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FOUR
D E L A N E Y
“Delaney.”My dad cocks an eyebrow, unamused at my outburst. “This doesn’t involve you. You heard what Mr. Cunningham said. You’ll receive your portion of the inheritance soon enough,” he adds, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
It’s a small gesture that he and my mom have directed toward me throughout my entire life, but the sting never quite goes away when it happens.
Sure, I’ve had it easy—I’ll be the first to admit it. My parents’ money has pretty much been my saving grace my entire life. But that doesn’t mean that my voice, my opinion, and my involvement aren’t important—especially not when it comes to Gramps.
I feel my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and sudden determination. I can’t back down. Not now. Not when there is so much at stake here.
“But Dad!” I rise to my feet. “We can’t just give the team up! You know how much Gramps loved them, don’t you?”
“Delaney, honey,” Mom speaks up gently, brushing her hand through my hair. “Don’t you have…something else to do? A little business meeting to host, perhaps?”
I have to fight not to roll my eyes. My parents have never taken any of my endeavors seriously. To be fair, they last just about as long as all of my relationships—which isn’t very long at all. I suppose I have myself to blame in part for that.
Since I was a kid, I’ve never stuck to an activity for longer than a few weeks. The same went with going to college. I switched majors three times in my first year…and then another five times after that.
“It’s okay, Shirley,” Dad reassures Mom as he walks over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and meeting my eyes. “Of course, I know how much he loved the team, Delaney. But things don’t always work out. Crawfield was important to your Pops, but to us…” He looks back at Mom. “It’s of no value. You wouldn’t understand.”
You wouldn’t understand.
I think making backhanded comments about me is my dad’s favorite pastime.
“If only there were a degree that required you to be on your phone all day…then maybe, just maybe, you’d actually finish a semester.”
Unlike his other snide comments, this one made something click inside me. As it turns out, the thing I am best atisbeing on my phone. But not for me. For others.
I like to say I have a gift: the ability to know what consumers want. When you spend every moment of every day consuming things online, you learn something or two about what sells. Even the worst brands can come back to life after the right makeover.
Makeover. Perceived value. That’s what sells.
“I got it!” I exclaim, confusion falling across Mom and Dad’s faces as a grin spreads across mine. “What if I could make the team of value to us?”
“Oh, Delaney.” My dad immediately starts shaking his head. “No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Dad, give me a chance to explain,” I plead, clasping my hands together. I’ve never been one to beg, but right now, I need to pull out all the stops.
My dad flashes me a stare but stays silent, which tells me that this is my chance to say whatever it is I have to say to get him to change his mind.
“How about this?” I propose, theatrically spreading my hands out in front of me. “I could re-shift everything. Give them the PR that they need. I could make people care…make the world see what Gramps saw. Then you’ll see. You’ll see that they can andwillbeworth something!”
My dad’s hardly as receptive to my pitch as I’d hoped he’d be. “Delaney.” He frowns. “You could hardly get through four years of schooling, and the only reason you stayed in college that long is because I had to meet with the Dean himself to convince him not to kick you out for your poor attendance.”
My poor attendance was only the result of being in all the wrong classes. I'm sure you'd skip if you had to attend a three-hour lecture on mathematics and statistics when you barely know your times tables.
If that wasn’t enough, Dad sinks the knife in that much deeper. “Let’s not forget the fact that your PR firm has one client, and that’s your best friend.”
Another unnecessary remark. You have to start somewhere, am I right? At least my best friend was willing to give me a chance, and you know what? The 150% increase in followers on her social media accounts tells me that this PR rep knows a bit more than just a thing or two.
“Is there a point you’re trying to get to here?” I fold my arms across my chest, partially in a huff but also to shield myself from another one of these impending strikes.
“Yes, Delaney. The point is that you’re expecting us to trust you with a multi-million-dollar team. It’s just not happening. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s not.”
I feel tears forming in my eyes—partly because of the way my parents clearly feel not an ounce of shame when it comes to embarrassing me in front of Mr. Cunningham, but also because my dad’s words, as blunt as they are, have some truth to them.
I’m not perfect; I know that, but does that mean I’m incapable of change? Do I have to go the rest of my life without being allowed to make mistakes and try something different?
