Before I have a chance to protest, Dad zeroes in on Gavin. “To ensure your studies aren’t interrupted, I’ve already reached out to USC to find alternative ways to continue your education. The uncertainty of your position in the company may put a negative spotlight on you. Maybe you can take a year off or do online courses like Elena. Then, after your position at the restructured company has been secured, you can go back. Dean Rutherford hasn’t returned my calls, but when he does I’ll let you know.” He smiles at Gavin, who,if I’m not mistaken, tenses up. “By the way, are you sure you haven’t received your grades?”
“I haven’t been able to check my email, but I’m sure they’re in my inbox,” he mumbles.
“If you want, I can call them and—”
“No, I can do it,” Gavin answers much too quickly. “I’ll call the registrar’s office tomorrow,” he adds, trying to cover up his suspicious behavior.
I narrow my eyes at Gavin. Grades were available weeks ago. But apparently I’m the only one who sees through his lie, since Dad seemingly accepts his answer.
“It’s a good thing we have this home,” Mom says, somehow finding the silver lining. “It could take months to settle on an agreement. Now that we don’t have to meet with Mr.Ahn, we can focus on the farm.”
“I’ve noticed the weeds are starting to take over the field.” Dad stares out the window.
“I can help,” Gavin chimes in.
What is happening? Living here was supposed to be a short-term solution, not a long-term plan. Why aren’t Mom, Dad, and Gavin freaking out?
“That’s it?” I flail, unwilling to accept the reality. “Are you saying that we should go on as if everything is okay?In this house?”
The three of them crane their necks to face me with the same familiar expression. The one that tells me they can’t understand my outfit choices, my partying, my lifestyle.
“Elena,” Mom eventually says, “what other choice do we have?”
“There’s got to be somewhere else we can go. Somewhere more suited to the lifestyle we’re used to.”
Gavin lets out an incredulous laugh.
I turn to him. “You said so yourself, your apartment building has the type of amenities luxury hotels have.”
“We don’t have to live here forever, just until my new position and salary are negotiated,” Dad says, as if that’s a solution that suits everyone’s needs.
“Maybe time away will give you some perspective,” Mom says. It’s surprising how unwavering her support for Dad is, considering how this will affect her lady-of-leisure lifestyle. “In time you’ll learn that money isn’t everything.”
But it’s not just money, not for me. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve been reminded of what’s at stake if I lose my reputation forever. Without my socialite status, my financial independence will all be gone. Then what?
In my silence, Mom frowns at me. “Elena, we understand that transitions are hard—”
“Transitions?”I huff incredulously. “You make it sound like what we’re going through is natural or pleasant, when that couldn’t be further from the truth! We’re not going through puberty or metamorphosing into a butterfly. We’re falling out of a burning plane, and unlike the rest of you, I don’t have a parachute. Dad will end up with a new role at the same company, and Gavin is going to go back to school with job security.” I turn to Mom. “And you can go back to pickling cabbage or pickleballing—whatever. But I can’t sit here and wait it out. I don’t have the luxury to do that,” I protest.
“There’s endless work on a farm,” Dad says, attempting to reason with me. But as usual, he’s way off the mark. “When we were growing up—”
“Please, spare me. This is not like the olden times,” I say, putting up a dire hand. “We live in the modern day, and you can’t expect us to know how the hell we’re supposed to farm this place, let alone livehere, when we’re used to drivers, cooks, and landscapers—people you hired so that we didn’t have to do any of those things. Maybe Gavin is used to this level of obscurity, but I’m not. My livelihood—the one that is supporting us through this time—relies on keeping up my very public image. So, please, don’t tell me that there’s nothing we can do.”
Mom, Dad, and Gavin stare at me, stone-faced. Of course they find offense in my plea, ignoring the fact that my parents are the ones with unrealistic expectations and that Gavin has the emotional quotient of a brick wall.
After a long silence Mom eventually stirs. “You’re right, Elena.” Her face lacks so much expression that I can’t tell if she’s being serious or sarcastic. “You are good at having fun. It’s admirable, really. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
The irony is that I’m finally getting the recognition I’ve wanted from my mom, but it’s in the form of a backhanded compliment that I can’t enjoy.
Dad slowly goes over to his suitcase and pulls out the framed photo of us. He leans it against the wall on the kitchen counter. “We need to start behaving like a happy family,” he says. “Even if it’s all an act.”
I don’t know what’s worse—Dad’s belief that pretending to be a happy family is going to make us one, or the fact that Mom agrees with him.
—
Later that night I hear Mom and Dad arguing through our poorly insulated walls. Gavin has earplugs in, and I’m not even sure he’d care if he heard. I tiptoe out of the room and lean close to their door.
“How could you do this, Dale?” Even through the door, I can clearly hear the hurt in Mom’s voice. A stark difference from the brave face she was putting on earlier.
