Page 21 of The Christmas Letters
“Even if I’m wrong, it’s not worth the risk,” I say in a way I hope ends the conversation once and for all.
Ben nods as he pulls the rig back into the open garage bay at the station. He cuts the engine. “Okay. I hear you. But areyouworth the risk? Because if we’re only judging based on numbers in bank accounts, you’re one of them.”
My eyes cut to his, a flare of anger erupting in my chest. I never should have told Ben about the money I inherited from my parents. “It’s not the same thing.”
He shrugs, leveling me with his best-friend stare like I just made his point for him. “Maybe Tess isn’t the same either.”
“It isn’t just about the money,” I say. “Women like Tess marry attorneys and doctors and investment bankers and live in fancy houses on the peninsula. It’s about the lifestyle.” I motion around the rig. “But this is the lifestyle I want. A normal job. A simple life.”
The kind of life I had growing up. At least the life I hadat first.My family lived a regular, middle-class life on James Island. Then my dad sold his software company to a larger competitor and didreallywell with the sale, and our lives changed almost overnight.
Suddenly, my parents were attending charity events and joining private clubs, buying expensive art from the galleries downtown they’d only ever browsed for fun. Mom became an active volunteer with the Southern Society, wearing the same stupid scarf Tess was wearing on her way into the hospital. “It’s for charity,” Mom always said when she and Dad would leave for some other event. Always for charity.
Then they decided they wanted to learn how to sail. They’d only been out on their boat twice when they got caught in the storm that killed them. I don’t think Mom even liked sailing. But it’s what their new friends were doing, so they wanted to do it too.
I didn’t need any of the fancy things they bought. I just wanted us to be together. I wanted the simple life we had when our idea of excitement was camping out in the backyard and roasting marshmallows over the makeshift fire pit Dad built with a load of leftover bricks he pawned off the neighbor for fifty bucks.
I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m probably making some unhealthy associations between losing my parents andusingthe money they left me when they died. But the point about Tess still stands.
I’m fine with my modest apartment and blue-collar job. And when I’m in a relationship, I want to be with someone who appreciates that about me and doesn’t need anything else.
That doesn’t mean I don’t keep seeing the intense blue of Tess’s eyes.
Or remembering the way my pulse raced when she wrapped her arms around me after her rescue. I was so thrown off that I actually trembled while taking her blood pressure. I’ve never been that nervous around a woman. Not ever.
But I had chemistry with Daisy too. And the sting of that rejection is still too fresh for me to make the same mistake twice.
After showering and changing clothes, I drive out to Sullivan’s to see Grandma Pearl. She always helps me stay grounded when nothing else will, and after my conversation with Ben, I feel like I need grounding more than ever. Grandma Pearl knows better than anyone else how I feel about the money my parents left me, and she never judges me for it.
“Gran?” I call as I step into her entryway. “You home?”
“In here, dear,” she calls.
Roxie, Gran’s chocolate lab, appears around the corner to greet me, and I reach down to scratch her ears. “Hey, Roxie. You being good today? You want to go for a walk later?”
I follow Roxie back to the living room where Grandma Pearl is sitting on the couch, a book in her lap. I lean over and kiss her on the forehead and Roxie drops onto the dog bed at her feet.
“It’s awful quiet in here,” I say, sitting down beside Grandma Pearl. “What are you up to?”
“Just reading,” she answers, holding up her book. “I like the quiet when I read.” She looks at me quizzically, as if sensing there’s something wrong. “What’s brought you here on a weekday? Did you just get off work?”
I nod. “Are you hungry? Can I pick us up some dinner, maybe?”
She shakes her head. “I walked over to Francie’s earlier. There are leftovers in the fridge though. You’re welcome to them.”
If Francie’s wasn’t barely a block away, I might scold Grandma for walking on her own. She’s still pretty spry at eighty-two, but there’s a certain frailty about her that makes me nervous. I’ve seen one too many shattered hip bones when someone elderly has accidentally tumbled down a few stairs. And the way some tourists drive through the island—it wouldn’t take much to turn Grandma Pearl’s afternoon stroll to Francie’s into something deadly.
But I swallow my words, knowing Grandma won’t hear any of my fussing. I move to the fridge, pulling out a wrapped Italian sub made just the way I like it. “Leftovers, huh?” I hold up the sub as I step into the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen.
Grandma Pearl’s lips quirk up on the side like she’s trying to hide a smile. “It’s possible I planned to lure you over here later anyway. Thought the food might help my case.”
I disappear into the kitchen long enough to grab a water bottle, then carry my food to the living room, converting the coffee table into a makeshift dining table.
“Don’t be spilling on my rug now,” Grandma Pearl warns.
I nod, then pull the table a little closer so I can lean over the sandwich wrapper as I take my first bite. “Why’d you want me to come over?” I ask through a mouthful of sandwich.
“Manners, Drew. I taught you better than that.”
