Why's Grandma Here?

“Mom? Dad? Syl?” Ash called out as he entered his parents’ house. There was no response, but he knew he could usually find someone in the kitchen or dining room, whether it be a family member or a housekeeper of some sort, so to the kitchen he went. Luckily, he found his family in the dining room, silently sitting around the table. Oddly enough, he discovered that it wasn't just his parents and older sister. Sitting next to each other as they had been doing for years were his grandparents. They hardly ever visited, though, so why had they decided to come over? What was going on?

“Is everything alright?" Ash carefully walked into the tense room, "I came over as soon as I could.”

“You missed all of our calls,” his mother’s voice was colder than normal. It was the voice she used when she had to deal with a particularly irritating situation.

“Sorry, I was studying,” he sat in the only free seat at the table: across from his sister and next to his grandmother. He liked the old woman well enough, but she could be a handful, especially for the more down-to-earth members of his family. His grandmother was far too proud to let herself, or anyone in her presence, relax. As a result, they weren't very close, though the public believed that they were quite the tight-knit family.

His mother's nostrils flared and she huffed, a sure indication that she was outraged despite the calm mask the public could never see past, the only part of his mother that his grandmother approved of. “Well, you are here now. Your grandmother has something to discuss with you.”

Ash looked over, keeping an eye on his mother as he did so. She was rarely so terse, especially with her "baby boy". What could possibly be going on?

“Yes, we do have something to discuss,” his grandmother’s tone was haughty, which was very typical. She was the definition of "better-than-you", at least, in her mind she was. She also had that Central-American accent that somehow seemed to suggest that the English language was truly beneath her. There were times when she would refuse to speak English, forcing those who didn't know Spanish to listen in confusion. “As is tradition in this family, everyone must learn some form of art. It is about time that you decide on your art form.”

“Wait, what?” Ash stared, the pretense of being calm and collected scattering without the illusion that he actually understood what was going on. “What do you mean an ‘art form’? And why haven’t I been informed of this sooner?”

“You never listen, do you Cipote? (**meaning "silly" or "foolish"**) You should be paying attention during family gatherings instead of daydreaming,” Ash cringed at her words. She was right about that. He never paid attention during family gatherings. Every single "get-together" was the same: distant relatives so distant they didn't remember each other greeting each other only to boast about their newest progress in something or another. His grandmother sighed arrogantly, bringing him back to the conversation, “In any case, you must decide on an art form, and you must decide immediately.”