My Grandma Broke the Internet

"Girls should stay home.

They shouldn't work." My grandma said that in the trailer for a family reality show, and the whole internet decided she was a fossil left over from the last century.

Because on the same show the Alister's family gave money and the Oscar winner's family gave love, and my grandma was the only one dead set on getting me to quit acting.

Then the full episode aired, and everybody finally heard the rest of what she'd said. "Why don't you just spend my pension?" "When I'm gone, your dad'll be about ready to retire.

Then you spend his." "I filled up your retirement account years ago." "And once your parents are gone, you can start drawing your own." The same people who had been piling on a minute earlier all changed their tune at once. [Grandma, come ruin my life!] Chapter 1 I was lying on a soundstage in Albuquerque playing a corpse when the invitation for Bring Your Own Family came through.

Died pretty peacefully, too. My agent crouched down next to me. "You in?" I kept my eyes shut. "Who else?" "Palmer Fairbanks." I didn't move. "Alana Roark." My eyelid twitched.

One Alister. One Oscar winner.

And me, five years in the business, whose biggest credit to date was "cult foot soldier who gets stabbed to death in a fantasy series." What exactly did the producers see in me?

My agent was quiet for two seconds. "They probably need a normal person." "…" Gonna pass, thanks. Except I'm in no position to turn anything down.

That night I wrapped and went home to ask my grandma. "Gran, there's a show that wants me to bring a family member.

You want to go?" She was on her tablet playing Spades and didn't look up. "How many days?" "Seven." "They paying?" "Yeah." She slapped down her last big joker. "Then let's go." I was a little touched. "Gran, you're actually supportive of my career." "Don't flatter yourself." She pushed her reading glasses down her nose. "I just want to see what kind of show makes a person work seven days straight." "…" Right.

We hadn't even started filming and I already had a bad feeling about it. For the record, my instincts have always been excellent.

Day one, all three guests and their families met up in front of the farmhouse. Palmer got there first.

She had on a long cream dress, hair loosely pinned up, and she was rolling a single carryon. Her mother came along behind her, also with exactly one bag.

I was about to say something. That's the Connecticut princess for you. Seven days away from home and this is all she brought. So elegant.

Then a production assistant pointed her toward the other six suitcases sitting in the yard. "Ms.

Fairbanks, these are yours too." Palmer: "?" Her mother reminded her, gently. "The white one is clothes. "Green is medicine and skincare. "Silver is shoes. "The two little ones are food. "And one of them is bedding." Palmer was quiet for a moment. "Mom." "Yes, sweetheart?" "I'm here for a sevenday shoot." Mrs.

Fairbanks nodded. "I know that.

That's why I didn't send much." Palmer: "…" The live chat had already lost it. [Connecticut only child packs for seven days: traveling light, just the seven bags.] [This mom: my baby can rough it.

A tiny bit.] [Palmer: I'm twentyfour. Her mom: Mommy knows, sweetie. You're two hundred eightyeight months old.] A staffer opened one of the cases to check for prohibited items.

Inside were seven clear bags, stacked in a neat row. Monday. Tuesday. Chapter 2 Wednesday. … Socks matched to each one. At the very bottom there was an envelope.

The host had just picked it up when Mrs.

Fairbanks remembered something. "Oh, you don't need to film that." The host paused. "What is it?" "Cash." "…" "They don't take cards everywhere out here.

I didn't want her stuck without money." Palmer closed her eyes for a second. "Mom." Mrs.

Fairbanks looked over immediately. "Is it not enough?" "It's enough." "If it isn't, you tell Mommy." After that Palmer stopped talking altogether. [Dying.

My mom: text me when you land. Palmer's mom: text me your account balance when you land.] [Connecticut only child here.

For the record, my family is not like this.] [Mine either.] [So is this a Connecticut thing or a rich thing?] The second car pulled up not long after.

The door opened and Alana got out first. Black tee, work pants, ball cap.

That Oscarwinning face, the one that had been on more magazine covers than I could count, did not slow her down one bit as she leaned into the trunk and started hauling out storage bins.

One. Two. Three. The fourth one stuck. She planted a boot against the doorframe and put her back into it. "Come on!" The bin hit the gravel. Respect.

She didn't look like she'd come to shoot a show about family. She looked like she'd just finished unloading hay back home. Then Mrs.

Roark leaned out. "Lana!" "Yeah!" "Get those two trays of smoked ribs out of the red cooler first, don't let them sit and spoil!" "Got it!" "Does Pally not do spicy?

I packed her a tray of her own." Palmer blinked. "There's one for me?" "There's one for everybody!" Mrs.

Roark smacked the trunk lid. "Host, camera guys, hair and makeup, I counted heads and packed for all of them." The host was floored. "How did you know how many people were on the crew?" "I called ahead and asked." Then she turned and hollered again. "Sissy!" Alana had just gotten two bins up on her shoulder. "What now?" "That little gal, is she the one who brought her grandma?" Every head in the yard swung toward me.

I straightened up without meaning to. Mrs.

Roark waved at me from clear across the yard. "Baby, is your grandma's blood sugar all right?" "…It's, uh, it's okay." "Then go easy on the fruit hand pies!" "Okay." "I brought her the sugarfree ones!" And she dove back into the car to dig for something else.

I was flattered and a little stunned. This was the first time we had ever met. And apparently I'd already been unofficially adopted by the state of Texas.

The chat was flying by. [Texas moms: if you're in my line of sight you're one of mine.] [The Fairbankses pack love by the weekday.

The Roarks pack it by the crate.] [The eldestdaughter energy on Alana is unreal hahahaha, her mom yells Sissy one time and she's already working.] [Did she just carry the host's bag in too?] She had.

And she hadn't only carried it.

She also thought the host was standing in the middle of the walkway getting in the way. "Scoot on over, bud. "Don't want you tripping the old folks." Then she headed for the house with a fullsize checked bag in each hand.

On her way past Palmer she picked up one more without breaking stride.

Palmer reached for it fast. "It's fine, I've got it." Alana looked down at her wrists, which were about the thickness of pencils. "You take the little one. "This one's heavy." She said it completely naturally.

So naturally that the two of them might have known each other forever. Palmer didn't argue.

Chapter 3 Palmer pulled a pack of wet wipes out of her bag and pushed it at Alana. "Wipe your hands." Alana looked at it. "Scented?" "Mm." "Then I'll pass." She swiped her palms down her pants. "Got more to carry in a minute." Palmer: "…" Standing there watching them, I suddenly understood why the producers had called me.

The Connecticut princess. The Texas eldest daughter. What the map was missing was one regular American. Right about then a staffer finally got around to me. "Ms.

Halstead, where's your luggage?" I pointed behind me. One small carryon. One canvas tote, washed pale. That was it.

You could actually see the chat go quiet. […income inequality, now in physical form.] [First two moms: I can't stand the thought of you having it hard.

This one: come back alive.] [Honestly though, isn't that what a normal person packs for a week?] [But this is a family show.

Everybody else's relatives would tear the house apart to send stuff with their kid, and her grandma is kind of…] Right as they were saying it, my grandma climbed out of the car, taking her time.

Alana went straight over to her. "Grandma, watch your step." Palmer tilted her umbrella toward her too. "It's hot on that side.

You walk on the inside." So there was my grandmother, escorted on both sides by two major movie stars. Completely unbothered.

She even had energy left over to turn around and be disappointed in me. "What are you standing there for? "You don't know how to help?" Me: "?" Excuse me.

Who is currently being helped, ma'am?

The staffer was working hard not to laugh as he picked up my tote. "Ma'am, did you pack this for her too?" "Mm." "Can we take a look?" "Go ahead." The zipper came open and everybody crowded in.

Two multipacks of cheap cotton underwear. A box of bandages. A jar of menthol rub. Three pairs of socks. One thermos. That was it.

The host waited a beat. "Is there more?" "Nope, that's all." He wasn't ready to give up. "There isn't anything… a little more special in there?" "What's special mean?" How do I put this?

Mrs. Fairbanks had packed cash. Mrs. Roark had packed half of Texas.

The live chat was clearly getting its hopes up too. [Here we go, love in an ordinary family is the kind that really makes you cry!] [Maybe grandma tucked in a handwritten letter.] [Or a photo from when she was little?] [I already have the tissues out.] The host tried to coax it out of her. "For instance, is there anything you've been wanting to give your granddaughter?" My grandma thought about it seriously. "There is." A muscle jumped between my eyebrows.

I don't know why. I just suddenly had a very bad feeling. The next second, she looked right into the camera. "I want her to quit acting." The whole yard went still.

Me: "…" Called it. Even the host was lost. "Why?" My grandma frowned and answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Girls should stay home where they belong.

They shouldn't work." Palmer blinked. Alana stopped with a bin half lifted. And the live chat went completely blank for three full seconds.

Then it detonated. [??????] [I'm sorry, it's the twentyfirst century.] [Palmer's mom: gives money. Alana's mom: gives love.

Her grandma: ties an apron on you.] [Who was just saying regular families make you cry too? Come get your beating.] [This kind of relative is my least favorite thing on earth.

Every time they open their mouth it's what girls are supposed to do.] Chapter 4 [No wonder she's the Dlister of the three.

With a family like that it'd be a miracle if she got anywhere.] The host caught the heat coming off it immediately and pushed. "Ma'am, so you're saying women shouldn't have careers of their own?" My grandma opened her mouth. "No, what I'm saying is—" She didn't get to finish.

The host was already signaling the crew to move on to the next segment. I looked at the camera. Then I looked at my grandmother, still carefully putting her sentence together.

And I really wanted to tell the live chat something. Hold off on the hate. My grandma's views are extreme, that part is true.

But the direction she's extreme in might not be the one you're picturing.

By lunchtime that day she had ridden a single sentence to the top of the trending list. #GirlsShouldStayHome Number two was: #DelaneysGrandmaIsStuckIn1955 My agent sent me a screenshot with three words attached. [Rein her in.] I looked over at my grandmother, peeling shrimp at the table.

I wrote back: [Can't be done.] [She's been the one reining me in since I was born.] The host clearly wasn't ready to let that heat go either.

We were halfway through lunch when the cameras came back on.

He carried a folding stool over and sat down next to my grandma. "Ma'am, this morning you said you'd like Delaney to quit acting." She nodded. "That's right." "And that girls should stay home and shouldn't work." "Sure." The host's eyes lit right up. "So you believe women don't need careers?" Her fork stopped.

She'd finally caught on that something was off. "When did I ever say they can't have careers?" The host: "?" The live chat: "?" She frowned. "I'm talking about mine." Me: "…" Right.

Turns out the fossil worldview comes custom fitted.

The host kept at it. "Then why shouldn't Delaney work?" She gave him the look you give someone asking a very easy question. "What's she going to work for?" He took a guess. "To become… who she's meant to be?" "To make money." "…" "Does she need money?" The host looked over at me.

I nodded, fast. "I do. "Desperately." My grandma glared at me. "What are you short on? "Why don't you just spend my pension?" Dead quiet in the yard.

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

The host sat there for three seconds. "Huh?" Then she started doing the math for him. "Pension and Social Security run me a little over four thousand a month. "House has been paid off for years. "How much can she spend in a year?" I couldn't help myself. "Gran. "Let's not make my cost of living sound quite that low." "Shut up." She kept going. "While I'm here, she spends mine. "Once I'm gone, her dad'll be about ready to retire. "Then she spends his." Me: "?" My dad, watching the stream on the sly at home: "?" She had the whole timeline worked out. "Her dad's twentyseven years younger than me. "There's not going to be much of a gap in between. "Her mom's younger than her dad. "So when her dad's gone, she can go right on spending her mom's." That was where I broke. "Gran. "Is this plan of yours maybe a little morbid?" She had no idea what I was talking about. "Who doesn't die? "Isn't that exactly how Social Security figures it?" "…" The host had completely lost the thread.

She wasn't done. "Besides, I've been putting money away for her retirement for years. "So once her parents are gone too.

Chapter 5 "She'll still have her own retirement savings to draw from. "See? It all connects up." Nobody in that yard made a sound. I put my head down and counted. Grandma. Dad. Mom.

Me. Great. A fourgeneration support chain. Seamless.

The chat shot up the screen like it had lost its mind. [????????] [I take back everything I said.] [Women have had the vote for over a century, and Grandma's word is still gospel in this house!] [Grandma, do I look like your longlost granddaughter?] [Woman here.

I strongly support being corrupted by this dangerous fossil element.] [People like this scare me more than anything.] [Careful what you're scared of.

It hears you.] [Grandma, come ruin my life!] [Grandma: A job?

We don't have that tradition in this family.] [Delaney's father is currently alive and well, but his pension has already been allocated by his own mother to a granddaughterspecific line item.] One viewer was being very thorough about it. [But what about the son?] The host asked on everyone's behalf. "Ma'am, what about Delaney's dad?" My grandma looked at him like he'd said something bizarre. "What about him?" "Shouldn't you feel for your son too, working as hard as he does?" She looked even more baffled. "He's a grown man with two hands and two feet. "He can earn his own." Me: "…" The host: "…" The chat: [Her dad has left the stream.] [Granddaughter first.

Son fends for himself.] [Her dad: growing up I thought I was the one treasure in this house.

At fifty I find out I'm a passthrough account holding retirement money for the next generation.] By then I was face down on the table laughing.

The host couldn't keep it together either. "Aren't you afraid you'll make your granddaughter lazy?" She glanced at him. For once she didn't answer right away.

After a while she said, "I said I'd take care of her. "I never said I'd live her life for her." The laughing slowly died down