Wrong About the Guy(8)

“You know, Heather’s never been to Hawaii either—”

“Forget it,” she said. “I have reached the limits of my generosity.”

Jonathan’s fiancée was coming as his plus one, and Luke was flying my grandmother out, which would be a big help with Jacob. Luke didn’t talk to his own family anymore; they’d ignored and ostracized him when he was struggling, and then came running with their hands out when he got rich and famous. He sent them money but never saw them.

We saw my grandmother a ton, though. She came to visit whenever she had time off from work. Mom had tried to convince her to move out to LA to live with us (or at least near us), but she said she didn’t want to be dependent on anyone, which was also why she wouldn’t let them buy her a nicer apartment in Philadelphia. Mom sent her a lot of gifts and bought her first-class airplane tickets, but other than that, Grandma took care of herself.

Luke had also invited a couple of his closest friends to join us. Carl Miller used to be his business manager and was now CFO of his production company. And of course Michael Marquand was coming—he and Luke were like brothers.

Mom said she didn’t need to invite any friends because Grandma and I were her best friends, which was probably true. Most of the people she’d met in Hollywood saw her more as Luke Weston’s wife than a person in her own right, and she’d been too busy working and taking care of me to make a lot of friends back in Philadelphia.

Luke got first-class tickets for the family. Jonathan, George, and Jonathan’s fiancée, Izzy, were on our flight, but in coach. Luke and Mom sat together on the flight out, and so did Grandma and Jacob, who happily watched movies the entire way—I’m not convinced he even knew we had left the house.

I was across the aisle from Grandma and next to a businessman who never once made eye contact with me and who quickly popped two pills, drank three cocktails, donned headphones and an eye mask, and fell asleep. I guess he didn’t want the fancy lunch with the real silverware and all.

I did. I loved first class. We never flew at all when I was a kid; we had nowhere to go and we couldn’t have afforded it anyway. The first time I got on a plane was the summer that Mom and Luke got married, and even though it was fun to go up into the sky, I didn’t like much else about flying coach. Then Luke got rich and we all started flying first class together, and it was totally different—you could watch your own movies on a personal screen and the food was good and the flight attendants waited on you hand and foot. It felt like vacation.

Like me, Grandma hadn’t flown until Luke came into our lives, but she wasn’t a convert the way I was. “It’s a necessary evil,” she said to me, leaning across the aisle at one point. “I do it because I have to, but I don’t trust it. There’s gravity. Things fall down.”

“People fly all the time,” I said. “It’s pretty reliable.”


“I don’t want to scare you,” she said, “so I won’t argue. Even though I could. What was that noise?”

“Nothing. Oh, look.” I handed her the menu card. “Wine. You should have some.”

“Maybe,” she said primly.

She had some. And soon after dozed off in her seat, leaving me to enjoy the rest of the flight in peace.





six


The hotel manager came in a limo to pick us up; she handed out our room key cards during the ride, which is when I found out that I was supposed to share a room with Grandma and Jacob.

I didn’t say anything until we had pulled up at the resort, which was spectacularly beautiful: palm trees and fountains everywhere you looked. But I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. As soon as we’d gotten out of the limo, I grabbed my mother’s arm.

“It’s not fair!” I hissed. “Grandma gets up at like five in the morning. And she drives me crazy. I want my own room.”

“I’m not letting you sleep by yourself in a place where a lot of strangers have passkeys,” she said. “And if you think you can talk me into it, you’re wrong, so save your breath.”

I let go of her and drifted over to George. “I blame you,” I said. “You booked the rooms. You should have gotten me my own.”

“First of all,” he said, “I was following your mother’s instructions. And second of all, I’m sharing a room with Jonathan and Izzy, which is a lot more awkward than sharing a room with your grandmother, so don’t complain to me.”

“You and I could get a room together!” I said. “That would solve both our problems.”

“Yeah, I think that might be awkward in a whole different way,” he said, and walked away.


Mom and Luke went up to their suite, saying they just wanted to have a quiet dinner alone there. I wanted to eat in one of the hotel restaurants, but Jacob was in a whiny mood, so we ordered room service and turned the TV on to the Sprout Channel to keep him happy.

When the food came, Grandma criticized me for ordering a pizza. She said that everyone knew wheat was bad for you and that it was no wonder I was so short.

I told her to stop blaming my diet for the fact I was short—hadn’t she ever heard of genetics? Mom was even shorter than I was, and she wasn’t exactly a giant herself.

She said she was sorry she cared about my health, and she guessed she should just mind her own business from now on, go away, and not bother anyone ever again.