Chapter Two
Usually, the hour it takes to get from my lab on the west side to my parents’ house in Pasadena is long enough to sufficiently numb me to deal with the Lamberts.
But not even my favorite episode of The Life Scientific podcast can calm me today.
What was my mother thinking? Me? On a reality dating show?
I drive past the “iconic” palm trees that aren’t even native to Los Angeles County until I turn down my parents’ street with the million-dollar Craftsman-style bungalows.
They’re a far cry from the small Culver City townhome we lived in when I was a kid, but as my parents’ social media influencing took off, so did their zip code.
Not to be outdone, my mother, Rebecca, has well over nine hundred thousand Instagram followers, as she likes to remind me.
She’s always been into interior design, and her home decor blog with over-the-top holiday decorating ideas made her famous for it.
My brother says she’s like Joanna Gaines—if Joanna Gaines had bigger hair and were “extra.”
Then there’s Matt, ever the attention-seeking middle child despite being twenty-six years old.
He’s a former competitive skier, which means my parents spent a fortune so he could go down mountains fast. He quit skiing when he realized he’d be less likely to fracture his wrist for the fifth time if he were a TikTok model.
Now he spends his days working out, buying shirts that are too small for him, and taking videos of himself.
He also makes more money than I do, and I went to college for eight years.
And finally, the baby in the family, my brother Jesse, who has more followers than all of them put together for what I would consider the most absurd reason.
From what I understand, Jesse has a YouTube channel where he comments on other people playing video games.
He himself does not play the video games; he just offers commentary.
Yeah, I don’t get it either. He also has a podcast, a show on something called Twitch, and he’s sponsored by brands I’ve never heard of.
Last Christmas he gave everyone in the family an e-bike that said “G Fuel” all over it, which I promptly donated to charity.
I appreciated the gesture, but I prefer a bike that requires pedaling.
Or at the very least pedaling something other than G Fuel.
I pull into my parents’ circular driveway, past my brother’s gas-guzzling Range Rover, throw my Prius into park, and storm up the steps. I fling the front door open and shout, “What. Have. You. Done?”
“Hi, sweetheart!” my mom says as she unpacks takeout in the high-end chef’s kitchen that rarely gets used for actual food prep. “I got you that vegan curry dish you liked last time.”
I ignore her thoughtfulness, storm into the room, and hiss, “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me! You signed me up for a reality show without asking me first?!”
She gasps. “Ohmigosh, you got on the show?” She drops the Indian food and rushes toward me.
“What about me made you think I would ever go on a reality dating show?”
She ignores my disdain and pulls me into a hug. “This is such a huge opportunity, Gracie! I can’t believe you’re actually going to be on Love Shack.”
“I’m definitely not going to be on Love Shack,” I say loudly. Okay, maybe I’m technically yelling. Either way, it’s loud enough that Matt comes to see what all the commotion is about.
I try to extricate myself from my mother’s surprisingly strong arms, but she’s like a Lilly Pulitzer–clad sea urchin. I tell Matt, still stuck in her hug, “Mom signed me up for a dating show.”
He doesn’t even laugh, he just turns to her and asks, “Which one?”
But my mom is too focused on trying to convince me that she doesn’t answer him.
She finally lets me out of the hug, only to look me deep in the eyes and say, “Honey, this is exactly what you need. They pick the cream of the crop of guys, and there are multiple contestants to choose from. You yourself said you wanted to meet a higher caliber of men. So here they are!”
“I only said that to get you to stop setting me up on blind dates. I’ve never even watched a reality show!”
“Then how do you know you won’t like it?” Matt teases. Then he demands again, “Seriously, which one?”
I ignore him and try to make my mom see reason. “I have to work, Mom! I have responsibilities! I’m a scientist, not a former child actor or washed-up one-hit wonder!”
She listens to my rebuttal as she takes out fancy gold-rimmed plates, then casually says, “First prize wins $250,000. That’s way more than you make at the nature center.”
My jaw drops. “A quarter-million dollars!? For what? How do you even win a dating show? Go on the most dates? You know what, I don’t want to know, because it doesn’t matter. There’s no way in hell I’m going on Love Shack.”
“Ooh, Love Shack,” Matt says, perking up. “I love that show. You should definitely do it. I can help you set up your socials.”
“Great idea, Matthew!” my mom says, excitedly.
Feeling a headache coming on, I stand there massaging my temples. My mom doesn’t seem to notice because she just hands us each a plate and an orange cloth napkin tucked inside the bejeweled napkin rings she uses whenever we order Indian food. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.
Normally the fact that my mother has to make everything, even takeout food, Pinterest-worthy doesn’t annoy me this much, but I’m not very happy with her right now.
The only thing stopping me from throwing the napkin rings across the room and running out the front door screaming, “You can’t make me!
” is the fact that I’m starving and she did order my favorite curry.
I’m still taking deep, centering breaths when my dad bounces in, wearing too much spandex, and kisses me on the cheek. “Hey, Peanut. How’s Kermit?”
Although it seems like his go-to greeting is a way of asking about my work saving endangered frogs, his eyes immediately glaze over whenever I actually talk about it for longer than thirty seconds.
I usually say, “Still hopping,” but I’m excited about today’s breakthrough and welcome the change of subject, so I tell him, “Actually, it was a big day at the lab. We had some promising results with our vaccine, and we’re ready to reintroduce fifty frogs back into their habitat. ”
“That’s great, honey,” my mom says absent-mindedly as she dishes out the food.
“So I guess Kermit is still hopping,” my dad jokes, sitting down at the table next to Matt.
“Well, actually, it’s a little more—” But before I can emphasize the severity of the fungus that has been killing southern mountain yellow-legged frogs by the thousands and how important it is to be able to inoculate against it, Jesse walks in.
My youngest brother greets everyone with a “Yo,” totally oblivious to the fact that I was midsentence.
My dad gives him a stern look, and he begrudgingly takes out his earbuds before sitting down next to me.
I’m about to get back to my scientific discovery that might literally save an entire species and be a case study for future generations when my mom says, “Dig in!”
And I realize that the window for me to share with my family has closed. So, as usual, I swallow my disappointment with a bite of tofu and tune them out as they begin discussing the latest celebrities commenting on their social media.
One time in high school I overheard Matt tell his friends that I’m antisocial.
But it wasn’t that I was against making friends.
It just seemed easier to keep to myself than try to get other people to like me.
I guess when you can’t easily connect with your own family, it’s hard to believe strangers will be falling all over themselves to hang out with you.
I continue to eat my aloo gobi in silence until my mother’s fidgeting gets distracting. When I look at her, I can tell she’s dying to tell my dad and Jesse about the reality show.
Three . . . two . . . one . . .
“Grace got picked to be on Love Shack!” she blurts out. And there it is.
Jesse nods in my general direction. “This Grace?” I don’t miss the side glance he shoots at Matt, who shrugs as if stranger things have happened.
“That’s great, kiddo,” my dad says with a big smile. “I heard one of those couples just got married.” My mom claps her hands excitedly, as if the prospect of me finding a husband is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.
I smile politely and say through gritted teeth, “Well, as I already explained to Mom and Matt, I’m not doing the show.
And I sincerely doubt that I would find my future spouse on a television program.
I’m probably less compatible with whoever signs up for these things than the horrible dates Mom has set me up on. ”
“They were not all horrible!” she protests.
I sigh and start ticking off first-date disasters on my fingers.
“Okay, let’s see, there was the surfer who called me ‘dude’ all night.
Oh, and the professional skateboarder who I seriously thought was the same person.
Neither had heard of a haircut or grammar.
Then there was the celebrity blogger who spent the entire dinner looking around the restaurant to see if he could spot anyone famous. ”
“Which restaurant was it?” Matt asks, suddenly engaged in the conversation.
I roll my eyes at him and turn back to my mom. “You’ve never introduced me to anyone serious, Mom. And I highly doubt I’d find someone like that on a reality show.”
My mom scoffs. “What do you mean by ‘serious’?”
“I mean like normal, interesting people.”
“She means lame,” chimes in Jesse.
“No, I mean someone I can hold a conversation with about something other than superhero movies.” Then I look pointedly at Jesse. “Or Grand Theft Auto.”
“So . . . lame?” he replies.
“Oh wait, I thought of someone serious you turned down!” my mom says excitedly, like she’s winning a contest. “Remember that marketing guy I set you up with? He had season tickets to the Pantages!”
“Yeah, and when I told him I was a conservationist, he proceeded to mansplain global warming to me. I have two PhDs, and he was a midlevel ad exec who liked The Book of Mormon.” They all look at me as if I’m being difficult.
“What about my buddy Ryan?” says Matt, who is now apparently interested in playing the depressing game of Grace’s dating prospects.
“Ryan? I don’t remember a Ryan.”
“The actor?” he prods.
“Ah yes, the guy who talked about himself all night and didn’t ask me a single question.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” Jesse says under his breath, and they all exchange looks.
“What? What’s that look for?” I practically shout.
“Sweetie,” my mom begins. “It’s just . . . when you talk about your work, you tend to—”
“Drone on and on about your boring threatened toads,” Matt interrupts with a mouth full of samosa.
“They’re frogs! And they’re not just threatened, they’re critically endangered!
They’ve disappeared from ninety percent of their historic localities.
Which is a pretty big deal since they’re a keystone species and other species depend on them, and if they die off, it would drastically change their entire ecosystem.
Not to mention, if a frog population starts to decline, it indicates other shit’s going down, like pollution, climate change, or other man-made problems that could possibly destroy entire environments! ”
They all stare at me like I’ve just proved their point.
I take a deep breath and massage my temples again. “Why do I constantly have to defend my life choices like I’m in a sex cult and not a freakin’ scientist, for crying out loud?” I push my plate away, done with eating and this conversation.
“At least a cult would be interesting,” Jesse whispers to Matt.
I shoot them both a dirty look before turning to my mom. “Thank you for your concern that I will die alone. But I am not going on the show, and I would appreciate it if you’d respect my boundaries.”
My mom pouts. “Well, just think about it.”
My dad shrugs. “No harm in sleeping on it.”
Matt nods. “What else do you have to do?”
“Save an entire species!” I yell as I get up to clear my dishes. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I can forget this ever happened.