed the learning that made me feel alive.
“Well, your grandmother did right by you, so I have high hopes for me tomorrow,” I respond, looking for even the tiniest indication in Ash’s expression that I may have an edge over the competition by including his grandmother. Ash’s face reveals nada, which I take as my cue to get out of the car.
“I need to go gather my team,” I tell Ash, reminding us both why I’m here. “I’ll see you on set tomorrow.” I rush out of the car without any last words from Ash. It’s best for my psyche to believe that since he has had a hand in getting me this far withInnovation Nation, his altruism will continue through tomorrow’s filming.
Checking in at the front desk, I hear my phone ding as I root around in my purse for my ID and credit card for incidentals—of which my mom and I will have none, we can’t afford it. I hand my license and Visa to the bored-looking young man initiating my room card, then swipe over to text with a quick prayer that all is fine at the Antonellis’. I have no bandwidth for a teenage meltdown over a boy or a perceived sister slight, and definitely not an unexpected trip to the emergency room. Tonight’s plan is pitch review, book, and bed. Exactly in that order.
7:31 p.m. (Gloria)
Sylvia ordered me something called an arugula salad.
7:31 p.m. (Gloria)
We are sharing an order of papas fritas.
7:31 p.m. (Gloria)
I’m going to try a dirty Shirley. Es una bebida.
7:32 p.m. (Simon)
The show has us staying in the same hotel. With no kids, tonight is an easy time for us to talk about what’s next for us. Meet in the lobby in thirty minutes?
7:32 p.m. (Gloria)
Sylvia is in room 642 and Zwena has already left for the evening. We might treat ourselves to a chocolate lava cake for dessert.
7:33 p.m. (Ash)
