by Hannah Ford
“There is no number. We live in a capitalistic society.”
It looks like old Joe is on the verge of a head explosion when Emily steps in. “Come on, guys. Stop being so hard on Jackson. Hello, we met because of his donation. A very generous donation that shouldn’t be overlooked. It’s the biggest in the fund’s history.”
Martha mutters something about how that’s not the issue as Joe refocuses on his eggs.
“What about the mentorship program?” Dax says.
I look across at Dax. “What about it?”
“Why don’t you get involved in it? Being the head of a company is the exact kind of person I’d think they would be looking for. Wouldn’t you want to mentor a young kid, expose them to the business world and help them see the heights they can climb?”
“Believe me, if I could find a way to add more hours to the day, I would. I hardly have the time to do much of anything, besides work. My days are filled from top to bottom, keeping the company running and earning money. It’s an eighty hour a week job, and that’s when things are slow.”
“You make time for exercise, right?” Dax says, eyeing me carefully. “It’s the same concept. You just do. You make the time.”
What this kid is not getting is that I don’t want to make the time for shit like that. I’d rather write the damn check. But of course I don’t say that.
“Can we ease up on the third degree?” Emily says. “Jeez, guys. He’s not on trial. He’s here so we can all get to know each other.”
“Emily is right,” Martha says. “I’m sorry, Jackson. We’re just so focused on charity in this family. We’ve all chosen to donate our lives to service so we’re a bit passionate about it.”
“Well, I’m happy to help fund that passion,” I say. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret it. Fuck, what a mistake. Condescending asshole, that’s me. “What I meant was—”
“No, it’s fine,” Martha says. “There are those who do, and those who write the checks. It all makes the world go around. When you do have a moment to relax, what do you like to do?”
She’s good—moving on quickly after her dig at my money. What is it about this family and money? I thought it before about Emily and now I see where it comes from. They really hate money. I’ve never known such a way of thinking could exist.
“Honestly, in the past few years I haven’t even had time to even take a vacation. Pathetic, I know. Work is just so demanding that it takes up almost all my time.”
“Is it fulfilling?” Martha asks. “Working so much?”
“Fulfilling?” I repeat, as if I don’t know the meaning of the word—and maybe in this context, I don’t. I work because it’s what I do. I work because it’s expected of me. I work because it’s been drilled down deep in me, into my core, that I have to work harder and longer and better than anyone else—including my brothers. “Yes, I suppose I like what I do. It is rewarding.”
“That’s wonderful,” Martha says. “And not to harp on the issue but I bet you’d feel even more rewarded if you found the time to do a little volunteer work. It doesn’t take much to make a difference in a life.” She smiles like she’s not harping on the issue.
“Well, you’ve certainly all made me think,” I say—or rather, I lie.
We finish the rest of the meal with the sort of pleasantries this afternoon should have been filled with. Sabrina talks about her professors and some guy she’s seeing and Dax talks to his father about ways to increase volunteer services at the non-profit he works at. He makes sure to shoot a few side-eyes in my direction. I want to ask, What the fuck did I do? For such a sweet family, these people seem like a bunch of assholes. Sabrina gets a pass, I suppose. She didn’t say much, but at least she didn’t insult me or take shots at me.
One thing is for sure: this brunch did not go as planned. Now I have to go back and figure out where it all went wrong. But first order of business is getting the hell out of here and back to the sanity of the city.
Emily
We’re all about to move into the living room for more conversation. I see this as a fresh start to get things back on track after the contentious brunch. But it seems that Jackson has had enough.
“Emily?” he says. “We should head back into the city.”
“You think?” I glance at my watch. It’s not even noon.
“You don’t have to get back to work now, do you, Jackson?” Dad says. “On a Sunday?”
“I’ll probably stop in for a little bit,” Jackson says. “Get a little jumpstart on the week.”
I stare at Jackson for moment thinking, Really? You’re going into work today?
Dad turns to me and says quietly, “Sweetie, will you be okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I say as he kisses my cheek.
“You’ve raised a very independent young woman,” Jackson says. “Emily is great at taking care of herself.”
We all walk to the front door, Sabrina and Dax calling out how nice it was to meet Jackson even though I know they don’t like him. None of my family likes him. This has all gone terribly wrong and I’m not sure why or how.
“Nice car you got there,” Dad says, stepping out onto the front steps. Dad has never cared about cars. I can’t tell if he’s being nice or condescending.
Mom stops me before I can follow Jackson out.
“Emily,” she says. “What are you doing with this man?”
“Mom,” I say. “Don’t.”
“He’s nothing like us. He’s nothing like you.”
“If you’d given him a chance you’d have seen how kind he really is. And he treats me really well, by the way,” I say, hating that I’m defending him. “You guys were all way too hard on him. You were rude.”
“We were not hard on him. And maybe he does treat you well—with gifts and fancy dinners?”
“No, Mom, that’s not what I meant…”
“Actions speak louder than words, Emily,” she says. “The action I see is that he’s going into the office on a Sunday. He can’t even spend one whole day with you? What kind of partner is that? You deserve better.”
“You only got a snapshot of him today,” I say. “He’s more than his job.”
“Sure doesn’t seem like it. Honestly I don’t know a single other thing about that man aside from his job. And that I could have learned that from Google.”
“I’m going,” I say, shaking my head. This isn’t going to get any better. Mom pulls me in for a hug before I can get away.
“We just love you, honey,” Mom says. “We want the best for you, and you deserve a person who understands all the amazing qualities that make you who you are.”
As we drive away, I feel like I’ve ingested a rock.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” I say. I give a little laugh, like it wasn’t so bad but it’s at least fixable. Jackson keeps his eyes on the road. “You don’t really have to go to the office, do you?”
“I do have a big meeting tomorrow.”
“You have big meetings every day,” I say. Jackson sighs. God, are we fighting? Or about to fight? I reach across and put my hand on his thigh. “Should we at least hang out at your place for a little bit?”
He takes my hand and kisses my fingers like he does. Like I love.
“How about this,” he says. “How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night? Wherever you want to go. Pizza, lobster, steak; South End, Downtown, Back Bay. Your choice. Whatever you want. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” I say. A swelling is caught in my throat, so I clear it and try again. “Sure. Sounds good.”
When he drops me off at my apartment he gives me a kiss on the cheek before he speeds off down the street. Like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
Did I make a huge mistake by introducing him to my family? Did I scare him off?
I think back to what Mom said: He’s nothing like us. She’s right, and I’ve always known that about him. Maybe the differences are starting to divide us. I work hard at sch
ool and my job but I also understand the importance of spending time with family and friends (even if I’m not the most social person around). Is Mom right? Do I really know so little about him?
I do what Jackson is doing—I bury myself in work for the day. I have a lot of reading I can catch up on, and some research I can do at the library for one of my classes.
The library is fairly busy. Most seats are full, but it’s quiet aside from the turning of pages and light tapping of fingers on keyboards. I find a spot at a large table in the center and spread my books and notebooks out.
“Hey, Emily,” a voice says quietly. I look up—it’s a girl named Kera from my School Law class with Professor Stanwick…and Brent. She looks down at my books and sees I’m studying for our class. “What are you studying that for?” Before I can answer she says, “I heard you’re sucking dick for grades now.”
“What?”
“That’s what I heard. That after you bombed the last paper you offered Brent a blow job for guaranteed better grade.”
“Are you kidding me? Do people actually believe that? Do you believe that?”
She shrugs, indecisive. “I just thought you should know what’s being said.”
“It’s not true,” I say. “And you can tell that to anyone who believes that. It’s not true.”
After that, the day is a wash. I can’t concentrate.
I call Natalie on my walk home.
“What else is Brent Fuller saying about me?” I ask.
“Well…” she begins, and it’s clear she doesn’t want to say.
“Nat, tell me,” I press. “I need to know.”
“I didn’t hear him say it, but I heard from someone else that you’ve been spending a lot of time in his office. And that one time, when you were coming out, your skirt was on backward or inside out or something.”
“I haven’t been in his office in forever,” I say, fuming.
“Someone else said you’ve been going to his apartment.”
“I don’t even know where he lives!”
“I’m sorry, Em,” Natalie says. “I told those people the stories were bullshit. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not. What a petty little weasel Brent is.
“Are you going to tell Professor Stanwick?”
“Tell him what? That I heard his T.A. is spreading rumors about me? I have no proof.”
“Just keep your distance,” Natalie says. “Don’t give anyone any reason to think something is going on by staying after class or going to his office.”
“Do you actually think I’d go to his office after this?”
“No, I don’t,” Natalie says.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to get snippy. I just don’t need this right now.” With things with Jackson feeling tangled up, I don’t need school in a knot either.
I stick to my word and Monday after class, I shoot out the door. I do not want to be seen by anyone to be lingering around. Besides, I want to get home and get ready for dinner with Jackson.
We texted a couple of times. He wrote and asked, Any ideas for dinner? I guess he didn’t want to impress me with another fancy meal. Which is fine, honestly. I’m not complaining. My mind is going into crazy-girl territory, wondering if he’s losing interest in me. Maybe he doesn’t care about impressing me anymore.
But I took the initiative—always a good thing—and found an Italian place in the North End that gets great ratings for serving freshly made pasta. Jackson asks if I want him to pick me up or if I want to meet him at the restaurant. Ouch, I think. It’s really starting to feel less and less like a date and more like a casual meet up. My place in Allston is totally out of the way, so I tell him I’ll take the train and meet him there. He doesn’t argue.
When I see him walk down the crowded street, I can’t help but smile. He’s staring down at his phone, and I’m watching, worried that he’s going to walk right into the pole of a parking sign or something. He looks so slick and handsome in his suit, even though he ditched his tie. Hopefulness springs up in me—maybe we just hit a rough patch and tonight things will get back on course.
“Hey, you,” I say, stepping toward him. He glances up at me, lands a peck on my cheek, and continues working his phone. “Still busy with work?” He grunts a reply. I wait until he finishes what he’s doing—his brow is slightly furrowed so it can’t be anything good. I have to respect Jackson for the multitude of things he is responsible for. I respect him for it, I don’t fault him for it, like I worry my family does.
When he finishes, he slips his phone into his inside coat pocket. Once we’re seated and have ordered our food, I hope things will relax but there’s a weird tension between us.
“Something bad happen at work?” I ask.
“Something bad happens at work at least five times a day,” he says. “But I always handle it.”
I think about telling him about Brent, but he’s clearly in a bad mood and I don’t want to make it worse. Besides, I’m handling Brent. Hopefully his poor little ego wounds will heal soon and he’ll back off.
We eat in relative silence. I wish it were the comfortable silence of a couple that is assured of their status, but it is not. Jackson shoots me a tight smile now and then and asks me a few bland questions—how’s the food, how’s school, what’s new with work—but it’s nothing substantial.
I’m prepared to shake his hand and walk to the T after dinner, but he surprises me by saying, “Want to go back to my place?”
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual when inside I'm doing cartwheels. He’s just in a funny mood. He wants to be with me. And I need to stop reading into things.
Jackson
I can’t shake it. Today was as epically bad at work as yesterday was with Emily’s family. What is happening to me? I’m losing my edge, that much is clear.
Today my brothers circled me like the sharks they are. Miles and Rex both responded to an email that was sent to all three of us by the family attorney which read: “Your father’s wishes were to put the most responsible family man in charge of Croft International and it is my job to ensure that happens. Until one of the sons is married, an intermediary president and CEO will named as head of Croft International and will remain until the terms of Edward Croft’s last will and testament have been fulfilled. The board has selected Robert Irving to step into this role until such a time as the requests of your late father have been fulfilled.”
It goes on to some legalese crap but Rex and Miles had to chime in despite our agreement to speak only through our assistants.
Miles wrote from New York: “Don’t think for a second that there aren’t a hundred perfect blue bloods down here in New York. Nothing is more important than showing you two losers how things should truly be done. And I think we can all agree that, if Irving gets that title, he will not let go until he’s six feet under.”
Baby brother Rex had to throw his own temper tantrum from Los Angeles to inform us that being the youngest CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire would be just one note to his legacy. “I live in the land of women whose only goal is to marry up. All I need is one visit to the Polo Lounge and I will find a willing woman to make the next Mrs. Croft. Prepare to bow down, assholes. And I agree with pretty boy Miles—Irving can’t be trusted with our company. It’s time to put extra pressure to this race to the altar.”
Rex keeps it classy, as always. And Miles definitely makes a good point in Robert Irving. He’s a blood-sucking, scrupulous, under-handed monster—which is exactly why Father liked him. He let do Irving do the truly heinous jobs that Father didn’t want his hands dirtied on. Father always had clean hands.
The point is, the pressure is mounting.
And then there’s Emily.
The brunch with her family was not successful. I keep thinking back on it to see where I went wrong. I don’t like being cornered and questioned, and I don’t like to bullshit people by saying the things just because it’
s what they want to hear. That left me (smugly?) reminding her family that I benefit greatly by living in a capitalistic society. Normally I wouldn't care about speaking the truth like that, but it upset Emily, and that hurts me more than knowing I pissed off her family.
I want to make up for yesterday, and maybe for my distance at dinner tonight. I have a lot on my mind but I shouldn’t take it out on Emily. I shouldn’t ignore her. She’s the only thing good in my life—my one true bright spot.
When we arrive at my place, all I want to do is wipe my mind clean of the last two days. I want to gather Emily up in my arms and hold her close all night long. More importantly, I want to be honest about what I’ve been feeling—and what’s happened with work and my father. She deserves to know—especially now that I realize how deep my feelings for her are.
“Are you thirsty?” I ask Emily. We walked into the kitchen, and I put my briefcase on the counter. “Water? Cocktail? Wine?”
“I could use a drink,” she says. “Surprise me with something. I’m going to head to the ladies’ room.”
I watch her walk away, the way her hair hangs down her back and her hips sway. She turns back to look at me, and smiles. My heart almost cracks, that smile is so beautiful.
I need to enjoy the night so I open my laptop right there in the kitchen and check the emails one more time, making sure there’s been no more traffic from my brothers and the lawyer. Nothing new. With Rex three hours behind in L.A., I’m sure he’ll have more to add as his evening goes on. I’m glad to be done with it for now.
I make two vodkas with soda and pomegranate juice with a splash of lime. I carry them into the living room, a space I actually use to watch games on Sundays or let movies play while I stretch out on the couch with my laptop and do some work. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say to Emily because at this point I’ve left too much unsaid. If only I knew which words to say to her. Thank god for the vodka.
“There you are,” her sweet voice says, finding me in the living room. She curls up next to me on the couch, her body fitting so perfectly against mine. She picks up her glass from the oversized ottoman in front of the couch. “Cheers,” she says, clinking her glass to mine. I watch as her lips touch the cold glass, the liquid pouring over her tongue. “Dang. You’re even a good bartender. What can’t you do?”
