That statement is rich, coming from a woman who recently inherited an estate worth hundreds of millions.
“You would know.”
“Better than most,” she replies blissfully oblivious to my sarcasm. “I worked my butt off to build my business.” This is true. My mom put in long hours to establish her successful residential real estate business which she recently sold. An even more impressive feat, considering she did all this as a single mom.
“You certainly have a formidable work ethic,” I say.
“I’ve never been a slacker—not even after retirement.” My mom recently retired when she turned fifty. “I take my leisure seriously. Did I tell you that we took first?” she asks, referring to a tennis tournament she participated in two weeks ago while I oversaw my grandfather’s estate sale.
“That’s great, Mom,” I say, tamping down my resentment. I wish she would have joined me as I went through my grandpa’s belongings. Sorting through his stuff made his death feel more permanent. I wanted to have my mom with me—or at least someone. But she couldn’t face it. And I get that. I do. But I didn’t like doing it alone. My mom had suggested that weoutsource the job of sorting through grandpa’s belongings, but it was important to me to oversee it. I wanted to make sure I kept a few sentimental objects that reminded me of him. I brought home boxes of photos and letters, and some of grandpa’s old clothes, including his silk bathrobe that he wore every morning as he read his paper. My mom hadn’t wanted a thing.
“I had resigned myself to missing two days of tennis training to sort out this Greenwood mess. But now that the cottage is yours, you can take care of it.”
“Sure thing.” I sound more chipper than I feel about going to tell a widow and her two daughters that they need to vacate their home.
“Great! You can go tomorrow, right?”
“Tomorrow?” I gulp, checking my calendar. “Um... I can probably make that work.” The Norland project is a top priority. We had planned on my mom selling by next week. I definitely could cancel a few appointments if it means I can finally settle the deal.
“Good, because I already reached out to the resort manager and booked a room.” Of course she did.
“Um, okay... I guess I’m going on a road trip.”
“Thank you! I can’t say what a relief it is to have you take this off my plate.”
“No problem. It’s my responsibility, if the cottage really is mine. I can’t believe Grandpa left it to me.” There’s definitely a part of me that wants to keep the cottage and the land. For what? I don’t know. But it’s been in the family for so many years.
“Me too! I can’t get over the shock of it. Got to go! My trainer’s here. Oh and Edward...”
“Yes?”
“Don’t go falling in love with a Greenwood girl.”
“Why would you say that? You know I’m dating someone—Caroline. Remember?” I met the stylist at grandpa’s estate sale. We’ve been on a couple dates and things look promising. In some ways, Caroline is a lot like my mom. She’s certainly ambitious and determined. “Caroline’s clever and forthright in a way I think you’d appreciate.”
“What’s her last name?
“Bingham... and before you ask, no, you don’t know her parents. Her mom’s a schoolteacher and her dad sells insurance. Though her brother’s a successful venture capitalist.”
“Why would I care what her brother does? She’s obviously nothing special. Edward you’re such a catch—thecatch, with so many well-connected girls angling after you, why do you keep dating nobodies?”
Maybe because my dad is a “nobody” and I rather like him. Maybe because I want an ordinary life. I don’t bother explaining this to my mom.
“Mom, there’s no such thing as a nobody.”
“I cannot wait for you to outgrow this earnest and idealistic phase.” She huffs out a patronizing sigh. “Though Caroline sounds a sight better than a Greenwood. Be on your guard—this Elinor will probably try to entrap you. I don’t know what it is about the Greenwoods. They’re notthatpretty. But men—especially the men in our family—tend to go mad for them.”
It was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject. —Sense and Sensibility
2
Elinor
“Sooo... ?” My sister asks with a sing-songy voice as she pops her curly head into my office door. “What’s the story about the new owner?” I glance up from my laptop where I’m scanning job listings. I fear the arrival of the new owner will mark the end of our idyllic life in Bumble Cottage. To live in Big Sur, you must be resilient. We put up with mudslides, wildfires, power outages, and bridge closures, but it’s the soaring cost of housing that’s been pushing the hardiest locals to pack up and leave the only home they know. Watching friends move away, I’ve known our days are numbered. But I maintain a brave face for my mom and sister.
“Not much, except Barbara Norland has no clue how booked we are in the summer. Her secretary demanded we find a room for her with one day’s notice. Can you imagine?”
“So you moved her to the top of the waitlist?” Annie asks as she glides into my office. As usual, flowers adorn my sister’s mane of curls. Today the flower of choice is sweet pea.
