« How can I help you today, Miss Brennan? »
« I need to make changes to my accounts. »
« All of them? What types of changes? »
« I have set up automatic transfers to my daughter’s account. 800 dollars per month. »
I want to stop them.
« I can help you. May I ask you why? »
I appreciated that he asked the question. « I’m done helping someone who can’t see me. »
There was a silence.
Then, in a calm voice: « I understand. Let me check out your account. »
It took 20 minutes. While he worked, Miguel struck up a conversation.
He asked me if I was passing through Los Angeles or if I lived there. I told him that I was passing through… Sort of.
He laughed about it. « The best kind of tour. Well, that kind of visit. »
When we were done, he said, « Can I help you with anything else? »
« Yes, actually. »
I have a joint savings account with my daughter. I want to withdraw it.
« I can start the procedure, but she will be informed. »
« Good. »
Another break. Then Miguel says, « My mother must have done something similar with my brother. »
It’s difficult, but sometimes it’s the right solution.
« Thank you, Miguel. »
« Take care of yourself, Miss Brennan. »
After hanging up, I sat down in the uncomfortable office chair in my hotel room and made a list. Not grievances, no anger.
Facts, nothing more. $800 per month for three years, or $28,800. Co-signed car loan, 2019: $15,000.
Never refunded. 2017 down payment for their home: $30,000. You will be reimbursed when Brad gets promoted.
He has been promoted. I’m still waiting. The emergency room bill when Mason broke his arm: $2,400.
Financial assistance for a private school: $5,000 per year for two years. Plane tickets to visit them every time. They never came to Phoenix.
The list went on. In the end, the amount amounted to $94,200. Ninety-four thousand two hundred dollars.
I stared at her. Not with anger. With lucidity.
That evening, I called my lawyer. Katherine Alvarez had taken care of Robert’s estate six years earlier. She answered the third ring.
« Dorothy, are you okay? »
« I need to update my will. »
« Of course. When would you like to enter? »
« I’m currently in California. Can we do this over the phone? »
At least start the process.
« Yes. Tell me what you’re thinking. »
I told him everything. The party that never took place.
Money. The years to go unnoticed. When I had finished, she was silent for a moment.
« Dorothy, I have to ask you. Are you sure? These kinds of changes… It’s hard to undo emotionally. »
« I’ve never been more sure of anything. »
« Okay.
So let’s get started.
We talked for an hour. In the end, everything I owned—my house, my savings, my retirement accounts, my life insurance—went to someone else. Not Jessica.
Someone who really deserved it. I will decide later who. Maybe a work of charity.
Maybe my nephew’s daughter, Emily, who still sent me handwritten birthday cards every year. Once we were done, Katherine said, « I’ll write it all down and email it to you. You can read it again and we will finalize everything when you return. »
« Thank you, Dorothy. Either way, you’re doing the right thing. »
That evening, Jessica called. I answered.
« Mom, oh my God! Brad has just received a notification from the bank. Have you taken me out of your accounts? »
« Yes. »
« Why would you do that? »
« Because I’m not a bank, Jessica. »
I’m your mother.
« It’s not fair. We needed this money. »
« No. You wanted it. »
There is a difference.
« So what? You punish me because I forgot an appointment. »
« You are working behind. Je me protège. »
Silence.
Jessica then said, « You know what? Very well. If that’s how you want to be, fine. »
Don’t expect us to keep calling you.
« I won’t. »
She hung up. Sitting in the darkness of the hotel room, the phone on my lap, I waited for guilt. Regrets.
He didn’t come. What happened instead was unexpected: relief.
The next day was Sunday. My birthday. I woke up at seven, took a shower, and put on my navy blue dress.
Not for a party. For me. I went downstairs and had breakfast alone.
Then I took a cab to Santa Monica. I strolled on the pier. I watched the street performers.
Families with ice cream. Couples hand in hand. At noon, I was sitting on a bench facing the ocean.
The water was grey-blue. Infinite. I took out my phone and took a selfie.
Me — well-groomed grey hair, navy blue dress, a smirk — the pier and the ocean in the background. I posted it on Facebook. My first post in months.
Legend: 70. And I’m getting to know my worth. In one hour, there were 63 « Likes ».
42 comments. Happy birthday, Dorothy. You look great.
Have a great day! A comment from my nephew’s daughter Emily: « Happy birthday, Aunt Dot! »
You deserve all the happiness in the world. (With three heart emojis) I said, « Thank you, my love. »
Want to have lunch together this week?
« I’m the one who invites, » she replied immediately. « Yes, I’m free on Tuesday. »
I smiled. I really smiled.
That afternoon, I flew home. The flight was calm. I had a row all to myself.
No one to be accountable to. No one to play for. Phoenix greeted me with its dry warmth and familiar silence.
I took a taxi home, opened the door, and stood in the driveway of my little house. Everything was as I had left it. The dishes were in the sink.
Mail on the counter. Robert’s photo on the mantelpiece. I put down my suitcase, took off my shoes, made a cup of tea, sat on my terrace and watched the sun set behind the mountains.
The palo verde dropped its yellow flowers. A mourning dove cooed not far away. My phone rang.
Jessica. I didn’t answer. Two days later, Emily came.
She was 27 years old, worked as a graphic designer, had the warm laugh of her father and the gentle gaze of her late mother. We sat in my kitchen, ate sandwiches I had made, and drank iced tea. « So, » she said, « do you want to tell me what really happened in California? »
I told him.
Not everything. Just what was needed. When I had finished, she reached across the table and shook my hand.
« Aunt Dot. I’m sorry. »
« Don’t be. I’m not. »
« Good.
Because you shouldn’t be.
She paused. « You know, I’ve always wanted to get to know you better. I just thought… I don’t know, that I would be indiscreet. »
« You wouldn’t be. »
« So, can I accept your invitation to lunch once a week? »
Or a coffee? Or just sit here eating your sandwiches.
I felt a soft warmth spread through my chest. « I’d like to. »
Over the next month, the situation changed.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
