“Okay, well, respectfully,” I say, wishing that chastising your parents about money could ever stay in the realm of respectfulness, “you guys don’t have the funds to make large purchases like that and stay financially afloat for the duration of your lives.”
“No one knows how long they’re going to live, honey,” my mom points out, as though I’m a toddler learning about death for the first time.
“Of course not,” I reply, taking a deep breath and trying to not give in to my greater impulse to flee the room. “But that’s why a financial adviser is helpful. They’re there to make assessments about what you have and how to plan.”
“I know that’s a comfort to you,” my mom says, as though this is all a fantasy and I’ve got some crystals and dream catchers to help me divine the future.
“She recommends,” I plow on, ignoring the commentary, “that at this point you put the majority of your money into an annuity. I already have you in long-term care insurance, which is automatically withdrawn from your account, so that covers you if anything catastrophic happens. But the annuity would cover that as well as give you a monthly income to live on.”
“Income is good!” my dad says, and I can tell he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“So we just give them our money and they give it back to us?” my mom questions. At least someone is listening.
“Yes, it’s a way to have a guaranteed income for your lifetime. That way you can’t spend it all. The way you’re sort of doing ... now.”
Everyone is silent for a moment. I look over at my brother and see he’s carefully looking through everyone so he doesn’t have to make eyecontact with anyone. He’s such a coward when it comes to anything like this. He and I agreed that we needed to convince our parents to do something to keep them more financially stable. They’ve never been in debt, so obviously they’ve had some sense of what’s in the bank. I’m hoping if there’s a limit, they might actually adhere to it.
“How much of a dent could a fish tank really make?” my mother says, waving everything away the way she does when she wants to minimize.
“Mom, you spent ten thousand dollars on a four-hundred-gallon fish tank. That’s absurd, even for you,” my brother finally says. “In your financial bracket, with your low expenses and your mortgage paid off, you should be spending that amount over two months, not one day in a pet store.”
I knew the accountant in him would be bursting to speak eventually, even if he always takes too long to join in. But I wish it didn’t have to come out so harshly. I guess I wanted backup, though, and beggars can’t be choosers.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Nora,” my mother says, ignoring Ike and turning to me. Maybe the bad-cop thing is good for me, because if she can feel smug for giving Ike the cold shoulder, then perhaps I can get her to agree with this more quickly. “You always take care of everything, and I’m so happy to let you.”
She leans over and touches my cheek. I know she meant her words as a compliment, yet I can’t help but have them land with a thud in the pit of my stomach. She has no idea how much extra time this setup is going to add to my life, even if she wants to maintain an unwarranted belief that this is all no big deal. Annoyance creeps and winds its way around my center, but I have to push the feeling aside. I need to close this out.
“Okay, great, so I’ll bring the paperwork to dinner next week,” I mention, shrugging off any other commentary I might want to inject.
“Lovely!” my mom says. She’s clearly ready to move on, petting one of the Waldos under the table, and he’s now begging for scraps andnot-so-discreetly getting them from her. “Who’s up for pie? I bought it with my own hands!”
My dad snorts at her terrible and overused joke, and my mom hops up to go grab dessert. I’m relieved the conversation is over, even if the topic isn’t really resolved. I don’twantto be the person haranguing my parents over fish tanks and online-forum idiocy. But I’m not sure what the other option is. At least getting their finances under control will take them off my back a little bit. This is what kids do for their parents.
I’m going to keep telling myself that anyway. And eat a piece of pie while I’m at it.
Chapter 7
One day I’ll get you to admit defeat on extra hyphens in so many of your words. I’m trying to not be too amused by the fact that your error this week was thinking “overdoing” was “over-doing,” since adding in that hyphen was really overdoing it.
Too cheesy? Sorry, can’t help it. Grammar nerd. And I definitely can’t relate to this week’s column because I don’t think I could ever get a tattoo. Not that I wouldn’t want something permanent for someone I loved. But I’m fairly certain I absolutely could not pull it off. Someone who recently referred to themselves as a grammar nerd probably isn’t going to look cool with whatever word-related tattoo they choose (see now that, by the way, is a great use of a hyphen). But now, thanks to your column, I have another reason to feel happy I never got a tattoo, because I wouldn’t want to make a new partner uncomfortable. I think your advice was solid—after all, we don’t burn every photo of an ex once we break up, but we would respectfully take the photo off our bedside table. Permanence is a choice every single day. Justbecause stasis is the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the right choice.
Anyway, well done on this one. (By the way, word-nerd alert that I just can’t resist: “Well-done” actually does get hyphenated if it’s a compound adjective, like describing a well-done steak, but otherwise it stays as two separate words. You’re welcome).
Well, if I’d wanted a kick in the pants, he couldn’t have said anything more obvious. Reminding me that stasis isn’t the right choice just because it’s easy is probably the clearest blinking light of a sign anyone could write.
I usually look forward to Tuesday mornings, but because of my chat with Ari a few days ago, I woke up with an uncharacteristic trepidation, knowing the time had run out on my promise to her about telling J about London. While it’s easy enough to say something while sitting in a room with your therapist, it’s quite another to take action when you know that action is waiting for you on your laptop.
I’d buried my head under the pillow for a full five minutes when my alarm went off. But ever the dutiful Nora, I pulled myself up, dragged my laptop over, and was once again instantly floored by the prescience of what J had taken the time to write me.
And I know it’s time to take a leap for myself.
I take a deep breath, and write a response.
I think if you got a tattoo it would have to be the words “Grammar Nerd” in some very simple sans serif font. You heard it here first.
On another note, I’m coming to London in August when they’re having that reception for the new boss. I don’t know if this is weird but ... do you want tograb coffee or something? If you’re too busy I totally get it.
I close out the document and stand up from my bed. That document, thatnote, feels like a ticking time bomb. I could erase my response now, quickly, if I really wanted to. But once he looks at it, it’s over. I can’t unsay it.
