Read Where'd You Go, Bernadette: A Novel Online
Authors: Maria Semple
Tags: #Fiction / Humorous, #Contemporary Women, #Humorous, #Family Life, #Fiction, #Fiction / Family Life, #Fiction / Contemporary Women
Where'd You Go, Bernadette: A Novel (5 page)
“She’s my dog,” I said. “You hold the ladder.”
“Absolutely not, Bala. It’s too dangerous.”
Mom took off her scarf and wrapped it around her right hand,
then began her ascent. It was funny seeing her in her Belgian shoes and Capri pants climbing up the paint-splattered ladder. She punched the stained glass with her protected hand and unlatched the window, then climbed in. An eternity passed.
“Mom!” I kept calling. The rotter didn’t even stick her head out. I was so drenched and annoyed that I didn’t care. I put my foot on the ladder. It was totally secure. I scrambled up superquick because what would have made me lose my balance was Mom catching me halfway up and yelling. I took me about eight seconds and I climbed in the window without slipping.
Ice Cream had no reaction when she saw me. She was more interested in Mom, who was karate-kicking the door, and karate-kicking the door, and karate-kicking the door. “Gaaah,” Mom cried with each kick. Finally, the door skidded open.
“Nice job,” I said.
Mom jumped. “Bee!” She was furious, and got furiouser when there was a loud crash outside. The ladder had fallen away from the house and was lying across the lawn.
“Whoops,” I said. I gave Ice Cream a huge hug and breathed in her musty scent for as long as I could without passing out. “You are the worst dog ever.”
“This came for you.” Mom handed me a letter. The return address was the Choate seal. “Congratulations.”
Mom had dinner delivered early and we drove out to celebrate with Dad. As we zoomed across the floating bridge over Lake Washington, my mind was wild with images of Choate. It was so vast and clean, and the buildings so majestic, red brick with ivy on the sides. It’s what I imagined England would look like. Dad and I had visited
in the spring when the tree branches were heavy with flowers and ducklings glided across sparkling ponds. I’d never seen a place so picturesque except for jigsaw puzzles.
Mom turned to me. “You’re allowed to be happy about going away, you know.”
“It’s just weird.”
I love Microsoft. It’s where I went to day care, and when the sun was out they’d load us into big red wagons and pull us around to visit our parents. Dad made a treasure machine. I still don’t understand how it worked, but when it was time to get picked up, you got to put in a coin and out would drop a treasure, matched perfectly to you. A boy who liked cars would get a Hot Wheels. Not just any Hot Wheels, but one he didn’t already have. And if a girl was into baby dolls, she would get a bottle for her baby doll. The treasure machine is now on display in the Visitor Center because it’s an early example of facial recognition technology, which is what Dad was doing in L.A. when Microsoft bought him out.
We parked illegally, and Mom swanned across the Commons carrying the take-out bags, with me at her heels. We entered Dad’s building. Looming above the receptionist was a jumbo digital clock that counted down:
119 DAYS
2 HOURS
44 MINUTES
33 SECONDS
“That’s what they call a
ship clock,
” Mom explained. “It’s how long until Samantha 2 ships. They put it up as motivation. No comment.”
The same clock was in the elevator, the hallways, and even the bathrooms. It ticked down that whole meal in Dad’s office, where we sat on the inflatable balls he uses instead of chairs, our take-out containers wobbling precariously on our knees. I was telling them about all the different kinds of penguins we were going to see on the trip.
“You want to know the coolest part?” Mom chimed in. “There isn’t assigned seating at the dining room, and they have tables for four. That means the three of us can sit down and if we pile the extra chair with our gloves and hats, nobody can sit with us!”
Dad and I looked at each other, like, Is she joking?
“And penguins,” Mom quickly added. “I’m wildly excited about all those penguins.”
Dad must have told everyone we were coming, because people kept walking by and peeking through the glass, but acting like they weren’t, which is what it must feel like to be famous.
“I wish this was more of a celebration,” Dad said, glancing at his email. “But I have a video conference with Taipei.”
“That’s OK, Dad,” I said. “You’re busy.”
*
Dear Ms. Loundes,
First off, we’re thrilled that Bee has been accepted to Choate. While I’m an Exonian myself, my wife, Bernadette, always said her happiest days were spent at Choate, and Bee has wanted to attend ever since she was a little girl.
Secondly, thank you for the kind words about Bee. We agree, she’s extraordinary. However, we are strenuously opposed to her skipping a grade.
I have just looked over her application, and I realize there is no way you would know the essential fact about Bee: she was born with a heart defect, which required a half-dozen surgeries. As a result, she spent her first five years on and off at Seattle Children’s Hospital.
Bee entered kindergarten on schedule, even though her little body was having difficulty keeping up. (She was in the zero percentile for height and weight during this time; she is still struggling to catch up, as you saw for yourself.) Yet her profound intelligence was already making itself known. Teachers encouraged us to get Bee tested. Really, though, Bernadette and I had no interest in the gifted-child industry. Perhaps because we both went to prep school and Ivy League universities ourselves, we did not fetishize them like other Seattle parents. Our primary concern was that our daughter know a modicum of normalcy after the sickening circumstances of her first five years.
It was a decision that has richly benefited Bee. We found a wonderful neighborhood school, Galer Street. Sure, Bee was “ahead” of the other kids in her class. In response, she took it upon herself to teach the slower kids to read and write. To this day, Bee stays after school and helps in homework lab. She didn’t mention that on her application, either.
Choate has marvelous facilities. I’m certain Bee will find more than enough to keep her from “growing bored.”
While we’re on the subject, please indulge me while I tell you the story of the first and last time Bee ever claimed she was bored. Bernadette and I were driving Bee and a friend, both preschoolers, to a birthday party. There was traffic. Grace said, “I’m bored.”
“Yeah,” Bee mimicked, “I’m bored.”
Bernadette pulled the car over, took off her seat belt, and turned around. “That’s right,” she told the girls. “You’re bored. And I’m going to let you in on a little secret about life. You think it’s boring now? Well,
it only gets more boring. The sooner you learn it’s
on you
to make life interesting, the better off you’ll be.”
“OK,” Bee said quietly. Grace burst into tears and never had a playdate with us again. It was the first and last time Bee ever said she was bored.
We look forward to meeting you in the fall, when Bee arrives with her fellow third formers.
Sincerely,
Elgin Branch
*
I am not sick! I was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome, OK? It’s a congenital condition where the mitral valve, left ventricle, aortic valve, and aorta don’t develop completely and which required me to have three open-heart surgeries plus three more because of complications. The last surgery was when I was five. I know I’m supposed to be so smart, but guess what? I don’t remember any of it! And double-guess what? I’m totally fine now, and have been for
nine and a half years
. Just take a time-out and ponder that. For two-thirds of my life I’ve been totally normal.
Mom and Dad bring me back to Children’s every year for an echocardiogram and X rays that even the cardiologist rolls her eyes at because I don’t need them. Walking through the halls, Mom is always, like, having a Vietnam flashback. We’ll pass some random piece of art hanging on the wall and she’ll grab onto a chair and say, Oh, God, that Milton Avery poster. Or, gulping a big breath, That ficus tree had origami cranes hanging on it that awful Christmas. And then she’ll close her eyes while everyone just stands there, and Dad hugs her really tight, tears flooding his eyes, too.
All the doctors and nurses come out of their offices hailing me
like the conquering hero, and the whole time I’m thinking, Why? They show me pictures of when I was a baby tucked into the hospital bed wearing a little cap, like I’m supposed to remember it. I don’t even know what the point of any of it is besides I’m totally fine now.
The only thing now is I’m short and don’t have breasts, which is annoying. Plus my asthma. Lots of doctors said I could have asthma even if I was born with a good heart. It doesn’t keep me from doing anything like dancing or playing the flute. I don’t have the thing where you wheeze. I have the even grosser thing where any time I get sick, even if it’s a stomach virus, it’s followed by two weeks of disgusting phlegm, which I have no choice but to cough up. I’m not saying it’s the most pleasant thing to be sitting across from, but if you care about how it feels to me, I’ll tell you that I barely notice it.
The nurse at school, Mrs. Webb, is totally ridiculous the way she’s obsessed with my cough. I swear, on the last day of school I want to pretend to drop dead in her office just to freak her out. I seriously think that every day Mrs. Webb leaves Galer Street and it’s a day I didn’t die on her watch, she feels this soaring relief.
I’m totally off-task. Why did I even start writing all this? Oh, yeah. I’m not sick!
HURSDAY
, D
ECEMBER
2
From: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal
To: Audrey Griffin
You have been very dear
not
to ask me how the Microsoft town hall went. I’m sure you’re dying to know if I was a casualty of the epic downsizing that has been all over the papers.
This was a top-to-bottom RIF, a ten percent haircut. In the old days, a reorg meant a hiring spree. Now it means layoffs. As I might have told you, my project was about to be canceled, and my PM got a little unhinged and flamed half of Microsoft. I maniacally checked meeting room reservations and the jobs website, trying to glean
something
about my future. Our top people landed at Windows Phone and Bing. When I tried to get answers from my PM about me, all I received in response was eerie silence.
Then, yesterday afternoon, I got pinged by an HR rep who wanted to see me in the meeting room down the hall the next day. (I had seen that appointment. I had no idea it was for me!)
Before I got out the teapot and threw myself a pity party, I dropped everything and found the nearest Victims Against Victimhood meeting, which helped enormously. (I know you’re a huge skeptic when it comes to VAV, but they are my rock.)
I drove myself to work this morning because I didn’t want the added indignity of having to load a bunch of boxes onto the Connector. I showed up in the meeting room, where the HR woman calmly informed me that our entire team, except for those who already left for Bing and Windows Phone, were being RIFed.
“However,” she said, “you rank so well that we’d like to assign you to a special project located in Studio C.”
Audrey, I just about fell over. Studio C is on the new Studio West campus, and their work is the most high profile at Microsoft. Good news: I’m getting
promoted!
Bad news: the new product I’m working on is in high gear, and I’ll be expected to work weekends. It’s a hush-hush project. I don’t even know its name yet. Bad news: I may not be able to make the Prospective Parent Brunch. Good news: I’ll definitely be able to pay for the food.
Talk soon, and go Huskies!
*
From: Ollie-O
To: Prospective Parent Brunch Committee
REAL-TIME
FLASH!
We’re up to 60 RSVPs! I’m just
throwing out some fertilizer
, but:
Pearl Jam
. I hear they’ve got kids entering kindergarten. If we get one of them—
it doesn’t have to be the singer—
I can
grow
it.
*
From: Audrey Griffin
To: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal
Great news about the promotion! I’ll gladly take you up on your offer to pay for the food. I still have enough green tomatoes in the greenhouse to fry up for appetizers, plus dill, parsley, and cilantro for aioli. I’ve stored two bushels of apples and want to make my rosemary tarte tatin for dessert. For the main course, how about we get that traveling pizza oven to cater? They can set up in the backyard, which frees up my kitchen.
Ollie-O was right about buzz being “viral.” Today at Whole Foods, a woman I didn’t even recognize recognized
me
and said she was looking forward to my brunch. Judging from the contents of her shopping cart—imported cheese, organic raspberries, fruit wash spray—she is the exact quality of parent we need at Galer Street. I saw her in the parking lot. She was driving a Lexus. Not a Mercedes, but close enough!
Did you hear? Shipping a sick child off to boarding school! Why am I not surprised?