I'm Glad My Mom Died(35)

That’s why I’ve learned with time that, as much as I want the compliments to mean something to me, I can’t let them, because tomorrow he might be screaming insults in my face that will hurt me just as much as the compliments raise me up. I feel that I always need to be on guard around him. Catering to him emotionally. I feel similarly around The Creator as I feel around Mom—on edge, desperate to please, terrified of stepping out of line. Put both of them together in the same room and I’m overwhelmed.

The Creator orders main courses for us to share—something with lobster, a pasta with meat, and a flatbread. I know Mom won’t approve of me eating any of these foods, but I know The Creator will be offended if I don’t eat them, and he will comment on me not trusting him or thinking he has bad taste, so I pick at the food as convincingly as I can, hoping The Creator will believe I’m eating and Mom will know I’m not.

“So, the reason I invited you both to lunch…” The Creator starts. He takes a long sip of his old fashioned while Mom watches him, eager for him to finish the sentence in the way she wants it to be finished.

“Well, first,” The Creator says, almost as if he’s intentionally dragging out the tension as long as he possibly can, “let me ask you a question. How do you like being recognized? Being famous?”

“She loves it,” Mom answers for me. “Absolutely loves it. And the fans adore her, too. They almost always say she’s their favorite character.”

I poke at my pasta.

“All right, good,” The Creator says. “Because you’re gonna have a lot more of it.”

Mom’s breath gets rapid with anticipation.

“… I want to give Jennette her own show.”

Mom accidentally drops her fork with excitement. It clinks against the plate.

“I even have the name picked out. Just Puckett. Idn’t that a fun name for your own show?” Dan asks with a smirk.

“Yes, yes it is! It’s a very fun name,” Mom chimes in.

“It can’t happen for a while, because iCarly’s doing too well,” The Creator says, trying to temper Mom’s excitement. She nods along.

“We’ll have to wait a couple years,” The Creator reiterates. “But if you keep doing what you’re doing and listen to me, take my advice, and let me guide you, I promise you I’ll give you your own show.”

“Oh, thank you,” Mom says, tears welling in her eyes. “My baby deserves it. My baby deserves it.”

Mom looks over at me and nods, urging me to smile with teeth. So I do. Even though I’m concerned. The Creator was very clear that his offer had a contingent—me listening to him, taking his advice, and letting him guide me. And even though a part of me appreciates The Creator, a part of me is scared of him, and the idea that I’ll have to do everything he wants is intimidating to me.

“Why don’t you seem happier? You’re getting your own show,” Mom says on our drive home.

“I am happy,” I lie. “Very happy.”

“Good,” Mom says as she glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Because you should be. Everyone wants what you have.”





34.


I’VE BEEN ON ICARLY FOR almost three years now, and in some ways, things are easier. My friendship with Miranda has been a source of camaraderie and emotional support. I’m friends with the rest of the cast too, but my connection with Miranda is different and special. We Skype on the weekends and see movies at ArcLight after work. I now go there twice a week without batting an eye. Mom always joins. She’ll lean over to me midway through the movie, her head bowing in resignation. “Their sound is very surrounded.”

More important than my friendship with Miranda, Mom’s not as stressed about the two things she’s typically most stressed about: bills and my body.

Even though the consistency of my paychecks has helped bring Mom some financial comfort and stability, she makes her opinion of the size of those paychecks well-known.

“They should be ashamed of the salary they give you. Compared to network TV, it’s jelly beans. JELLY BEANS,” she tells me every day in my dressing room while she changes my clothes for me. “And no residuals either with Nickelodeon—or should I say Nickel-and-Dime-Alodeon.”

Despite her complaints, I know deep down she’s grateful, because this is a big step up from where we were before. The house payments are made on time and in full, and she no longer has to call bill collectors and beg for extensions.

She still monitors my lunches, but sometimes she lets me eat the food on set. My dinners are still mostly iceberg lettuce with dressing spray and ripped-up pieces of low-calorie bologna, but she’ll give me two Smart Ones cookies for dessert. And my breakfasts have totally transformed. She makes me breakfast, which I never imagined would happen. She’ll pour 2% milk on top of Honeycomb cereal—2%, not nonfat! And sure, Honeycomb cereal is still “one of the lowest-calorie breakfast cereals per gram,” as Mom says (160 calories for 1 ? cups), but this is crazy. I’ve never seen her support eating like this.

A part of me wonders if Mom is supporting my meals a bit more because Miranda and Nathan eat breakfast and lunch in our joint schoolroom and it might look weird if I don’t, or if I eat much less than them or something. But I don’t ask her. I just let it happen.