Where'd You Go, Bernadette

by Maria Semple

  “That’s so cool!” Kennedy said at the same time that I said, “That’s no fair!”

  “We can come here for your birthday next year, I promise,” Mom said.

  The birthday card slowly left us, and, oh, we had so much fun. We did the one thing that Kennedy and I always do when we’re with Mom, which is talk about Youth Group. Mom was raised Catholic and became an atheist in college, so she completely freaked out when I started going to Youth Group. But I only went because it was Kennedy’s idea. Kennedy’s mom spends half her life at Costco, so they have these huge bags of candy bars and drums of licorice at home. Plus, they have a giant TV with every cable channel, which means I spent a lot of time at Kennedy’s house eating candy and watching Friends. But then one day Kennedy started thinking she was fat and wanted to go on a diet, and she was, like, “Bee, you can’t eat licorice because I don’t want to get fat.” Kennedy is totally crazy like that, and we always have the craziest conversations. So she made this huge declaration that we weren’t allowed to go to her house anymore because it makes her fat and instead we had to go to Youth Group. She called it her “Youth Group diet.”

  I kept it secret from Mom as long as I could, but when she found out she was furious because she thought I was going to turn into a Jesus freak. But Luke and his wife, Mae, who run Youth Group, aren’t into that at all. Well, OK, they’re a little into that. But their Bible talk lasts only, like, fifteen minutes, and when they’re done we have two hours to watch TV and play games. I kind of feel sorry for Luke and Mae because they’re all excited to have half of Galer Street coming over on Fridays. But they have no idea there’s nowhere else to go because Friday is the one day there’s no sports or extracurriculars, and all we really want to do is watch TV.

  Still, Mom hates Youth Group, which Kennedy thinks is the most hilarious thing in the world. “Hey, Bee’s Mom,” Kennedy said. That’s what she calls Mom. “Have you ever heard of poop in the stew?”

  “Poop in the stew?” Mom said.

  “We learned about it in Youth Group,” Kennedy said. “Luke and Mae did a puppet show about drugs. And the donkey was, like, ‘Well, just one little puff of marijuana can’t hurt.’ But the lamb said, ‘Life is stew, and pot is poop. If someone stirred even a teeny-tiny bit of poop in the stew, would you really want to eat it?’ ”

  “And those featherheads wonder why people are fleeing the church? Puppet shows for teenagers—” Before Mom could totally go off, I grabbed Kennedy’s hand.

  “Let’s go to the bathroom again,” I said. The bathroom is in the part of the restaurant that doesn’t revolve, so when you return, your table isn’t where you left it. That time, we were walking back, all like, “Where did our table go?” and we finally spotted Mom.

  Dad was there, too. He was wearing jeans, hiking boots, and a parka, and he still had his Microsoft badge around his neck. Some things you just know. And I just knew Dad had found out about the mudslide.

  “Your dad is here!” Kennedy said. “I can’t believe he came to my birthday party. That is so nice.” I tried to stop Kennedy, but she squirmed away and bolted over.

  “Those blackberries were the only thing holding up the hillside,” Dad was saying. “You knew that, Bernadette. Why on earth would you denude an entire hillside in the middle of the wettest winter on record?”

  “How did you find out?” Mom said. “Let me guess. Your admin is pouring poison in your ears.”

  “Keep Soo-Lin out of this,” Dad said. “She’s the only reason it’s even feasible for me to leave for three weeks.”

  “If you’re interested in the truth,” Mom said, “I had the blackberries removed in accordance with the specifications of Bugs Meany.”

  “Bugs Meany from Encyclopedia Brown?” Kennedy said. “That’s so awesome!”

  “Will you stop treating this as a joke?” Dad told Mom. “I look at you, Bernadette, and I’m scared. You won’t talk to me. You won’t go to a doctor. You’re better than this.”

  “Dad,” I said, “stop freaking out.”

  “Yeah, really,” Kennedy said. “Happy birthday to me.”

  There was a moment of quiet, then me and Kennedy burst into giggles. “I’m, like, happy birthday to me,” Kennedy said, which triggered another fit of laughter.

  “The Griffins’ house caved in,” Dad said to Mom. “They’re living at a hotel. Is this something we’re going to have to pay for?”

  “Mudslides are considered an act of God, so the Griffins’ insurance covers it.”

  It was like Dad was a crazy person who had come into the Space Needle waving a loaded gun, and then he turned it on me. “Why didn’t you tell me, Bee?”

  “I don’t know,” I said quietly.

  “Goody, goody gumdrops!” Kennedy said. “Here comes my birthday card!” She grabbed my arm really hard and squeezed it.

  “Could you please take some Ritalin and shut up?” I said.

  “Bee!” Dad snapped. “What did you just say? You don’t talk to people like that.”

  “It’s OK,” Mom told Dad. “It’s how they talk to each other.”

  “No, it’s not!” He turned to Kennedy. “Kennedy, I need to apologize for my daughter.”

  “For what?” she asked. “Here comes my card!”

  “Dad,” I said. “Why do you even care? You don’t even like Kennedy.”

  “He doesn’t?” Kennedy said.

  “Of course I like you, Kennedy. Bee, how could say such a thing? What’s going on with this family? I just came here to have a conversation.”

  “You came here to yell at Mom,” I said. “Audrey Griffin yelled at her already. You weren’t even there. It was horrible.”

  “Get it, get it!” Kennedy climbed over me and grabbed her birthday card.

  “It’s not about yelling at Mom—” Dad became flustered. “This is a conversation between me and your mother. It was my mistake to interrupt Kennedy’s birthday dinner. I didn’t know when I’d have the time otherwise.”

  “Because you’re always working,” I mumbled.

  “What’s that?” Dad demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m working for you, and for Mom, and because the work I’m doing has the potential to help millions of people. I’m working especially long hours now so I can take you to Antarctica.”

  “Oh, no!” Kennedy shrieked. “I hate this thing.” She was about to rip up her card, but I grabbed it out of her hand. It was full of patches of different writing. There were a few “Happy Birthday”s. But mostly the card was covered with things like “Jesus is our savior. Remember our Lord Jesus died for our sins.” Plus passages from the Bible. I started laughing. And then Kennedy started crying, which she does sometimes. Really, the thing to do is just let it pass.

  Mom snatched the card. “Don’t worry, Kennedy,” she said. “I’m going to go hunt down those Jesus freaks.”

  “No, you are not,” Dad said to Mom.

  “Do it,” Kennedy said, suddenly perky. “I want to watch.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I want to watch, too!”

  “I’m leaving,” Dad said. “Nobody cares, nobody listens, nobody wants me here. Happy birthday, Kennedy. Good-bye, Bee. Bernadette, go ahead, embarrass yourself, attack people who have actually found some meaning in their lives. We’ll continue this when you get home.”

  When we drove up to the house, the light in their bedroom was on. Mom headed straight out to the Petit Trianon. I went inside. The floorboards above me creaked. It was Dad, getting out of bed, walking to the top of the stairs.

  “Girls,” he called down. “Is that you?”

  I held my breath. A whole minute passed. Dad walked back to the bedroom, then to the bathroom. The toilet flushed. I grabbed Ice Cream by her flabby neck and we slept with Mom out in the Petit Trianon.

  And Mom didn’t hunt down the Jesus freaks at the restaurant. But she did write, “IT’S A CHILD’S BIRTHDAY. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?” and set it on the window, and as we left, it starte
d to go around.

  *

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 16

  From: Gwen Goodyear

  To: Audrey Griffin

  Good morning, Audrey. I checked with Kate Webb, and she does remember Bernadette and Elgin Branch requesting to be opted out of all Galer Street emails back when Bee first enrolled. I double-checked myself and indeed they are not on any of the lists we currently employ.

  On another topic, I’m glad to see you’re settled and that your Internet connection is working. Per my last three unanswered emails, Mr. Levy feels it’s imperative that we sit down and have a talk about Kyle. I can work around your schedule.

  Kindly,

  Gwen

  *

  That morning in homeroom, we were doing vocabulary lightning round, where Mr. Levy throws out a word and points to someone and they have to use that word in a sentence. Mr. Levy said, “Sheathe,” and pointed at Kyle. And Kyle said, “Sheathe my dick.” We have never laughed so hard. That is so why Mr. Levy wanted to have a conference with Audrey Griffin. Because even though it was totally funny, I can also see why it’s kind of bad.

  *

  From: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal

  To: Audrey Griffin

  I have chosen to disregard the tone of your previous nasty-gram and chalk it up to the stress of your living conditions. Audrey, you have Elgie all wrong.

  This morning, I got on the Connector at my usual stop and settled into a seat in the back. Elgie boarded a few stops later, looking like he hadn’t slept. He lit up when he saw me. (I think he’d forgotten I’d signed us up for the same Connector.)

  Did you know he’s from a prominent family in Philadelphia? Not that he would come out and say such a thing. But as a boy, he spent all his summers in Europe. I was embarrassed to admit that I’d never left the United States.

  “We’ll have to change that, won’t we?” he said.

  Don’t jump to any conclusions, Audrey! He said that rhetorically. It’s not like he’s planning on taking me on a trip to Europe or anything.

  He went to boarding school. (On that topic, it seems you and I were simply misinformed. People like me and you, who were born in Seattle and went to the UW, we lack the… I don’t want to use the word sophistication… but we lack the something to understand this broader worldview.)

  When Elgie asked about me, I was flustered because I’ve led such a dull life. The only thing I could think of that is remotely interesting is how my father went blind when I was seven and that I had to take care of him.

  “No kidding,” Elgie said. “So you communicated in sign language?”

  “Only when I was feeling cruel,” I retorted. Elgie was confused. “He was blind,” I said, “not deaf.”

  We both broke up laughing. Someone quipped, “What is this, the Belltown Connector?” It’s an inside joke—the Belltown Connector is notoriously raucous, much more so than the Queen Anne Connector. So it was a combination of Get-A-Room and a reference to what fun they have on the Belltown Connector. I’m not sure my explanation helps you get the humor. Maybe you had to be there.

  We turned to the subject of work. Elgie was anxious about the amount of time he was taking off for Christmas.

  “You keep calling it a month,” I said. “It’s twenty-seven days. Twelve of which are Christmas vacation, when Microsoft clears out anyway. Six days are weekends. You have five travel days, where you’ll be in hotels with Internet access, I checked. That leaves you out of touch for a total of nine. That’s like having a bad flu.”

  “Wow,” he said. “I can actually breathe.”

  “Your only mistake was telling the team you were leaving in the first place. I could have covered for you, and nobody would have known.”

  “I told them before you came along,” he said.

  “Then you’re forgiven.”

  Most wonderful was that by the time we arrived, Elgie’s spirits were buoyed. Which made me happy, too.

  *

  From Ms. Goodyear, hand-delivered to the Westin

  Audrey and Warren,

  A disturbing allegation has been presented to me regarding Kyle. A parent came to me a month ago with an accusation that Kyle had been selling drugs to students in the hallways. I refused to believe it, for your sake as much as Kyle’s.

  Yesterday, however, another parent found twenty pills in her child’s backpack. These pills have been identified as OxyContin. Under questioning, the student pointed to Kyle as the source. The student has been allowed to continue classes for the next week, with the understanding he/she will receive treatment over winter break. I need to speak to you and Warren immediately.

  Kindly,

  Gwen Goodyear

  *

  From: Audrey Griffin

  To: Gwen Goodyear

  You’re going to have to do better than that if you wish to implicate Kyle in a Galer Street drug ring. Warren is curious about how a legal prescription for Vicodin written to me, which I asked Kyle to carry because I was on crutches due to an injury sustained on your campus—something I never considered holding Galer Street liable for, even though the statute of limitations gives me plenty of time to change my mind—has anything to do with twenty OxyContin? Was my name on those pills too?

  Speaking of Warren, he’s looking into the legality of letting a student who’s a known drug abuser finish out the semester. Isn’t that a threat to the other students? I’m asking out of curiosity.

  If you’re so hell-bent on placing blame, I suggest you look in the mirror.

  *

  From: Audrey Griffin

  To: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal

  Excuse me for not responding sooner. But it has taken me an hour to pull my jaw off the floor. I’m spending Christmas in a hotel and you’re lauding my tormentor? Last time I checked my calendar, it was the middle of December, not April first.

  *

  From: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal

  To: Audrey Griffin

  Let me clarify. Elgin Branch walking down the aisle of the Microsoft Connector is like Diana Ross walking through her adoring audience, that time we saw her in Las Vegas. People literally reach out and touch him. I’m not sure Elgie knows any of them, but he’s led so many gigantic meetings, and been on so many teams, that his face is familiar to hundreds, if not thousands, of MS employees. Last year when he won Outstanding Technical Leadership, which is awarded to the ten greatest visionaries in a company of 100,000, they hung a huge banner of his face from Building 33. He raised more money than anyone to be dunked in the dunk tank for the company-wide giving campaign. Not to mention his TEDTalk, which is number four on the list of all-time most-watched TEDTalks. No wonder he wears sound-canceling headphones. Otherwise, people would be climbing over one another to get some face time with him. Frankly, it stuns me that he takes the Connector to work at all.

  My point is, it would have been wholly unprofessional for us to launch into Bernadette’s transgressions with everyone straining to listen in.

  *

  From: Audrey Griffin

  To: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal

  I don’t give a fig about Ted. I don’t know who he is and I don’t care what he says during this talk you refuse to shut up about.

  *

  From: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal

  To: Audrey Griffin

  TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design. The TED conference is an exclusive meeting of the most brilliant minds in the world. It’s held once a year, in Long Beach, and it’s an enormous privilege to be chosen to give a talk. Here’s a link to Elgie’s TEDTalk.

  *

  Dad’s TEDTalk was a really big deal. All the kids at school knew about it. Ms. Goodyear had Dad come to give the whole school a live demonstration. It’s hard to believe Audrey Griffin had never heard of it.

  *

  Live-blog transcript of Dad’s TEDTalk posted by the blogger Masked Enzyme

  4:30 PM AFTERNOON BREAK

  Half hour to go until Session 10: “Code and Mind,” the last one of the day. The gals at the Vos
ges chocolate booth really outdid themselves for this break, passing out truffles with bacon. Hot buzz: at the end of Session 9, while Mark Zuckerberg droned on about some education initiative that nobody gave a shit about, the Vosges girls started frying their bacon, and the smell wafted into the auditorium. This got everyone murmuring excitedly, “Do you smell bacon? I smell bacon.” Chris bolted out and must have torn into the Vosges girls, who now have mascara dripping down their cheeks. Chris has always had his *detractors* and this sure didn’t help.

  4:45 PM PEOPLE FILING INTO AUDITORIUM FOR SESSION 10

  • Ben Affleck having his picture taken with Murray Gell-Mann. Dr. Gell-Mann arrived this morning, driving up to the valet in his Lexus with New Mexico plates reading QUARK. Nice touch, nice man.

  • While we were on break, the stage was transformed into a living room, or maybe a college dorm. La-Z-Boy recliner, TV set, microwave, vacuum. A robot, too!

  • Jesus Christ, there’s a robot onstage. It’s a cute one—four feet high, anthropomorphic. Hourglass shape. Dare I say, a sexy robot? Hmmm, program says next speaker is a dancer from Madagascar discussing her creative process. What’s the robot for, then? Will there be some kind of African-lesbian-robot-living-room dance? Stay tuned, this might get good.

  • Guy with eye patch and Nehru jacket who gave deranged talk last year about floating cities just sat down where Al Gore usually sits. No reserved seats at TED, natch, but Al Gore has sat in the third row, right aisle, dating back to Monterey, and everyone knows it. You don’t just go plop down in Al Gore’s spot.

  • Jane doing housekeeping announcements. Gift bag pickup closes tonight. Last chance to test-drive Tesla. Luncheon tomorrow with (the awesome) E. O. Wilson for an update on his TED wish, the Encyclopedia of Life.

  • Al Gore just entered, talking with Sergey Brin’s parents. They’re so cute and tiny and don’t speak great English.