“Let’s order some food,” my grandfather suggests.
After that the talk turns to less sensitive topics like Shane’s current girlfriend, Eric’s MBA program, and Ellie’s work at the Settlement Project. And it’s fine, enjoyable even . . . now that I don’t feel under attack. A few times I find myself staring at my new family members, especially Eric since we really do look like brothers. My mind catches on his individual features that remind me of mine, like his eyebrows, his nose, and the shape of his face. It’s very surreal.
After we’ve finished eating, the news that Ellie and I are planning to get married comes up.
“That’s wonderful news,” my grandfather exclaims. “You have my most heart-felt congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Ellie enthuses. “I’m very excited.”
“I’ll expect my invitation in the mail,” Shane proclaims in his now familiar, good-humored manner.
I hear a withering noise seep from my throat, one that Ellie feels compelled to explain. “My wonderful fiancé is already at the end of his rope with how many people his grandmother wants to invite.”
“I have one word for you, Scott,” Eric says, taking a drink from his glass, trying to suppress a smile. “Vegas.”
“I tried,” I say, only half-joking. “But my wonderful fiancée doesn’t like the idea.”
“Well,” Shane drolls. “That’s what trust funds are for, right Grandad?”
I frown as silence falls over the table. It takes a second for my affable little brother to pick up on it, but when he registers the awkwardness, he doesn’t back away, he pushes forward. “Scott got his trust fund, didn’t he?” Though it’s phrased as a question, he doesn’t consider the possibility of its inexistence. He turns to me directly. “The five mill isn’t enough to set you up for life, am I right? It’s just enough to make you want to work for more. He’s a smart old dog, our Grandad.”
A split second later, I bark out a scornful, incredulous sound that echoes in the room. “Well, on that note, we’re going to take off.” Placing my napkin on my plate, I get to my feet and start to pull Ellie’s chair out for her all the while shaking my head.
“What?” Shane asks, nonplussed. “He’s over twenty-one.”
“Oh, Shane,” my grandfather says wearily. “I haven’t broached the subject with him yet, but yes, of course he has a trust fund.”
“What?” I say with utter derision. “No.” I go for Ellie’s coat and return to find them all staring at me. “No,” I say again as I help her into it. “Absolutely not.” Denials are backing up in my throat faster than I can get them out. I’m choking on them.
“Of course, you’re right.” The old man rises from his seat. “And I apologize. I never meant for this to catch you unawares.” He immediately launches into his goodbyes to Ellie, thanking her, congratulating her, charming her. All I want to do is make a break for the door. Five million dollars my ass. These people cannot be serious.
Shane comes around the table and draws me into a hug. “Welcome to the family.” My annoyance just makes him laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll grow on you. I’m a bit of an acquired taste.”
While my grandfather bids me goodbye I barely heed his words as I watch Eric hug my girl. He’s lucky he doesn’t let his hand go anywhere near her ass or I’d have had to rip his arm off.
“Relax,” Eric says quietly as he pulls me in for a brotherly slap on the back. “She’s incredible, but there’s plenty of fish, right?” My half-growled response only makes his smirk deepen.
“I’ll be in contact, Scott,” is my grandfather’s parting shot.
Ellie
The bitter tang of Scott’s silent outrage hangs in the air of the truck on the ride home. It advises me to keep quiet; I know he prefers to stew before he vents and rushing him will only make it worse.
Arriving at my apartment, he heads for the bathroom, closing the door harder than necessary. While I slowly get my coat off and climb onto a kitchen stool with my phone to wait for the eruption that’s surely coming, I listen to the loud bang of the toilet seat and the rush of the water as the faucet is yanked on and then off
Appearing in the kitchen, he props his hip against the island, arms crossed over his chest. Every line of his posture vibrates with hostility. “Well?”
I set my phone down. “Well what?”
“I’m still waiting for all those unsolicited opinions you claim to have.”
“I’m reserving judgment until I hear what you have to say.”
“Me? I think you know how I feel. I mean, what the fuck?” The volume of his voice starts rising. “Five million dollars? That’s insane! What are they trying to do? Buy my loyalty?” He shoves off the counter and starts pacing. “I knew it was a mistake to get involved with them. I bet they figured I’d jump all over their money like a fucking monkey.”
He turns to me expectantly when I remain quiet. “Opal?” But he must see my opinion in my expression. “Oh, no. No. You’re not going convince me to change my mind on this.”
“Why are you assuming that the money has some nefarious purpose?”
“How can it not? I bet they’re embarrassed that I’m using their last name.”
“Scott,” I say with a hint of mockery. “That’s absurd. Your last name is your birthright. And I bet they see the money that way too.”
He scoffs. “Nobody gives away something for nothing, and I can’t even imagine what they’re expecting for that kind of money.”
“Well, they’ve already missed out on your first-born child, so I think you might be safe.”
His lips press into an angry line. “Are you seriously making fun of me right now?”
“I’m sorry. But I think you’re overreacting.” He opens his mouth to argue with me, but I keep going. “Let me talk for a second. Five million dollars to Richard McCarthy is pocket change, Scott. The grant he pledged to the Settlement Project is probably worth five times that over the next ten years. And that’s only one of many charities that he contributes to.”
He gives me a scornful look that tells me I’m doing nothing to convince him.
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll put it in perspective for you. You think my parents are rich, right? They have a big house in Palo Alto, a vacation place in Palm Springs, they drive nice cars. But my dad still needs to work, Scott. Your grandfather does not . . . that number Eric gave you for your father doesn’t even begin to apply to him. In fact, I bet your grandfather couldn’t spend all his money if he tried.”
“But that’s not the point,” he says, his frustration with my failure to toe the line growing. “It doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t earn that money, El.”
“Would you turn down a winning lottery ticket?”
His hands land on his hips as he stops his pacing to glare at me. “Don’t split hairs with me. You know what I mean.”
I do know, but that doesn’t mean I agree with him. Growing up, I knew plenty of kids who had trust funds. They’re not meant to be burdens . . . though I’m glad I never had one. How much more damage could I have done to myself at twenty-one if I’d had a bunch of money to burn through? I shiver at the thought.