Chapter Text
Tommy's Pov
Chapter 1 Why This Summer Will Be The Most Terrible Summer Of My Life:
1. I will be spending the entire summer at Hart House with my old fucking grandparents
2.My cousins will be there too, off and on. That's what Mom and Dad tell me. " Oh, they pop in and out, Grandma Quackity says."
3. I hate it when people "Pop in and out." Popping in and out is not very pog champ.
4. Mom and Dadza are taking me to Hart House because they are "having problems" and "need some space to work it out."
5. This I assume, is another way of saying that they're planning on getting a divorce. (I hope I'm wrong.)
6. I will be far away from my bedroom at home, which is the only place where I can truly be comfortable.
7. There is a heaviness pressing down on me that makes it difficult to breathe.
It's true: I am finding it difficult to breathe. A heavy feeling inside my chest squeezes and pulls. I rest my head against the car window and watch the world outside race by. Pale green prairie grass and the wide blue sky. Old barns with peeling paint and lonely houses surrounded by cows instead of neighborhoods. I imagine I am running through the tall grass alongside the car-no I am on a horse: a white house with a tail like a banner. A horse from L'manburg.
Mom is obsessively switching radio stations. Mom has a hard time sitting still, her work as an interior designer is perfect for her; it keeps her busy. Dadza is talking about things that don't matter: " I wonder if this summer will be hotter than last summer." "What's a seven-letter word for sidesplitting?"
"I'm not sure I can get behind the new tone of this radio station." They like to pretend I don't sense the stiffness between them, that I don't notice how much more they've been working lately, even more than usual.
They like to pretend I don't notice things. I think it makes them feel better, to lie to themselves and me. Which is highly insulting. I may be a lot of things, but I am not stupid. For example, I recognize how strange it is that I have never met my grandparents. I do know Mom's parents, and her brother, though they live far away that I hardly ever see them and they might as well be strangers.
But when I ask about Philza's parents- Grandma Quackity and Grandpa Schlatt- Mom and Dadza fumble with their words, offering explanations that don't explain much: "Well, Grandma Quackity and Grandpa Schlatt are always so busy. It's a matter of scheduling." "We're always so busy, your Dad and I. You know that, Tommy." " I don't know Toms," Dadza often tells me. "Your grandparents and I...we've never been close."
Through my observation of the world, I have concluded that it is not normal for a big man like me to be kept from his grandparents, his aunts, and his cousins as if it could hurt him. Testing myself, I inhale slowly. The heaviness inside me fades away. I can breathe again. I glance at the back of dad's head, at mom's eyes in the rearview mirror. She must be nervous; she has never met dad's family either.
She is staring hard at the road, sitting perfectly straight, not paying attention to me. So she and Dadza didn't notice a thing. Good. I am safe. For now. I flip past my pages of lists and to the portion of my notebook reserved for stories about L'manburg. I don't know what I will write today. Perhaps another war, or maybe a festival.
My notebook- the latest in a series of 4- has loads of blank pages in it, waiting to be filled. And if I'm going to keep my grandparents from discovering my secret, I will need to write. A lot.
Dadza is driving now; Mom switched with him at the gas station when we arrived in Stowe, (What a shit name.) where Grandma Quackity and grandpa schlatt live. Dadza told her outside, " I want to be the one to drive up to their door. I don't know, it feels like it 'ought to be me." Hart House is huge and painted the color white, the largest house I have ever seen in real life. Hidden by a sea of green leaves.
Our car and this house and these trees feel like the only things left in the world. I want to leave, I try to say but my voice doesn't seem to be working. As we drive up to the house, we see Grandma Quackity standing on the front porch waving. Dadza said all my cousins call him Grandma Quackity instead of Grandpa Quackity is because he possesses a lot of grandmas like traits such as knitting and loving cats.
Grandma Quackity steps off the front porch. "It'll be okay Phil," Mom says " You're doing the right thing." Does she think I can't hear her? What right thing? There are so many of them, my cousins. They all look completely different from each other. Grandma Quackity gives us a tour of the house: seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, two living rooms, a dining parlor, a kitchen, a sunroom, a rec room. A dark study with glass doors. This is Grandpa Schlatt's private space. No kids are allowed.
I see my two aunts. They smile and hug me. I see my cousins: two little kids much younger than me, and a boy my age, another one a little older, and a teenage boy. The teenager is inside his room lying on his bed, playing some game on his phone. He glances up as we pass his room his hair is long and pink tied up into a braid. He looks irritated that we disturbed him.
"And this is where you will be staying Tommy." Says Grandma Quackity opening a plain white door. "This is your father's old room. We don't use it much." Mom silently critiques the paint colors and fabric choices. "It looks..different," Dadza says quietly "I redecorated a long time ago. I didn't think you'd mind. We didn't know if you'd ever come back again so I said fuck it and decided to redecorate."
Dadza says nothing. "Don't you think it looks amazing Tommy?" "Yeah, it's pretty cool. Thanks, Grandma Quackity." I try to force a smile on my face. Four of my cousins hover over the door. "Wilbur," Grandma Quackity says to the oldest one. "Where are you fucking manners? Why don't you say hello to your cousin, Tommy?" "Oh my bad, hi, Tommy." Wilbur wraps me in a hug. He has brown hair and a red beanie along with pale skin. He sorta looks like that one fellow from the Lorax. "I am so happy to finally meet you," He turns to look at the other kids "We all are."
I should probably say something. But I can't. This house is all so different from mine. The size. The people. Mom and dad will be gone soon. They are going to leave me. I can't help it: I start to cry. Dang, it. "Ummm I'll go get you a Coca-Cola..." Grandma Quackity says "He's just overwhelmed, he's new to all of this." Dadza says. "Yes, I suppose he would be." I hear my cousins: "Is he okay?" "Why is he crying?" "It's alright kids he just needs some space." Grandma Quackity and my cousins leave the room. Mom tells me, "Please stop crying, Tommy."
"You have to be brave Toms, the summer will be over before you know it." Mom and Dadoth hug me. "We'll call you every day" "We love you." Mom and Dad are leaving now. They cannot stay for dinner. On the porch. Dadza tells Grandma Quackity, "Tommy likes his space. He's a talented boy, who likes writing stories, he's talkative once you get to know him, just don't push him." Grandma Quackity replies, "I'm pretty sure I know how to take care of kids at this point Phil."
Dad hugs Grandpa Schlatt. Grandpa Schlatt tells him, "It was good to see you. You look..tall." "Yeah...you too." God, they're so awkward. Grandma Quackity does not hug Dadza. Mom and Dad drive away. I wipe my face with a tissue and begin to write in my notebook about L'manburg.