“We planned to grow produce like cabbage and radish that I could make kimchi with, and make herbal teas with ginger and ginseng,” Mom adds. “It was meant to be a retreat from the city.”
The more they talk, the less sense it makes. Farm? Cook? Make kimchi? I haven’t seen them do any of those things, and by the look on Gavin’s face, he’s just as baffled as I am.
Dad opens his bag and begins riffling through it, looking forsomething in particular. And despite his grand plan of retiring quietly on a farm, the essential items among his things don’t corroborate any of his story.
Dad’s essential items:
Suits, suits, and more suits
A laptop
Mysterious cables
Briefcase full of work documents
His autobiography
If anything, the contents in his bag would suggest the opposite: that Dad has no plans of staying here for the long term. The only thing in his suitcase that seems out of place is the framed family photo we took last year. I’m sure he brought it to keep up pretenses that we are the perfect family for when this ordeal is over, since I have never known him to be the sentimental type. I’d be more offended by his dishonesty if it weren’t a testament to his level of confidence that it’ll be business as usual in no time—a kind of reassurance that we’ll be out of here before we have a chance to settle in, which is a relief. Because I have a life to get back to. Speaking of…
I pull out my phone only to realize it’s still in airplane mode. I’m about to switch it off when Mom stops me.
“You can’t use that, remember?” she warns me. “There’s no cellular reception or Wi-Fi here.”
“We don’t even have Wi-Fi here?” The gag reflex that comes after I say this out loud is involuntary but understandable. Just yesterday we were living in a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion, each of us with our own wing of the house. The dramatic fall from grace is going to take some getting used to.
“I need to get in touch with Kiki. I’m sure she’s flipping out right now over all my events being canceled.”
“You can’t,” Mom says matter-of-factly.
“You can go back to the limelight after we win the appeal,” Dad says confidently.
“If you’re sure we’re not in the wrong, then why does it matter if I talk to the press? I betExtraorAccess Hollywoodis dying to get an interview,” I say, trying desperately to keep us in the good graces of the media. “Besides, it might help make our time here go by quicker. We might even get a show out of it. People love watching the rich slumming it. And just because it’s temporary doesn’t mean we couldn’t use the extra cash to make the living conditions here more…livable.”
The sound that comes out of Gavin is full of so much disdain, it startles me. “We can’t justSimple Lifeour way out of this mess. This isn’t a reality show. What we are going through is just reality. In fact, we’re trying not to get the attention of anyone, remember? So that means there can be no cameras and definitely no media involved.” Of course. Leave it to Gavin to be theresponsibleone.
“Gavin,” I say, spinning on my heel to face him. “To quote Sister George Michael fromDerry Girls, ‘You will go far in life. But you will not be well-liked.’ ”
“That’s enough.” Mom preemptively stops us from going at it again. “Gavin is right,” she says, and I don’t know what’s more offensive: Mom’s declaration or the smug smile on Gavin’s face. “While the appeal is going on, our family’s reputation will be scrutinized more than ever. Frivolous articles about what you’re wearing, what you’re eating, what yoga pose you can contort your body into will not help our cause. This place is a blessing in disguise. The accusations are already painting us as greedy and outof touch with reality. With no high-speed internet or Wi-Fi, news about us hopefully won’t reach these parts.” Mom turns to me, pointing a finger. “So if you want to help the family, don’t cause a scene here.”
