“Well, Mia,” Michael said. “I know math’s not your strong point, but you do know that your grandmother was a small child during the height of World War II. Right? I mean, she couldn’t have had Hitler and Mussolini for tea at the Genovian Palace, because she wouldn’t have even been living there yet, unless she married your grandfather when she was, like, five.”
I was stunned into total and complete silence by that one. I mean, can you believe it? My own grandmother has been lying to me MY WHOLE LIFE. All Grandmère ever tells me about is how she saved the palace from being shelled by the Nazi hordes by having Hitler over for soup or something. All this time, I’ve thought about how brave she was, and what a diplomat, stopping the imminent military incursion into Genovia with SOUP and her charming (well, back then, maybe) smile.
AND NOW I FIND OUT IT’S NOT EVEN TRUE????????????????????????
Oh, my God. She’s good. Really good.
Although—and I never thought I would say this—it’s sort of hard to be mad at her. Because… well…
She did save the prom.
Friday, May 9, 7:30 p.m.
Tina just called. She is kvelling over getting to go to the prom. It is, she says, like a dream come true. I told her I couldn’t agree more. She asked me how I thought we’d come to be so lucky.
I told her: Because we are both kind and pure of heart.
Friday, May 9, 8 p.m.
Oh, my God. I never thought I would say this, but poor Lilly.
Poor, poor Lilly.
She just found out that Boris is taking Tina to the prom. She overheard Michael and I talking a little while ago. Lilly is on the phone with me now, barely able to speak, she is trying so hard to hold back her tears.
“M-Mia,” she keeps choking. “W-What have I d-done?”
Well, it is very clear what Lilly’s done: Ruined her own life, that’s all.
But of course I can’t tell her that.
So instead I go on about how a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle and about how Lilly will learn to love again, blah blah blah. Basically all the same stuff Lilly and I said to Tina back when she got dumped by Dave Farouq El-Abar.
Except of course that Boris didn’t dump Lilly: SHE dumped him.
But I can’t point this out to Lilly, as it would be like kicking her when she was already down.
It is sort of hard dealing with Lilly’s personal crisis when
I am so happy, and
my mom and Grandmère are still fighting in the background.
I just had to excuse myself for a moment and put the phone down. Then I went out into the living room and shrieked, “Grandmère, for the love of God, would you please call Les Hautes Manger and a
sk them to hire Jangbu back so you can go return to your suite at the Plaza and leave us in PEACE?”
But Mr. Gianini, who was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to be reading the paper, went, “I think it’s going to take a little more than young Mr. Panasa getting his job back to end this strike, Mia.”
Which I must say is extremely disappointing to hear. Because I can barely find anything in my room, due to the fact that Grandmère’s stuff is strewn everywhere. It is a little demoralizing to be looking around in my underwear drawer for a pair of Queen Amidala panties only to find the BLACK SILK-AND-LACE THONGS Grandmère wears.
My grandma has sexier underwear than I do. This is fully disturbing. I will probably be in therapy for years because of it, too.
But no one seems to worry about the mental health of the children, do they?
So when I come back into my room just now and pick up the phone, Lilly is still going on about Boris. Really. It’s like she doesn’t even know I was gone.
“—but I just never appreciated what we had together until it was gone,” she’s saying.