“For my start-up,” he says, resisting the urge to cap off his reply withDuh.
“Right. Your start-up. Remind me what it’s called?” Townsend knows he’s told Mother the name of his start-up before—several times, in fact. It’s been months since he publicly launched to consumers (after operating in private beta for nearly a year), but he doubts she could recall the name even with a gun to her head.
“AutoInTune,” Talia answers for him. “It’s a platform for holistic autoimmune care. You should see the pitch deck for his expansion plans. It’s very comprehensive.”
Townsend smiles, touched by Talia’s support. “It was Dad’s rheumatoid arthritis that inspired me to create it. You know, maybe if he’d been diagnosed earlier and had access to a virtual team of experts, he wouldn’t have developed heart disease. Maybe he’d still be alive.”
“So you’re diagnosing autoimmune diseases? With your bachelor’s in finance?”
Townsend takes a generous swig of his drink, attempting to keep his cool. “I’m not diagnosing people. I’m offering personalized, evidence-based care. AutoInTune assigns members to a team of health experts, like dietitians and sleep coaches, to help them manage autoimmune symptoms. It’s only been four months since I launched our virtual platform, and nearly ninety percent of users have already reported a reduction in hospital visits. The next step is expanding our reach and lowering out-of-pocket costs for users.” He’s been practicing his pitch for Brett’s brother; he knows this spiel by heart.
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
He takes a deep breath. This is his chance. “Well, as you may remember, Dad was a generous contributor during my seed-funding round. I’m working on developing enterprise partnerships now, but if I really want to reduce costs at scale, I need more money.”
“Oh?”
Under the table, Talia grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze. He briefed her on the car ride to the club, so she knows what he’s about to ask. “Which is why I’m hoping to gain access to my trust.”
They hadn’t been particularly close, Townsend and his dad, but still, his unexpected passing devastated Townsend. The man was his father, and he’d looked out for Townsend in ways Mother never would or could. And though his dad had seemingly encouraged Townsend’s entrepreneurial ambition in life (why else would he have providedearly-stage capital to AutoInTune?), he’d revealed his true feelings in the most cowardly way: after death.
Townsend can still remember the gut punch he’d felt, learning that his inheritance—his birthright!—had been put into an inaccessible trust. To add insult to injury: As the trustee, Mother was the one who’d determine when he acquired the funds. It made sense that his little sister Blake, eight years his junior, didn’t have access to her trust—she’s basically still a child. But he’s an adult, a thirty-four-year-old man with a smart, serious girlfriend and a legit health care start-up. He’d even recently deactivated his Instagram, erasing the last vestiges of the scotch-swilling libertine he’d been in his twenties. There was no reason he should’ve been punished.
The food arrives then, and they hold conversation as the server sets down their meals. Townsend watches as his mom artfully drizzles honey over her Greek yogurt bowl and takes a slow, lingering bite—and he’s about to make his request again, wondering whether she heard him at all, when she finally speaks.
“Isn’t that what investors are for? Getting more money?”
“I’m meeting with some firms. But I already gave up a large amount of equity in my seed round. I want to retain some control.” He doesn’t want to get into the real reason he’s reluctant to approach investors—not now, and not with her. “Anyway, I’m sure Dad would have faith in my company, seeing as he already invested in it.”
“Townsend,” she sighs. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I’d like to discuss it again.”
“The discussion is over. You’ll gain access when you’ve proved you’re ready for it.”
“What more do I have to do to prove myself?” Townsend hates the petulance creeping into his voice, but he can’t help it. He could be a drug addict, or a drunk, or a hard-partying playboy, but instead, he’s a clean-cut Penn grad whose worst crime is occasionally showing up a few minutes late to brunch.
As though reading his mind, Mother says, “You could start by addressing your chronic tardiness.”
“It’s my fault we were late today, ma’am,” says Talia, saving him. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I was having trouble deciding what to wear.”
Mother makes a face, as though to sayAnd that’s what you chose?But instead, she asks, “And would you ever ambush your family like this at what was supposed to be a nice birthday brunch?”
“I ...” Talia hesitates. “I wouldn’t, but that’s only because I don’t have a relationship with my family.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” says Mother—and though she’s likely too tactful to pry further, Townsend wants to be sure she moves on from this topic. Plus, he selfishly wants to keep this conversation on track.
“Will you at least consider giving me access to my trust?”
In a singsong voice, she says, “We’ll see.” An empty promise that makes Townsend feel violent.
It isn’t until the drive back to his condo—when his head isn’t so clouded with outrage—that he notices Talia’s silence. “You okay?” he asks.
She responds without turning away from the window. “All good.”
By now, Townsend knows Talia well enough to assume she’s still thinking about her family, who she’s told him about in bits and pieces: her father (a butcher with calloused hands, a personal Bible on his nightstand, and a mean streak), her mother (a commission-based cold caller who either cried or drank herself to sleep every night), and her older sister (who—after getting pregnant at sixteen—was sent away to live in a faith-based maternity home called Neveah’s Oasis). Leaving for college was what convinced Talia to cut ties with her family for good, but Townsend can tell that the decision weighs heavily on her, even to this day. “I’m sorry if my mom overstepped at all,” he tells her. “She can be nosy.”
“It’s okay.” Talia shrugs. “I like talking about my job.”
