Chick Lit/ Women’s Fiction
*(contains language)*
Date Published: June 6, 2017
Elle Martin has it all.
Handsome and successful husband. Check.
Daughter and son attending exclusive private high school. Check.
Privilege, status, and wealth. Check, check, check.
But there is more to Elle’s story.
Already struggling to keep up appearances in a social set full of pretension and ultra-competitiveness, Elle’s façade of perfection is threatened when her husband makes an announcement that will force her to confront a dark past she has successfully hidden for years.
What will happen when long-buried secrets are unearthed and haunting new revelations are discovered? Will Elle find the happy ending she so desperately seeks?
Toggling between the early nineties and the present day, Grannie Panties Are UnderRated captures the Gen X experience from latchkey kid to helicopter parent with keen insight and precision. A page turner full of surprising twists, it is a must read for anyone who has struggled to reconcile the chasm between the person they once were, the person they have become, and the person they long to be.
Praise for Grannie Panties Are Under Rated
"...a highly entertaining and thought provoking book!"
"Gayle Erickson is brilliantly gifted in telling this engaging, sometimes disturbing, yet compulsively addicting story of a woman in crisis due to the bonds of the guilt-filled lens of her past"
"It is visually rich and culturally expansive,"
"You will fall in love with each of these honest, imperfect characters and identify with their struggles, demons, and challenges. Exposing the raw truths we often try to mask..."
"Loved this book, could not put it down"
"A great retrospective of how we come to be who we are and where we are, often without intention or a road map. Like "Grannie's" characters, we all find moments of clarity or awareness, which give rise to change. All this and an accompanying playlist! A song for every chapter...what brilliant context!
Spotify Playlist by Author to compliment the Novel:
Excerpt:
Chapter 12
The All-American Rejects: “Move Along”
May 18, 2017
6:39 p.m.
“Hi, Mrs. Martin!” Tabby waved
enthusiastically to Elle. Smiley face, smiley
face. Four’s girlfriend spoke with such animated emotion, it seemed like everything
she said ended with a corresponding emoticon.
Elle waved back as she walked into
the crowded stadium. She liked Tabby. She was a genuinely sweet and perpetually
happy girl. She hand-painted fairies and flowers onto children’s clothing and sold
them at the Junior League Holiday Bazaar, donating the proceeds to St. Jude’s.
Tabby was also pretty in the lithe, wholesome, horseback-riding, patrician sort
of way Elle so admired. She would go to a good college, major in art history or
French, study abroad, and get an internship at a trendy gallery in the city before
marrying.
Tabby would always know what to wear.
She was perfect for Four and just the
kind of girl Win should have married.
Tabby skipped toward Elle. Along
with the de rigueur out-of-school Country Day uniform for females of black
lululemon yoga pants and Ugg boots, she wore Four’s #4 away jersey. She hugged
Elle, careful to avoid smudging the 4 she had painted in red on her cheek.
“It’s so good to see you!” Row of pink hearts.
Tabby stepped away from Elle and frowned. “My mom told me about your tennis
match. Is everything okay?” Furrowed brow
emoji.
Elle wasn’t surprised that news of
the argument at the tennis match had already made the rounds. She ran in a
small social circle; it had been Tabby’s mom who had sought advice on the color
scheme for her Range Rover at Jane’s house that morning.
Although sure Tabby’s concern was genuine,
Elle didn’t have it in her to talk about all the bickering. It seemed pointless.
She swatted her hand in the air casually. “Oh, it’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, good!” Smiley face. Tabby looked around and then lowered her voice asking,
“Did you hear about Thatcher? It’s such
a huge bummer.” Frowny face, frowny face, face with a tear drop.
Thatcher’s suspension was another issue
Elle had no interest in discussing, so she didn’t answer. Instead, knowing
Tabby was easily distracted and not the type to dwell on anything negative, she
changed the subject. “Aren’t you glad the weather is so nice?”
“Yes! I’m so glad it didn’t rain! But
still, I’m sooo nervous for Four!” Wide eye emoji. Thatcher’s fate
temporarily forgotten, Tabby jumped up and down, rubbing her hands along Elle’s
arms. “They can do it, right?” Nervous face,
hands in prayer.
“Yes! They can. I have a good feeling
about this game.” Elle was confident; she had heard “We Are the
Champions”—there couldn’t have been a clearer sign predicting victory. She
patted Tabby on the arm reassuringly. “Go on ahead with your friends. I’ll see you
after the game.”
“Okay. My stomach is just in knots!” Face with tongue sticking out. Tabby offered
Elle another quick hug, waved good-bye, and ran to catch up with her friends.
Just like the women on the tennis court earlier that day, Tabby wore her blonde
hair in a high ponytail. Adorned with navy and red ribbons, it bounced with youthful
optimism as she ran off.
Yes, Tabby was a happy girl. How lucky
for
her. She would continue to make dream boards and end every text to Four with
smiley face and heart emojis. In a few years’ time, she would be debating the merits
of varying color schemes for a new European car of her own.
Could Elle be happy in the same way
Tabby was? If she had grown up in a house with a pediatrician dad and a nurse mom,
would she have been one of those girls who used a red sharpie to decorate white
boxer underwear with hearts for her boyfriend? If Jimmy hadn’t died and her dad
hadn’t left, would she have spent her free time making mixed tapes for friends with
each song title written in a different-colored pastel pen?
It didn’t matter, not anymore. What
was important was that Elle’s children wouldn’t look back at their own childhoods
and wish they had had more.
Elle continued into the stadium and
saw Regina Moore, one of Brynnie’s favorite teachers. Elle often sought out Regina’s
company at school events. She was kind, smart, and interesting to talk to.
“Hi, Regina, it’s so nice of you to
come tonight.” Elle was impressed that Brynnie’s teacher had made the effort to
come to the game. She couldn’t imagine that Regina was an avid sports fan. She
was too earthy, too academic—someone who didn’t own a TV and spent her weekends
reading the classics with a steamy cup of Earl Grey tea.
“Well, I admit I don’t know much about
lacrosse, but I wanted to be here to support my students.”
Of
course. Elle knew there was a good reason why she was drawn to Regina. She
was genuine; a person who actually gave a shit about others.
Regina took in the atmosphere. “What
a glorious evening it is.”
“Yes, it is!” Elle nodded in
agreement. Wanting to demonstrate a sincere gratitude, she placed her hand in
Regina’s and said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much Brynnie is enjoying
your class on postmodern feminism in fiction. She was really moved by . . .”
“Hey.” Elle was interrupted by a
gruff voice. Ward Johnson, her tennis partner Kit’s husband, entered the conversation,
nodding his head slightly toward Regina and half-hugging Elle, his hands otherwise
occupied with a hamburger and a soft drink.
Oh,
great.
Elle couldn’t stand Ward. He was an
ass. An unapologetic social climber and pompous blowhard who thought he knew everything.
He was the type of guy who took his job as president of the Homeowner Association
for his gated community very seriously. He walked around with a clipboard and sanctimoniously
noted every errant weed and every trashcan left on the curb overnight. Ward had
fat sausage fingers, and seeing the hamburger in his chunky hands momentarily reminded
Elle of her empty stomach and how hungry she was.
Ward lifted his drink in the air and
talked with his mouth full. “I can’t believe this situation with Thatcher. It’s
ridiculous! I was on the phone with the headmaster all afternoon. He wouldn’t budge.”
Not for the first time, Elle wondered
if Ward suffered from some sort of disability which stymied his ability to read
social situations. How else to explain his habit of blurting out inappropriate comments?
Did he honestly think it was acceptable to bring the situation with Thatcher up
in front of a teacher? What did he expect her to say? Strange how a man with an
MBA from Harvard could lack such tact.
Elle was unsure how to respond. She
offered a half-hearted smile—seeing Ward’s mouth full of hamburger had at least
killed her appetite. Regina said nothing.
Oblivious to the awkward position he
had put them both in—or maybe he knew and just didn’t care—Ward took another bite
of his hamburger and directed his attention toward Regina. “I want to talk to you
about Easton’s grade on his paper—a C? C’mon! I read that paper. It was an A paper.”
There it was again; something really
must be wrong with him. Elle fidgeted uncomfortably.
Regina seemed slightly taken aback by
Ward’s abruptness but rebounded quickly. “If Easton wants to make an appointment,
I’d be happy to go over it with him.”
Still chewing with his mouth open, Ward shook his head. “Here’s
the thing: he needs an A on that paper.”
Elle was sorry for Regina and the ambush.
She should try to diffuse the conversation, to help Regina out somehow, but she
couldn’t. As strongly as she had wanted to flee the tennis court earlier, Elle
needed to get out of there. Quickly.
“Oh, I see Brynnie. I need to go talk
to her,” Elle lied.
Ward, still focused on Regina and clearly
unconcerned with Elle, waved his fat sausage-fingered hand dismissively toward her
and continued, “Seriously, he deserves an A.”
Elle mouthed the word “sorry” to Regina
as she turned to leave. Regina gave her a nod indicating everything was fine and
turned toward Ward with a conciliatory gaze.
Elle didn’t know how Regina, or any
of the other teachers, abided such poor behavior. Country Day parents could be total
nightmares.
Earlier that week, Aubrey had complained
to the headmaster about a math teacher after Grayson had failed his latest calculus
test. It simply wasn’t possible for her son
to get an F; either it wasn’t a fair test or the teacher hadn’t properly explained
the concepts. Aubrey had first talked to the teacher, and when she wasn’t satisfied
with the answer he gave—something along the lines of “Perhaps Grayson should have rechecked his work for mistakes”—she decided to go above the teacher’s head,
straight to the headmaster. Aubrey would be heard. Grayson would be allowed to retake
the test.
Although Elle could—and did—helicopter
parent with the best of them, Four’s and Brynnie’s grades were not among her neurosis.
She didn’t obsessively track her children’s progress online, fretting over each
assignment that wasn’t given an A. Elle trusted the Country Day teachers to be
fair and refused to indulge any complaints regarding the types of assignments given
or their resulting grades. Given all that her children had, it seemed rather trite
and petty to complain.
Elle was considering the possibility
that she liked the teachers more than the parents at Country Day when she spotted
Brynnie in the concession line with a group of friends. She waved her over, and
Elle was surprised to see that her daughter also had a 4 painted on her cheek.
Tabby must have been behind this—Brynnie wasn’t one for unabashed displays of
school spirit.
As if to temper her nod to
convention with the face paint, Brynnie eschewed the navy and red logoed
Country Day shirts of her classmates in favor of a purple T-shirt with three sets
of stick figures on it. The first was a man, a woman, and a child; the second, two
men and a child; and the third, two women and a child. In bright rainbow-colored
letters across the top it read: “There are all types of families: Love is Love.”
Elle gave her daughter an earnest
hug. Normally, she would be worried over what people would say about Brynnie and
the statement she was making with the T-shirt, but not tonight. Tonight, Elle was
proud of her daughter’s courage, her indifference to what others thought, and her
commitment to what she believed. “Hi, sweetie! I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Of course I’m here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I wasn’t so sure after your argument
with Four this morning.”
“That kid makes me crazy sometimes—he
can be so ignorant—but I still love him. And besides, I’m quite looking forward
to this spectacle.”
Elle was relieved. It gave her hope
that Brynnie had also forgiven her. “Have you talked to Jacinda? Is she okay?”
Before Brynnie could answer, Aubrey
approached, marching purposefully, like she had an agenda.
First Ward, now Aubrey. Elle couldn’t
escape.
Except for her white jeans—apparently,
it wasn’t too early to wear white—Aubrey
was dressed almost identically to Elle. This should have been incredibly satisfying—it
meant Elle had chosen her outfit correctly—but all she could feel at this
moment was dread.
Aubrey removed her sunglasses and
placed them on top of her head. She reached for Elle’s hands. “Elle! I’m so glad
to see you. Are you sure everything is okay? Can I help?”
“Everything’s fine.” Elle’s tone was
short. She didn’t feel like playing along.
Aubrey freed her hands and slowly tilted
her head from side to side, silently considering Elle for several drawn-out seconds.
Without speaking, she turned toward Brynnie and looked over her T-shirt with disdain—or
was it confusion?
Brynnie placed her hand soothingly along
Aubrey’s arm, the way one would if comforting a child, and explained, “It’s to honor
gay rights. I’m sure you’ve read about how the Supreme Court ruled in favor of marriage
equality.”
Aubrey didn’t respond. Instead, she
twirled at the platinum medallions—each bearing the name of one of her four
children—on the necklace that hung near her chest. Was this some sort of power
play? A subtle reminder that she was superior? She had borne four children. She
could afford private school tuition, first-class plane tickets, tutors, and
nannies—four times over.
After several uncomfortable
seconds, Aubrey finally spoke to Brynnie through a strained smile, “Read? I don’t
have time to read!”
“Of course not!” Brynnie put her
hands up against her cheeks. “How silly of me! I forgot how busy you are. You had
a tennis match today, right?”
Holy
shit!
Elle was impressed by Brynnie’s
quick retort, yet as much as she admired her daughter’s courage, Elle was apprehensive.
Aubrey wasn’t one to be crossed.
Sure enough, Aubrey’s retaliation was
swift. She cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. “So, sweetheart, remind
me—who is your date to prom?”
Elle’s stomach tightened. Brynnie had
never had a boyfriend, let alone a date. Everyone knew that. Was Aubrey implying
Brynnie was gay? Elle wanted to say something to protect her daughter, but what?
Brynnie didn’t seem the least bit bothered
by the question. “I’m choosing to go alone. I’m independent like that—kind of a
modern-day Elizabeth Bennet . . .” She paused, then condescendingly patted Aubrey
on the back. “Oh, sorry. How silly of me—since you don’t read, you couldn’t possibly
understand the Pride and Prejudice reference.”
Elle tried to contain her laughter.
Good for Brynnie.
Aubrey stood speechless, like she had
been scolded by a stranger for failing to pick up her dog’s massive dump on the
playground—“Aren’t there people for that?”
Smiling, Brynnie kissed Elle on the cheek.
“See you after the game!” She walked away, waving her arms high in the air with
feigned enthusiasm. “Go, Country Day!”
Aubrey turned toward Elle, eyes squinted
in anger. Ignoring phone calls was one thing. Elle had really crossed a line now.
Aubrey expected an explanation. An apology.
Elle refused to give in. Let Aubrey
say and do whatever she wanted. She no longer cared. Elle offered Aubrey a quick
and insincere hug good-bye saying, “I should go. I need to catch up with Win. He’s
just closed a major international deal and we have loads to discuss.”
Aubrey’s mouth dropped in shock. She’d
have to pick the poop up herself.
Elle walked away, satisfied. She had
done it. She had stood up to Aubrey and it was exhilarating.
Still, Elle knew better than to
celebrate too much. There would be consequences for her actions; Aubrey would
make her pay. She just didn’t yet know how.
About the Author
Gayle Erickson is a Colorado native and graduate of The Colorado College. She lived in Tokyo, Japan and taught English for several years after graduation. Upon her return to the United States she worked in the non-profit sector. Gayle currently lives in suburban Denver with her husband, twin teen-age children, and two dogs. Grannie Panties Are Underrated is her debut novel.
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