Page 143 of Due Diligence

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An hour later, my parents (so rich, so boring) were chatting in my kitchen with Marcus and Alex, as well as Alex’s parents (Bob and Janet—so Midwest, so cute). I was sitting on the couch with Marcus’s mothers (Sharon and Kelly—so Northeast, so hilarious). It was a bizarre scenario—one I truly never thought I would see. But there we were.

Our three sets of parents had exactly three things in common.

Number one: Eleven years ago, they all traveled to Princeton, New Jersey to drop their teenagers off at college.

Number two: Exactly a year ago, all of them participated in highly dramatic phone calls from their children.

Alex had called Bob and Janet to tell them he was probably going to federal prison (luckily, that didn’t happen).

Marcus had called Sharon and Kelly to tell them Alex was probably going to federal prison (again, that luckily didn’t happen).

And I had spoken to my mother to let her know I was unemployed, but madly in love (and later on I told them Alex was probably going to federal prison—which I honestly would have been fine with at the time).

And number three: Six months ago, they all participated in yet another series of highly dramatic phone calls fromtheir children, where they informed them they were starting a company.

Alex told Bob and Janet he was going to go back to his first love, coding, and would be creating an algorithm for a new startup.

Marcus told Sharon and Kelly he was going to take on the role of Chief Operating Officer for his girlfriend’s (yes, his girlfriend’s) new startup.

And I told my parents I was going to be the Founder and CEO of Trove: a mental health startup that would ease the stressful act of finding a therapist.

If any of our parents were apprehensive, they never said a word. They simply stood back and watched as we forged out into a world that was not terribly unfamiliar to Marcus and Alex, but was new for me. The last six months had been hectic and confusing and sometimes discouraging, but we finally found ourselves on stable footing—with ten million dollars in funding secured.

As we sat on the couch, Sharon hugged me again. “Sweetie, we’ve never seen Marcus like this. If we had known you were all he needed to come into his own, we would have tracked you down decades ago.”

I looked over at Marcus, who was nodding seriously while my father droned on about—hand to god—index funds.

“Oh, I had nothing to do with it,” I responded. “If anything, he was the one who brought me into my own. Working with him has been a dream. He’s just so good at what he does.”

Kelly was nodding. “The minute we met him and saw he color-coded his drawers, we just knew—that was our kid.”

Ever since Marcus had introduced me to his mothers, I had picked up so many gems about his childhood. Some were hard to stomach, sure. There were stories about the eight years of his life he spent moving from one foster home to another that left mespeechless and teary. But sweet stories like this filled me with a selfless joy I had never experienced before.

I loved him—and all I wanted to do was love him and make sure that for every bad year he’d had in his childhood, he would have ten great ones with me.

Later, when we sat down to eat dinner, nine of us seated with plates of delivery Thai food on our laps, I found myself seated between Marcus and my mother. He settled into an easy conversation with her, chatting over me while I took in the absurdity of the situation. I had never told her he was the reason I even considered forgiving them—that he was the one who reminded me they loved me. My mother had already started referring to him as “her son Marcus.” She surely didn’t need more reasons to like him more than she liked me.

“Well, I have to make a toast,” my father announced as he stood.

“Please, no,” I murmured—but not softly enough to be inaudible. That made Sharon snort and turn her face towards her shoulder, while my own mother politely brought her hand up to her mouth to stifle a giggle as she rested her other hand on top of Sharon’s.

“Just a quick one,” my father assured me.

“Please, Mr. Pierson,” Marcus said, nodding politely. “I would love to hear your toast.”

“Traitor,” I whispered.

Marcus simply grinned and brought my hand up to his lips to kiss it.

“Thank you, Marcus,” my father said. He faced the group again. “I just want to propose a toast to my brilliant daughter Cass, her equally brilliant boyfriend Marcus, and their brilliant friend Alex in recognition of all the hard work they’ve done to create Trove and to secure ten million dollars in seed funding.”

When my father mentioned the seed funding amount, all three sets of parents began clapping lightly and cheering, which I couldn’t even pretend to be embarrassed about. Next to me, Marcus squeezed my hand so tightly I didn’t know where his hand ended and mine began. And that was just fine with me.

“But more importantly,” my father went on, “I wanted to highlight just how importantthis work is, and what a difference this app is going to make for people everywhere. Easier access to mental health services is far overdue. I’m just honored these three have brought us along on the journey. Only great things to come. To Trove.”

“To Trove,” we toasted, raising our glasses together.

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