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Gram places the cup back on the saucer and then appraises each of us. “Well, grandchildren. I’m old, as you know.”
“Oh, Gram, don’t say that,” Caroline says.
“Why? It’s a fact, isn’t it?” For an old-fashioned Southern Belle, Gram talks like she’s out of some regency serial on PBS. “I’m getting on in age and I know y’all are both wondering about your inheritances.”
“Really, Gram, do you think we’re so crass as to be waiting on you to…” I trail off. That three-letter word that begins with ‘d’ is right up there with the four-letter one that begins with ‘f’.
Gram lifts her chin. “Hush, Chase.” She’s always been elegant and terrifying all at once. Over the years, she’s made it clear that she loves us more than life, especially being her only grandchildren (to her chagrin: out of her four children, only our father decided to pursue parenthood). However, the way Gram loves is with a stiff upper lip, an iron fist, and her checkbook. “Now, I know the world has changed quite a bit since I was your age. Quite a bit, indeed. But being from a family such as ours comes with certain expectations.”
I feel Caroline shift in her seat. If it wasn’t so obvious, I’d reach out and grab my little sister’s hand. Over the years, she’s gotten the brunt of Gram’s jabs and ribs, always focused on when Caroline is going to find a boyfriend, get married, and pop out a few kids. I get the occasional, “When are you going to settle down?” but it’s much more acceptable to Gram that I focus on my career compared to Caroline.
“And money rules the world, doesn’t it? So I believe it’s only fair that your inheritances rely on certain conditions.”
Caroline sinks lower in her seat. “What kind of conditions, Gram?”
“Fetch my briefcase, will you?” Gram says, snapping her fingers at me.
I get up from my chair and bring Gram’s briefcase to her. It used to be our grandfather’s before he passed suddenly from a heart attack. Gram took over the family business and with it, the briefcase too. Now that she’s retired, she still carries it when she means business. It’s what put Caroline and me on edge from the moment she arrived.
“Am I interrupting?” a voice comes from the open archway of the sitting room.
We all look to find Jude, red curls a bit haphazard, standing with a watering can in her hand.
Dammit. In my anxiety leading up to this meeting, I forgot to tell Jude to come this afternoon instead to water my plants. I begin to open my mouth to tell her as much, but Gram speaks first, “Not at all, Judith, dear. Please go about your business.”
Jude looks at me for a moment. I say nothing. What Gram says, goes.
“Hi, Jude,” Caroline squeaks, giving her a little wave.
Jude waves back and then smiles awkwardly. “I’ll just be watering then.”
Jude and Caroline have been friends since they were little. Jude’s mother used to be part of Gram’s housekeeping team. Gram insisted Jude be brought along to save on childcare and to entertain Caroline in the summer months. Though they never ran in the same circles or went to the same schools, Jude and Caroline remained the best of friends.
And, like mother, like daughter, Jude has remained in the employment of the Gladstone family as our go-to plant waterer. To Gram and Caroline, Jude is family.
To me, she’s… a mystery.
Jude moves to the fern in the corner and begins to water it.
“Chase, you’re wasting time. Sit, sit, sit,” Gram chides.
I gingerly hand Gram the briefcase and return to my seat.
“Now, the conditions of your inheritances are detailed here. For you, Caroline, I have expectations that you will take over the family business once I’m gone.”
Caroline sits up straighter, a smile spreading on her face. “Really?”
“Yes. I will vacate my position as head of the company in the next few years,” Gram says, clearing her throat and adjusting her blouse. “And I need you to be prepared to do that. That means you need to get into a top MBA program and start shadowing under me. Effective immediately.”
“Easy. As good as done!” Caroline chirps. “Did you hear that, Jude?”
Jude gives her a huge smile and a thumbs up from the line of succulents over the fireplace.
Gram slides a document across the table and then places her personalized fountain pen onto it. “Sign and date.”
Caroline doesn’t even read the document. I don’t stop her. I know if I offered to go through it for her she’d roll her eyes and tell me I was being too serious about it. It’s our own grandmother after all.
That’s exactly why I’d want to read it over for her.
