Page 67 of Betting on the Brainiac

“Correct. Don’t worry, though. They made it totally fair. For example, I can sign an NDA that gags me from publicly criticizing the company or my dad, including the symbolic criticism of volunteering for Teak Heart. This would prove that I am mature enough to get my trust fund at twenty-five.”

“Shut up and quit your job or we’re holding all your money?”

“No one is that unfair, Oliver. They gave me another generous provision too: if I marry before thirty, as long as my betrothed passes a rigorous screening to prove he isn’t a gold digger, I geta five-million-dollar payout after the wedding, and if we stay married for a year, I get the rest.”

“What in the bad Jane Austen plot rip-offs . . . ?”

“I’ve established that knockoffs are my dad’s specialty.”

“Let me guess, they can make up whatever criteria they want for this screening, but somehow, only the husband candidates they choose for you will pass? So if they can’t buy your silence, they’ll bribe you into letting them install a permanent supervisor?”

“That was when I threatened to sue. They knew I’d have a case, so they specified their screening requirements in writing. Now it’s legal and binding, no moving target, and it’s way better now.”

“It is?”

“No! But they had to take the worst stuff out. It still gives them way too much veto power, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not getting married until they have zero say in it.”

“What’s on the list?”

“Their perfect son-in-law, plus a bunch of conditions to prove I’m not marrying to gold dig my own money, I guess?”

“Must wear Copperhead boots and have graduated from any Texas college but A&M,” he guesses. “Polo shirts in every color, golf handicap under fifteen, only domestic beer in his fridge, and at least one ancestor who was at the Alamo?”

“Oh, you’ve seen the will,” I deadpan.

“How close am I?”

“Pretty close, but it’s more about the stuff they don’t say. For example, I must marry someone who has completed his undergraduate degree and has no student loan debt.”

“To rule out the gold diggers?”

“To rule out poor people. No student loans means you’re more likely to have parents who could pay for your college. They created a minimum financial threshold to avoid middle class in-laws.”

“Slick, by which I mean evil.”

“The whole list is like that. Must submit to a credit check so they can get a sense of your salary and make sure you have an excellent score. No criminal record so you can’t embarrass the family. Must never have registered with the Green Party.”

“Dental x-rays to verify proof of age?”

I scoff. “No. They want to see your birth certificate.”

“To make sure I’m not marrying you for a green card?”

“You aren’t scheming enough. They’ll want to do background checks on your family and make sure you can legally run for office if they decide to groom you for Congress.”

Oliver makes a delighted face. “I’m going to Congress?”

I’m not sure when we switched to him being my hypothetical marriage candidate, but it makes me laugh. “Not you,” I tell him. “You have too much golden retriever energy. They’ll want a horse with impeccable bloodlines who is already trained.”

“Joke’s on them,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing. Also, I’m not a golden retriever.Youhave golden retriever energy.”

“I do not. That’s only for guys.”

“It’s not an insult,” he says. “When you’re not having a meltdown because your dad sucks, you’re out there loving life and having a good time. You love to love on people, all huggy and stuff. That’s you.”

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