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“And when would I have time for that? Nine month olds don’t just watch themselves.”
“Fair enough.” We sank into the newly-delivered leather couch and Schwartz closed his eyes and sipped his beer.
“They’re going to call you. Now that building management knows about the move.”
“I know.” We had reserved the service elevator to get my remaining belongings out of the Park Avenue apartment, and my parents would receive an email.
“What are you going to say?”
“The truth.” I shrugged. “I’m done. I’m not taking over the company, I’m not marrying someone they choose and I’m not taking any money from them. Trying to please them feels pointless, anyways.”
Schwartz grimaced while I spoke. He knew exactly how difficult my parents could be. Were they so crass as to be openly homophobic? No, they prided themselves on being just progressive enough to court left-leaning investors in my father’s funds, but not so progressive that they would welcome Matt the way they would welcome a white girl from Connecticut into our home.
“I know, man. I just want you to be ready. Stay strong.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “And once you get the call, come have dinner with us.”And lick your wounds, he didn’t need to add. I’d comforted Schwartz the day he had come out to my parents, and he would do the same for me.
Not an hour after he left, my phone rang.
“Andrew.” My father’s voice never failed to send shivers up my spine. Memories of a thousand uncomfortable family dinners had me sitting straighter in my chair.
“Father. How are you?” I didn’t care but I wanted him to know he couldn’t rattle me.
“You moved out? To where?” Dancing around the real issue, which waswhy.
There was no way in hell I would tell him where I was living now that I had finally broken free.
“Downtown, near Grand Street.”
He was silent. “Is that a safe neighborhood?”
“It is, don’t worry.”He wasn’t worried.He was just trying to get ammunition for his next attack.
“Further from Connecticut than the Upper East Side. And further from the office.” He left that last sentence hanging. I knew he didn’t mean the law firm, he meant Markman Management LP, which sat proudly at the corner of 57thStreet and Park Avenue, his true love.
I made a sound of agreement, waiting patiently for him to get to the point.
“What are you doing?” He spoke first and I took the small victory. “I know you’re refusing the trust distributions, I know about the farce of a date you went on with Portia. You’re embarrassing us.”
And that was the most important thing for my father. Family reputation. I wanted to rail at him for always choosing appearances. “I’m done,” I responded, with admirable calm.
“What do you mean,you’re done?” His voice was low and mocking. “You don’t get to be done.”
I steeled myself. “I don’t want your money and I’m sick of you and mom trying to control me. I don’t want a wife chosen for me, I don’t want to run the firm. I have a good life. Let me live it.” More words threatened to burst out of me but I clamped my lips shut. Don Markman did not take kindly to bouts of emotion.
He was silent for a moment, harsh breaths scratching through the phone.
“So this is you taking a stand, eh? If you don’t want the money, that’s fine, because I’m cutting you off.”
“I’ve been donating the trust distributions to charity for eight years.”
“I know, you fool,” he hissed. My jab had no effect on him and irrational anger rose. “I was hoping you’d learn better money management, but you haven’t. But I don’t mean the trust distributions. I mean your inheritance. I’m scheduling a meeting to cut you out of the will as we speak.”
“For the last time, I don’t need your money.” I’d never wanted it, not when the price was my parents’ love.
“Good, because you’ll never see a cent of it.”
He hung up before I could and I let my hand drop limply to my side. I’d survived, but barely. I let out a shuddering breath. I needed a run.
I changed into my joggers and hoodie and let myself out into the frigid night. The cold air bit at me and the sting cleared my head. I had planned to run just one mile, but as I looped around the block, I couldn’t bear to go back to my empty apartment, so one mile turned to two and then to three. Three miles and my legs were numb and my breaths sawed in and out of my chest. Three miles to forget. I leaned against the wall to catch my breath before I got in the elevator. My finger hovered over the button for my floor, but when I pressed, it was Margo’s floor I landed on. Before I could question it, I was at her door, knocking, shifting back and forth.Maybe she won’t answer.Maybe she’s out since it’s a Friday night and she has a life and you don’t.
