“Gavin,” Dad barks. He motions for Gavin to follow him outside and get a lay of the land. Without hesitation, Gavin does as he’s told and trails Dad like the loyal, trained dog that he is. His incessant need for Dad’s approval never ceases to amaze me. Even more startling is the pang of envy that stabs me, seeing the way they are able to carry on with their lives in a semi-normal way, as if this scandal isn’t affecting them in the same way it’s affecting me. After the appeal is over, it’ll be back to business as usual for It’s Ok! and for Mom, Dad, and Gavin. Meanwhile, because I’m a socialite, my reputation is my livelihood. Their careers won’t be defined by their offenses, and yet my name will henceforth be forever marred by the It’s-Not-Okay-to-Be-Ok Scandal. To have everything I’ve strived for snatched from under me, through no fault of my own, is monumentally unfair.
My thoughts get interrupted when I notice Mom unrolling a sleeping bagright onto the carpet.
I gasp. “What are you doing?” Surely we’re not sleeping on the ground. Onthisground.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have any other options.” She motions around the empty rooms.
“But the floor is so…” I shudder.
“Elena.” She looks me dead in the eye. “My parents survived the Korean War. They were starving and had to start all over with next to nothing to save up enough money to give me a better life. Complaining was never an option for me. So unless you can make furniture appear with the flick of your wrist, I am going to roll out this sleeping bag and sleep on the floor and not complain. I suggestyou do the same.” She proceeds to calmly unroll the sleeping bag in her room and slip into it.
This new version of Mom catches me off guard. Usually over-involved in her charity du jour, Mom hasn’t shown much interest in us. But now she’s lecturing me on being grateful, taking away my phone privileges, and threatening us with family dinners. She’s acted more like a mom in the past twenty-four hours than she has in the past four years. More than the reality check, though, it’s the mention of her past that surprises me. She hardly ever brings up life before It’s Ok!, and until now I had no idea her upbringing was much different from mine, considering how effortlessly she hosts dinner parties and manages the household staff.
I wonder if her strange behavior has anything to do with the interview she did with CBS last week. Ever since then she’s been home more than usual. She suggested a mother-daughter trip, and now I find out that she created an independent bank account for me. I mean, what is that all about? I make a mental note to ask her about that later when things aren’t so…strained. I may not know how to rough it, but I do know how to read the room.
I roll out a sleeping bag next to Mom’s and slip into it, careful not to let any part of me touch the shag carpet. Just as I’m about to doze blissfully away from this place, Dad and Gavin come back to the house and report to Mom on the state of the property. They’re talking animatedly, suggesting good news for once. My head pops up from the sleeping bag out of curiosity.
“You should see the place, Gloria. The previous tenants must have been farmers. There’s an irrigation system in place, and the soil has already been fertilized.” Dad’s voice reaches a level of excitement I’m unfamiliar with. Partly because he spends so much time at the office that he’s physically unavailable. And partly because when heis home, he’s, well, emotionally unavailable. At least to me, that is.
“Jincha? That cuts down half the work if the land has already been cultivated.” Mom matches his enthusiasm, which is a mystery to me how anyone can be that happy about anything he’s said.
Dad nods. “Only a small portion, it seems, was farmed. The rest of the land has no crops to speak of, but at least it’s been treated, so it’s ready to be planted.”
“There’s even an herb garden full of chives and parsley,” Gavin chimes in. He’s not quite as animated as Mom and Dad are but seemingly happy nonetheless.
“I can make chive pancakes and cold noodles, just like we did on the farm,” Mom says.
“When did you live on a farm?” I feel compelled to ask. “And how is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
“Whatever made the tenants leave, it wasn’t because they weren’t good at what they did. The crops are flourishing,” Dad carries on, completely ignoring me.
Somehow they’re even able to find the timing of our arrival to this sad excuse of a house as good news. According to them, June is the beginning of the summer harvest, which gives them something to look forward to. I’d be more upset about the fact that they’re all talking over me—as if I’m not even in the room with them—if there wasn’t something more troubling on my mind. This conversation is starting to veer into long-term territory. And that can’t be right.
Before panic ensues, Gavin asks, “Will we be here long enough to see the crops through? Two weeks doesn’t seem like a long time.”
“As long as we’re here, we may as well make ourselves useful,” Dad says. “It would be a shame to let all this progress go to waste.”
“And temporary or not, this place belongs to us. It’s been ignored long enough,” Mom says.
It isn’t the only thing that’s been ignored. All I’m looking forward to is getting back to my paid appearances, the media frenzy, and saying“What’s that?”—a life where I’m the opposite of ignored.
“Son, I’m going to need your help.” Dad addresses Gavin as if they’re in his office on the forty-second floor of the company headquarters on Wilshire Boulevard, not in a derelict shack in the forgotten land of Nowheresville. “With the appeal and the state of this property, there’s going to be plenty to do.”
“Whatever you need,” Gavin predictably chirps.
“And Elena,” Mom says.
My head pops up, startled by the sudden recognition. “Yes?” I respond, full of hope. Maybe they’ve come to their senses. Maybe they realize that now that we’re on our own, four of us are better than three. Or maybe they just feel plain sorry for leaving me out, which I’m oddly okay with. They haven’t acknowledged me throughout this entire conversation. At this point I’m not above pity.
“No one knows us here,” Mom starts. “We wouldn’t want anything to ruin the one good thing we have going for us, so make sure you don’t use your phone.” Both Dad and Gavin stare at me with the same look of warning.
I was wrong. So wrong.
As the three of them go on about their plans for harvesting the crops, I slip farther into my sleeping bag. I give up trying to relate to any of them. Even as our world is flipped upside down, one thing remains: Elena Ok is a nobody in her family. I can’t wait until we get out of here in two weeks. Then I can go back to being a somebody.
Chapter 6
In the morning I wake up to Mom and Dad talking with Gavin. Sounds like they are taking inventory of the house and making a list of what we need. When I don’t hear words likenew carpet,new house,new life—things I think should be on the top of the list—I stop listening.
