See You at Harry's(3)

“Uh, that’s not a regular camera,” Holden points out when Eric lifts the camera to his shoulder.

“That’s the surprise!” my dad yells. “Surprise! We’re making a commercial! Isn’t that great?”

“Yay!” Charlie yells, and runs over to hug Eric’s legs.

We all look at my mom. “Um, wow, honey!” she says. “I had no idea!” She makes an apologetic face at us, but she knows very well there is no amount of money that is going to make us be OK with this plan.

“That’s why it’s a surprise!” my dad says. He’s beaming, as if this is the best idea he has ever had. “OK, OK. Let’s get set up.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and walks me backward so I’m standing under the huge sign in front of the restaurant. “You look terrific, sweetheart!” he says in my ear. His stale coffee breath is particularly pungent.

“Holden? You next. Right here beside Ferny.”

“I want Ferny!” Charlie whines. He grabs hold of my legs so tightly, I almost fall over.

“Watch it!” I yell. “And don’t call me Ferny!” I hate that name.

“Daddy said it first!”

“You’re not Dad!”

“Stop it, Fern,” my mom says. “He’s paying you a compliment.” Any time Charlie bugs me and I complain about it, my mom tells me I should be flattered. Flattered because he’s the only one in this family who ever pays any attention to me? I don’t think she gets how insulting that is.

My dad continues to line us up so that finally Sara, Holden, and I are squeezed in between my mom and dad. My dad picks up Charlie and perches him on his shoulder.

“I’m not doing this,” Sara says, stepping out of line.

“Now, look, honey,” my dad says. “I’m paying these people a lot of money. And with any luck, we’ll get it back tenfold when the business starts booming.”

“I don’t want business to boom. That’s just more work for me.”

“More money for you, sweetheart,” my dad says through gritted teeth. “You want your own car to take with you to college next year?”

My sister perks right up. “Seriously?”

My dad nods. “Now try to look happy.”

Sara gets back in line, and we all plaster on our happy faces.

“Just try to act normal,” Eric says, fiddling with the camera lens.

“That’ll be a first,” Holden mumbles.

“That’s us, one big normal family,” I whisper back.

“Hush, you two,” my mom hisses.

“Harry, you ready?”

We all look at my dad. His name is George.

“Ready when you are!” my dad says.

Eric holds up his hand and counts silently on his fingers. Five, four, three, two, one, then points to my dad.

“WELCOME TO HARRY’S!” my dad booms.

Holden’s sweaty arm rubs against mine. My mom is stiff behind me. I hope the camera is zoomed in on my dad because I think I cringed when he started talking. I try to smile as he lists off the most popular flavors of ice cream we sell.

“. . . and our most popular, Dinosaur Crunch!”

I hear Charlie chomp like a dinosaur. My dad laughs way too loud, then clears his throat. “IF YOU HAVEN’T BEEN TO HARRY’S, YOU HAVEN’T BEEN TO HEAVEN!” he yells.

Sky motions for all of us to wave. Charlie flaps his arm frantically and shouts, “See you at Hawee’s!” in his worst baby voice yet.

I think my ears are bleeding.

“Aaaaand cut,” Eric says.

My dad tosses Charlie in the air. “Great line, buddy!” he yells. “Should we do another take, Eric? I’m not sure how that came out.”

“Nah, Harry. It was perfect. We’ll cut anything that doesn’t look quite right and pan in on some scenes I’ll take inside. I’d like to film some customers eating cones, sundaes — stuff like that.”

“Sure, sure, sure,” my dad says. “Right this way.” We all follow him into the restaurant, which is half empty. Right away I can tell my dad has planted “customers”— our regular employees and their kids or little sisters and brothers. They all say hi to my dad like he’s a local hero, though I notice none of them call him by his real name.

My dad never corrects people when they call him Harry. He says it’s good for business because people like to think they’re talking to the guy the restaurant is named after (who was actually my grandfather). I’m pretty sure this drives my mom a little nuts, but she doesn’t say anything. My mom almost never yells or gets upset. Whenever she looks like she might start to lose it, she heads up to my dad’s stuffy office and shuts the door so she can meditate. There’s a sign on the door that she flips around before she closes and locks it. On one side, it says, Please knock. On the other, it says, Mom is finding her inner peace. Come back later. I’m not really sure what would happen if we interrupted her during meditation, and I don’t really want to find out.

Charlie follows Eric around for the next hour while he films people eating burgers and licking ice-cream cones. Sara, Holden, and I sit at one of the booths.

“I can’t believe this,” Sara says for like the hundredth time as we watch the film crew. “Thank God I’m out of high school. I would never live this one down.”