Chapter 28
Gavin and I get home at the same time as Mom and Dad. It’s late, almost midnight, but no one seems remotely tired. In fact, Mom and Dad must have had as much fun as we did, based on how they buzz excitedly as they recall their night watching the meteor shower.
“Dr. Blaire brought her homemade cheese, and we ate it with crackers and drizzled it with Annabel’s honey,” Dad says.
“It was divine,” Mom says.
“Then the meteor shower started, and it was like being at the Hollywood Bowl. But better.” Dad shakes his head in disbelief.
Mom nods. “What about you two? Did you have a good time?”
Gavin and I take turns telling them about our night while Mom folds the blankets they took with them.
When I tell them about how I thought the fireflies were meteors at first, we share a laugh, knowing how any of us could have easily made the same mistake.
Just as Dad is putting away the blankets in the hall closet, he startles us.
“Look what I found.” Dad holds up a box in his hands to show us. “Life!” As he says this, his breath rouses a cloud of dust to appear in the space between us.
“Are you sure you don’t mean death? Because surely something must have died in there.” I fan the dust away from me.
“Oh, I’ve played this before. It’s a board game.” Gavin reads the box carefully. “Except the logo looks different.”
“It says it’s the original game from 1960,” Mom reads off the box. “Should we play it?”
“Sure, why not?” I say, since we’re all wide awake. Besides, I haven’t played a family game in…well, there’s a first time for everything.
A few minutes later, we’ve cleared the table, and Dad reads out the instructions to us. “It says to first choose the banker. I think we all know it’s me.”
“Why you?” Mom asks.
“Because it says so right here in the instructions: ‘Choose the banker. He will be responsible for all the money.’ ”
Not sure these directions based on outdated gender norms make a strong argument, but I let him have it. I don’t want to be the banker anyway. Gavin and Mom don’t push it either.
“Okay, now pick a car and put a little peg in it,” Dad instructs us.
I choose a blue peg because that’s my favorite color.
“Elena, come on.” Dad eyes me. “Just take the pink peg.”
“What’s the big deal? I like blue better,” I say, not for one second taking him seriously. But Dad doesn’t budge. “It’s just a peg, Dad. Calm down.”
“I think I’m going to want a blue peg too.” Mom swoops in to change hers from pink to blue.
“Gloria, no—”
“I do like a good pink,” Gavin says, cutting Dad off. We exchange a quick smile. Even in our disagreement, we’ve reached a new level of getting along. And I’m not saying I take pleasure in watching people squirm, but it’s fun to mess with Dad, especially ’cause we’re all in it together. Even Mom.
“Fine, let’s move on,” Dad grumbles. “We spin to see who goes first.”
The old spinny wheel miraculously still works, making a tick, tick, tick sound as it spins and lands on a number.
“Oh, yay! I get to go first,” I say when my number ends up being the highest. I rub my hands together and spin the wheel again, landing on the number four.
Right off the bat, I have to choose between the business or college route.
Business gets me working faster, but the salary is lower.
If I go the college route, I take the longer path to getting a job, but the salary potential is higher.
We’re playing a game, so I go the college route.
“Good. Wise choice,” Dad says approvingly.
“Honey, this isn’t real life. It’s just a game.” Mom nudges him.
“I’m only saying it was a good choice. This route may take longer, but look at the earning potential.”
Gavin gives me a subtle look and smirks. “I think I’ll start working right away.” As I knew he would, he moves his car to the business side of the game.
“Gavin, no—” Dad starts to say, but Mom shushes him by placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Not only is it a game from the 1960s, it’s cisnormative, supremely biased, and elitist,” I point out. “You can’t expect us to take the game seriously.”
“Besides, is it so bad to go to a trade school? Plenty of famous chefs went to culinary school instead of a four-year college,” Gavin says.
Dad cocks his head to the side. “Being good at cooking and making a career out of it are two different things. It’s a good skill. But there is no way a kitchen job can bring the same amount of success as an office job.”
Gavin’s face falls. My whole body deflates at the sight, as if it were my dream Dad was puncturing with his words. A protective rage bubbles in me.
“Success isn’t always defined by money, just like college doesn’t guarantee success,” I say encouragingly.
Gavin has made so much progress following his dream that it kills me to think he might revert to following someone else’s.
Gavin meets my eye and gives me a tight smile of appreciation.
And because I feel like Dad isn’t completely convinced, I add, “Besides, there are plenty of successful people who didn’t graduate college.
Bill Gates, James Cameron, Ralph Lauren…
you.” Right after I say this, it’s crickets.
Literally, the chirping of the insects from outside our non-dual-paned windows is the only sound we hear.
“But—but…that’s not how you win the game,” Dad stammers, referring to the instructions on the box. “It says here that the player with the most money wins. And going to college gives you a higher salary.” His face turns a shade darker, and we all know he’s not talking about the game anymore.
“Like you said, it’s just a game,” Mom reminds us. “Let’s try to have fun with it.” Probably sensing the tension rising, she spins the spinner and chooses the college path, effectively ending the debate about college.
It’s my turn next. And even though I’m over this game already, I spin and move my car to the Get Married space.
“See, this is what I’m talking about. Which one do I give you now, blue or pink?” Dad scratches his head, staring at the pegs. “Pink, I guess?”
“How about no peg?” I suggest.
Mom, Dad, and Gavin crane their necks toward me, staring with the same look of confusion.
“No peg?” Dad’s brows furrow. “But how would that work?” He stares off like he’s trying to do mental math that doesn’t add up.
“Are you coming out to us?” Gavin asks.
“What? No.” I give him a look.
“Elena, it doesn’t matter what peg it is. You can pick whatever color you want,” Mom tries to reassure me.
“That’s just it. I don’t want another peg in the car seat next to me,” I say. And to clear up any further confusion, I add, “I don’t know if I ever want to get married.”
Gavin seems to be the most confused by that. “But every time you go out, you’re always with a different guy….”
“Exactly,” I point out. “I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. How do I know I want to commit myself to someone for life?” I shrug.
“Elena, don’t be silly.” Dad swats a dismissive hand at me. “Getting married and having kids is what women do. Just put a peg in the car. I don’t care what color it is.”
That’s what women do?
“Are you saying I can’t be a woman without a man?” I ask combatively.
“I’m not saying you can’t be a woman without a man, but what would you do if you didn’t get married?” He blinks at me with sincere curiosity.
This is a crushing blow. Worse than when he dismissed the culinary arts as a possible career option for Gavin.
Did Dad learn nothing from our time here?
Did he forget that it was my ingenuity that got him into the co-op?
Is he not able to recognize the accomplishments of the women who run it?
If this is how Dad truly feels, there’s no way he’ll recognize my potential.
Surprisingly Mom is the one who backs me up.
“Elena has a point,” she says, spinning the wheel for her turn.
“She’s only seventeen. She doesn’t need to make any declarations now.
In fact…” As Mom moves her car to the Get Married space, she puts a pink peg in her car.
“It would be nice to have a wife for once.”
Gavin and I exchange a glance. When it comes to taking sides, Mom is always on Dad’s, even when he’s being unreasonable.
But her comment, subtle as it was, makes me feel like at least she’ll support me and Gavin when the time comes.
The tension softens on Gavin’s face, and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
Dad still seems confused by all of us, so by the time it’s Gavin’s turn to “Get Married,” he doesn’t comment on his choice when he picks a blue peg to match his pink one.
After that’s settled, we keep playing, taking turns moving through the path and snaking around the board. When it’s Gavin’s turn again, we watch in awkward silence as he moves his car, landing on Sons and Daughters.
“I’m not sure Gavin is suited for kids,” I joke to lighten the mood. Only one person doesn’t find the humor in that.
“Of course he needs kids,” Dad insists. “The more the better. Says here, you get twenty-four thousand dollars per kid at the end.” He holds up the rules to show us.
I know it’s a game, but the way he says it sounds calculated and insensitive. As if children only add value if they are profitable.
When it’s my turn to land on Sons and Daughters, Dad looks to Mom. “Gloria, your turn,” he says, expecting me to pass my turn. But I surprise him by putting a pink peg in the back row of my car.
“You can’t have kids. You don’t have a spouse,” Dad points out.
“Dale, what kind of statement is that?” Mom says, beating me to it. “Of course she can have kids.”
“Yeah, there are plenty of single parents,” I say. “Sandra Bullock, Hoda Kotb, Charlize Theron…”
Dad still doesn’t seem convinced, so Mom adds, “Besides, let’s be honest. She’s the one who’s going to take care of the kids anyway.
Not her husband.” That line we were toeing a few minutes earlier?
Well, consider it effectively crossed. Because I might have thought I imagined it the first and even second time.
But there was nothing subtle or passive about this comment.
Unsurprisingly Dad…does nothing. He’s great at pointing out flaws and shortcomings when it comes to others. Himself, on the other hand…
The rest of the game doesn’t get any better.
For all his “sensible” talk, Dad buys all the stocks and tries his luck at each opportunity to play the market.
But despite his best efforts, he never spins the right number, making him lose money each time.
I can’t ignore the similarities, but it goes to show that in Life—and in real life—you can make all the right moves and still end up with nothing.
The last space on the game board is Day of Reckoning, an ominous—if not doomsday—ending to the game.
It’s time we count up our money, and the one who has the most wins the game.
As Dad pointed out, each player collects twenty-four thousand dollars per dependent.
With no kids, Gavin is out of the running.
I don’t have a spouse, but I collect the money for the carload of children I have, landing me in first place.
Mom trails behind me as a close second. But it’s Dad who is in last place.
When it’s clear he doesn’t have enough to move on, his expression turns somber.
“I reckon you don’t have enough to be a millionaire,” I say with a deep Southern accent in an attempt at levity. He remains unmoved.
“Wait a second. There’s a chance I can still win,” Dad says, suddenly coming back to life.
He reads out loud the instructions off the box.
“ ‘If a player doesn’t have enough money to be a millionaire, they can try their chance at becoming a Millionaire Tycoon. All they have to do is put everything they own on a number and spin the dial. If it lands on that number, they win the game.’ ”
“But you don’t have enough to win, even if the dial lands on your number.”
“I can use my car as collateral,” Dad says, moving his car to the number.
Mom tilts her head at him. “Dale, isn’t it enough that you have your car and family?”
“That’s loser mentality. No one wants to end up with just a car and family,” he says, not seeming to get the connection to our real life. Then a scary thought enters my mind. Maybe he does get the connection, and this is how he really feels about us.
“I refuse to end up on the Poor Farm. I need to be on Millionaire Acres,” he says with more determination than when we first started the game. I’m not even sure who he’s talking to at this point. To us or himself.
By now everyone’s abandoned the game. Except for Dad, who’s gearing up to spin the spinner. He’s the only one paying attention as the spinner slows to a stop.
“I win!” Dad pumps his arms in celebration. Gavin and I can only stare at him incredulously. Mom seethes.
“And how does it feel?” Mom asks. “Is it worth it? To make it to the top but have no one to celebrate with?”
“Gloria, what are you talking about?”
“We may have lost the company, your title, the bulk of our wealth. But even though it seems like we’ve lost everything, there’s still something we have that can’t be taken away from us.
” She glances at me, then at Gavin, before turning her attention back to Dad.
“And if you’re not careful, you could lose that too. ”
She goes to her room and slams the door behind her. Gavin and I do the same.
More than anything, this game was a reality check.
These past few weeks, I thought Dad was starting to see us more clearly.
That I’m more business-minded than he gave me credit for and that Gavin has talents he was too closed-minded to appreciate.
But now I can see that the changes in Dad’s perspective only went skin deep.
Like Mom told me before, it’s not easy for him to forget about the past that made him who he is, and that includes societal values.