“How about you?” I ask, looking away from the letter in case that will keep my family’s bad luck from crawling across the table. “Even that stock-picking monkey did well this month.”
“Somehow, I’m not offended. All right, my net worth at market close today…” She glances at her laptop. “Eight hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars.”
“Even?” I tease.
“Dude, no one cares about your dollars and cents. Spare the people.”
“Hey, I give every dollar in my army some credit.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, my little army’s almost at the finish line. Lean FIRE with a kid in San Francisco. Tell me that’s not a circus act.”
It might not be. A paid-off Outer Sunset house courtesy of her parents makes her freedom number only half of what mine is. The four-grand I owe for rent each month alone nukes any shot I have at lean anything.
“Congrats to you,” I say, trying to keep the bitter out of the sweet. Watching Jenny get close should be inspiring. Mostly it makes me want to run harder. “How’s it feel to be over eighty percent there?”
“Surreal. We started this podcast to stay motivated through the years where nothing feels like it’s moving. Now we’re in the home stretch, and it’s… amazing. Wish they taught this stuff in school.”
“Right?” I say. “When we met, you told me every dollar I invested would turn into fifty-eight. Imagine being twenty and knowing each dollar could grow into eighty-eight.”
“And… we are now the least relatable humans on the planet.” Jenny glances at the clock.
Twenty-six minutes. If we go over thirty, half our listeners will bail.
“Alright, what’s on tap for this week?” I ask, beginning our closing segment.
“Normal week for me. Quick trip to my in-laws, then San Diego for work. Auto-investments hit Friday.” Jenny’s son leapsand flails near their bikes, and her eyes flick to the floor. “And my son’s school play is this week… which I’ll miss, because I’ll be in San Diego for work.”
Her voice falters.
“That’s the motivation,” I say, painfully aware that time like this doesn’t come back. “Think of all the afternoons and school plays you’ll see in a few more months.”
“Balance,” she sighs. “I just wish there was a mom instruction manual.”
I turn to Wyatt. “And who are you in the play?”
He reacts to the attention like an actor being handed the spotlight, bicycle spokes and toy-filled metal shelves becoming a seven-year-old’s stage. Puffing his chest, he rips off his goblin mask to hold his hands up like claws.
“The Big Bad Wolf!” he bellows before resuming his frantic dance around the garage, now in character.
“What about you?” Jenny asks, letting me choose how honest to be.
Thinking about tomorrow drags my gaze back to the folded paper, my pulse picking up at the sickening sense that this has nothing to do with what happened to Pawpaw and everything to do with what’s happening to me.
“I’ve got a meeting with HR tomorrow,” I say. “So next week is… uncertain. But thanks to our sponsor, The FI Escape, I’ll be at their California retreat this weekend. Jenny can’t make it, but I know a lot of our listeners will be there.”
“Thanks for listening. Share this podcast with someone you love, and help them achieve financial freedom. This is Jenny.”
“And I’m Ash, closing out this episode ofSkinny Fat FIRE.”
Our mic lights click off. The show’s over, and there’s nothing left to distract me.
“Tomorrow’s the big day?” she asks, lowering her voice and reaching for my hand.
I nod, trying to focus on Wyatt sprinting inside instead of the tightness wrapping around my ribs.
“Bigdoesn’t capture how much of my life hinges on this meeting.” I squeeze her hand and grab the folded letter to shove it deep into my pocket.
“That nervous?” she asks, staring at my pocket.
