“Is that so.” I scrape some eggs from the pan to a dish and try not to think about Halston sleeping down the hall. I want to focus on my time with Marissa. “Where are you going to keep this horse?”
“At grandma and grandpa’s.”
I serve Marissa her breakfast. Without my prompting, she’s already packed, dressed in jeans and a sweater with her blonde hair in a neat ponytail. Sometimes I think she’s got it together better than her mother or me. “Look, you know I’d buy you a pony if I thought it was a good idea.”
“Not a pony, Dad. I’m not five years old.”
“Sorry. My mistake.” I turn back to the stove to make myself a plate. “Pets require a lot of upkeep. Are you going to go straight to Gran’s every day, right after school, to take care of the horse? Then go homeanddo your homework? You won’t have time for friends or fun or anything else.”
“It won’t be that hard if we’re living there,” she says.
I set my plate on the table and sit across from her. “Where?”
She chews, shrugging. “Gran’s.”
“Why would you be living with your grandparents?”
“Mom said maybe. She hates the apartment.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not news to me that Kendra thinks she’s too good for the place I helped her pick out earlier this year. Moving in with her parents, though? Kendra’s beyond help, but Marissa still has a shot at growing up well-rounded and cultured—not sheltered and spoiled like her mom.
And since Kendra’s family is loaded, any job Kendra’s ever had has been for pleasure. I never cared what Kendra did with her days until the divorce went through and left me paying alimony and child support to a woman who has over a million dollars in her trust fund. Marissa needs a dose of reality, and Kendra obviously isn’t going to give that to her. That’s why I wanted to bring her to the city in the first place. But that was before the divorce.
I pour us each a glass of orange juice as I formulate my argument. “Horses cost money,” I say. “A lot of money.”
She picks up a piece of bacon. “Never mind. I’ll just ask Gran.”
“Why?”
“She has money. You’re broke.”
I slow-blink, sliding her juice across the table to her. “Why do you think that?”
“Mom and Gran. I heard them talking.”
I rub my jaw. I can sugarcoat the truth for Marissa like Kendra does, like I used to. Or I can be honest and teach her a valuable lesson she’s never had to learn—money doesn’t appear from thin air. It has to be earned. “Marissa, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m not broke.” Not yet anyway. “I will always take care of you.”
“And Mom?” she asks, peeking up at me.
“And Mom,” I agree. “At least as long as it’s court mandated.”
“What?”
“Never mind. My point is this: Gran and Grandpa have money because Grandpa worked very hard to earn it. He was good at what he did and he went to work every morning until nighttime.” I have to pause to keep from gritting my teeth. It’s all true, but I have little respect for Kendra’s father, who reminds me of my old boss when I worked on Wall Street. Anything for a buck, no matter who it affected. “So,” I continue, “that hard work made him money, and that’s why Gran and Gramps are rich.”
“You work hard,” she says. “I know you do. I saw you go to work every day when you lived at home and it was always nighttime when you got back.”
I put my elbows on the table. “Yeah, but I didn’t like my job. For most people, that’s okay, but I want to love what I do. So I started over, which means it’ll take me longer to get back to making money.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I smile. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just trying to explain to you about money. You’ve always had it because of Gran and Grandpa, and I know your friends have it too. But not everyone does, babe. Some kids,mostkids, would never even dream of owning a horse. When I was your age, I had to mow lawns in my neighborhood and give my parents the money I made to buy groceries.”
She widens her eyes. “You didn’t have food?”
“We did,” I say. “Because your Grandpa Frank had a steady job, and I pitched in.” Marissa doesn’t see Kendra working, and Marissa’s grandpa is recently retired. I pinch her nose with my bacon-greasy fingers to ease the wrinkles in her forehead. “Don’t worry. I promise, we’re all going to be fine. I just want you to go home and think really hard about whether or not you need that horse, and if you can’t live without it . . .”
She bounces in her seat. I guess she knew I’d give in one way or another.
