Business tip: Follow up with new clients,
but make sure to stay in touch with old ones too.
that Grandma has just laid off Tory and Charise, she says what she always says: "I'm coming home. That's it. There's no reason why I need to be at some fancy-pants private school when you're all struggling. I'll come home, go to UConn, and that'll be that."
"Claudia," I say in my groany voice. "No one expects you to do that."
"Put Mom on the phone," Claudia insists. So I walk downstairs and hand Mom the cordless. She's making chicken and her famous Spanish rice, and I hate, hate, hate Spanish rice more than anything in the world. She makes it extra spicy with jalape?os, and the recipe doesn't even call for that.
I can only hear my mom's end of the conversation, and all she's saying is, "No, that won't be necessary," and "Honey, this doesn't concern you," and finally "I hope you've been eating only organic meat, because you know how they are treating animals these days."
Finally, she hangs up. She pushes her blonde spiral curls behind her ears. "Lucy, go wash up. And call Grandma at the pharmacy and tell her dinner will be ready in five minutes. Either she gets here in time, or we eat without her."
It's already eight thirty and we haven't even eaten dinner yet. That isn't normal. Well, it's normal for us, but not normal for normal people. But even though my mom threatens to eat without Grandma, I know we won't. We always eat together as a family. As Grandma always says, "A family that eats together, stays together."
Grandma gets home just in time, and she puts the chicken cutlets on a platter while Mom serves the rice.
At first we're all quiet because we're so busy eating.
"Delicious rice, Jane," Grandma says after a few minutes. "It gets better each time you make it. The sautéed onions are perfect." I know this is just a simple compliment, but it's a relief to hear, considering how much Grandma and Mom have been fighting lately.
"Thanks, Ma," Mom says. "I thought I might've gone overboard with the onions this time."
"Not at all," Grandma says. "It's wonderful." She pauses. "So, as you know, I let Tory and Charise go. But I spoke to Bruce from the fish market, and he very generously offered to help with the unloading of boxes. Lucy, I know you can handle stocking the shelves." She looks at me through the bottoms of her wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
I'm not really a fan of manual labor, but I know complaining won't do any good. Plus, I figure we all have to do our part; the pharmacy's important to me too.
"And Jane," Grandma goes on. "I'm wondering if you can speed up your degree. One class a year is hardly a fast path to becoming a pharmacist."
When Grandma says that, I feel bad for my mom. It wasn't exactly her dream in life to be a pharmacist. I'm not really sure if she ever had a dream job. She just always wanted to be an activist, to work for causes she believed in.
My mom and dad got married right after college, and my mom had Claudia when she was twenty-two. My parents didn't really have any money, so they figured they'd move in with my grandparents for a little while so they could save up and eventually buy a house. Grandma tells me that Mom was always protesting, trying to make the world a better place, even with a new baby.
She'd constantly write letters to the editors of so many magazines and newspapers; she has them all in a shoe box in her bedroom. One snow day, I read them all.
Back then, my mom worked at the pharmacy; she handled the cash register and offered suggestions to customers. And my dad commuted to Yale (that's where my parents met) so he could finish getting his master's degree.
But all these years later, my mom is still living in the same room. My parents never ended up buying a house. My dad moved to London when I was three; he teaches there.
A few years ago, when the pharmacy really started to struggle, Mom decided to go back to school and become a pharmacist. But she's still in school because she ends up taking more electives than required classes.
It's easy to see why there's tension between Mom and Grandma. Plus, Mom's forty and she still lives with her mother. No other moms I know live with their mothers.
"Ma." Mom swallows a piece of chicken and turns to Grandma. "Relax. Everything will be fine." She smiles at Grandma, then at me. Mom's an eternal optimist, and when she gets depressed about something, she doesn't spend too long feeling bad about it. She just finds a way to try to change it. It's not her fault that her plans don't always work-there's a lot of injustice, and anyway she always says everyone can help if they try.
Grandma slumps back in her chair, wiping the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin like she's a lady at a very fancy dinner party. "Darling, you know that locked cabinet you have in the office, behind your desk?" Grandma widens her eyes at my mother like she's inspecting something. "Well, I unlocked it. And I know how grave the situation is."
Mom chokes on her ginseng-enhanced iced tea. I can't believe this; my mom is an adult, a grown woman, and she still gets in trouble with her mother. How did this conversation change tone so quickly?
Grandma keeps talking. "I'm willing to wait this out for a little while. I have faith that we can pull out of this. But I'm considering selling the house. We can move into the upstairs apartment for a while, save money, and then we can figure out what we're going to do."
My eyes bulge at that, and I literally drop my fork. It clinks against my ceramic plate. "What?"
"Lucy, I'm beginning to think we don't really have a choice," Grandma says, talking to me like I'm an adult, like I can handle whatever she says.
And that's exactly when I realize that, yeah, I've been wishing and hoping that we'd find a way to save the pharmacy. But now I need to do more than just wish and hope. I need a real plan of action.
The only problem is, I'm a kid. And maybe in the movies kids can save the day. Like in Home Alone-which I've seen on DVD and TV a million times-Kevin just takes on those robbers, protects the house, and even goes out grocery shopping after his parents accidentally leave him home when they go on vacation. He becomes a hero, but that's a movie. In real life, there's not so much we can do.
And this situation is affecting me too personally. Not to sound selfish, but a few weeks ago Grandma told me I'd have to take a break from my art lessons. Up until then, I'd been going once a week since I was seven. When she told me, I didn't complain at all. Not a bit. Because I understood the situation.
I excuse myself from the table, put my dishes in the sink, and go up to my room. Maybe I need to do research, read a book or something. Would it be so impossible for someone to write Saving Your Family's Business for Dummies?
