he put together that his lack of a grandmother equated his mother's loss of a mother, Granddad had become "both parents rolled into one." So how could she be so critical? Not that Robert dared to ask.
It was then, just as he began the normal adolescent disentangling from his parents (which, unlike so many of their friends, they would take in gracious stride), that Robert resolved to be an actual friend to his grandfather.
Platters of confetti-like food traveled up and down the table; small piles of bean sprouts and dried chilies gathered slowly at the edges. Granddad had coaxed Filo into talking about her gymnastics. Robert's dad was trying his best to have a baseball conversation with Lee, about what it felt like in Boston and New York now that the Red Sox and the Yankees had swapped slots as the Charmed Team and the Losers-Despite-Themselves. Clover, Trudy, and Clara were talking about Hillary Clinton's bid for the White House. (Robert's mom couldn't stand her and didn't trust her; Clover said she was the victim of rampant misogyny, from women as well as men; Clara was pretending to be neutral when Robert knew she agreed with his mom.)
Robert slipped away to the men's room and then checked his phone. Turo had borrowed his car again, asking permission after the fact. Robert was beginning to regret that he'd given Turo the extra key. He hadn't confronted his friend, but he knew that Turo used it more often than he let on. Robert knew this because his father, after helping him buy the car on craigslist, had given him one of those dad talks. Among other gratuitous bits of advice, he'd said, "Every time you turn that key, make a habit of checking the gas gauge." Somehow this nugget of Mister Rogers had stuck. More than once in recent weeks, Robert had started the car and noticed that the tank was more full than he'd left it.
Robert texted Turo, HIT THE BKS NOT THE RD! The guy didn't even have a girlfriend this year. He was practically married to his campus recycling program, and he was talking about joining a committee to advise the university on becoming carbon neutral. Now there was a mission for zealots.
When Robert returned to the table, Granddad was telling a story. Everyone was listening.
"... so this time, someone managed to fling patches of manure--pig manure, the most objectionably pungent sort--across the front yard of our newly elected selectwoman, who just installed a brand-new sprinkler system." He laughed with delight. "A sign was posted reading, IRRIGATE FARMS, NOT LAWNS. It makes me want to dance with glee."
Clover looked quite ungleeful. "Daddy, vandalism is vandalism."
"Oh pish-tush, daughter. Someone's taking a stand against the bourgeoisie."
"Of which you are not a member?" Robert's mother wore a playful smile.
"Of course I'm bourgeois, but I'm bas-bourgeois," said Granddad.
Clara and Robert's father laughed.
"This was in Matlock, untouchable Matlock?" said Robert. "Turo would so love this."
Clara nodded. "And how. It's right up his alley."
"We had a similar incident in Newton," said Robert's mother. "Last week someone came home from a party to find their hot tub filled to the brim with what looked like steaming blood. It was terrifying."
"Blood?" said Robert. "Whoa."
"It was red-wine vinegar, but still."
Robert started laughing. "We know them?"
"The parents of that girl who asked you to the prom, but you said no."
"Ooh," said Robert, "the Morriseys in the McChateau. The wine distributor dude."
"And I think there was a sign there, too," said his dad.
"Yes," said his mother. "SMALLER FOOTPRINTS, DIONYSUS."
This time everyone laughed.
Clover stopped first. "We're complacent now, but just you wait."
Granddad took a sip of his wine. "Rumblings of a revolution, is that what you're alluding to, my dear? I'll toast to that."
Robert saw his mother roll her eyes. "These notions of 'going green' are not so simple. If you knew what it takes to run a safe, hygienic hospital--"
Granddad turned
It was then, just as he began the normal adolescent disentangling from his parents (which, unlike so many of their friends, they would take in gracious stride), that Robert resolved to be an actual friend to his grandfather.
Platters of confetti-like food traveled up and down the table; small piles of bean sprouts and dried chilies gathered slowly at the edges. Granddad had coaxed Filo into talking about her gymnastics. Robert's dad was trying his best to have a baseball conversation with Lee, about what it felt like in Boston and New York now that the Red Sox and the Yankees had swapped slots as the Charmed Team and the Losers-Despite-Themselves. Clover, Trudy, and Clara were talking about Hillary Clinton's bid for the White House. (Robert's mom couldn't stand her and didn't trust her; Clover said she was the victim of rampant misogyny, from women as well as men; Clara was pretending to be neutral when Robert knew she agreed with his mom.)
Robert slipped away to the men's room and then checked his phone. Turo had borrowed his car again, asking permission after the fact. Robert was beginning to regret that he'd given Turo the extra key. He hadn't confronted his friend, but he knew that Turo used it more often than he let on. Robert knew this because his father, after helping him buy the car on craigslist, had given him one of those dad talks. Among other gratuitous bits of advice, he'd said, "Every time you turn that key, make a habit of checking the gas gauge." Somehow this nugget of Mister Rogers had stuck. More than once in recent weeks, Robert had started the car and noticed that the tank was more full than he'd left it.
Robert texted Turo, HIT THE BKS NOT THE RD! The guy didn't even have a girlfriend this year. He was practically married to his campus recycling program, and he was talking about joining a committee to advise the university on becoming carbon neutral. Now there was a mission for zealots.
When Robert returned to the table, Granddad was telling a story. Everyone was listening.
"... so this time, someone managed to fling patches of manure--pig manure, the most objectionably pungent sort--across the front yard of our newly elected selectwoman, who just installed a brand-new sprinkler system." He laughed with delight. "A sign was posted reading, IRRIGATE FARMS, NOT LAWNS. It makes me want to dance with glee."
Clover looked quite ungleeful. "Daddy, vandalism is vandalism."
"Oh pish-tush, daughter. Someone's taking a stand against the bourgeoisie."
"Of which you are not a member?" Robert's mother wore a playful smile.
"Of course I'm bourgeois, but I'm bas-bourgeois," said Granddad.
Clara and Robert's father laughed.
"This was in Matlock, untouchable Matlock?" said Robert. "Turo would so love this."
Clara nodded. "And how. It's right up his alley."
"We had a similar incident in Newton," said Robert's mother. "Last week someone came home from a party to find their hot tub filled to the brim with what looked like steaming blood. It was terrifying."
"Blood?" said Robert. "Whoa."
"It was red-wine vinegar, but still."
Robert started laughing. "We know them?"
"The parents of that girl who asked you to the prom, but you said no."
"Ooh," said Robert, "the Morriseys in the McChateau. The wine distributor dude."
"And I think there was a sign there, too," said his dad.
"Yes," said his mother. "SMALLER FOOTPRINTS, DIONYSUS."
This time everyone laughed.
Clover stopped first. "We're complacent now, but just you wait."
Granddad took a sip of his wine. "Rumblings of a revolution, is that what you're alluding to, my dear? I'll toast to that."
Robert saw his mother roll her eyes. "These notions of 'going green' are not so simple. If you knew what it takes to run a safe, hygienic hospital--"
Granddad turned
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