then recalling that it was Friday. “Well, can you put on your money goggles for a few more minutes?”
He laughed. “They never come off, Libs. Is this about divorce lawyers? Because I already looked into it. It’ll run you about twenty-three thousand, give or take a few. Mediation’s a fraction of that, but if you want to take Tom to the cleaners, I suggest spending more up front.”
“He’s worth nothing.”
“You can say that again, sister.”
I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. It was pointless; Paul could smell my sob from eight hundred miles away. “Oh, Libby. I know you don’t like it, but I’m sending you a psychic hug right now. Mmm-mmm! Okay, now hold on, I’m going outside so I can hear you better.”
When the commotion died down, I asked him how much money I would need to live on for a year. I probably wouldn’t last that long, but just in case, I didn’t want to be a burden, not even to Paul, who had roughly a trazillion dollars tied up in investments and property but who also had two children to care for.
“Are you taking a year off?” he said with a mix of delight and horror. Paul became comatose when he wasn’t working, and had two smartphones on his person at all times. But he liked the idea of downtime and was constantly telling me to take a break.
“Affirmative.”
“What are you going to do with yourself?”
“I’m going on vacation. Then maybe I’ll come see you and spend some time with Dad,” I said vaguely. If our mother’s ovarian cancer was any indication, I would also lose half my body weight, pretend not to be in horrific pain, and compensate by sleeping for fifteen to twenty hours at a time. But Paul would learn this soon enough.
“Perfect! The twins will be so happy to see you, and we can do career brainstorming while you’re here. I think you would make a brilliant hedge fund manager.”
“If that was true, I wouldn’t be calling you to figure out how much cash I need.”
“I do see your point. So . . .” He muttered a few numbers to himself, then rattled off a figure that was higher than I was expecting. “I want to double-check this when I have my computer in front of me, but I’m assuming you’ll need to front your own health coverage and will end up paying the entire mortgage on your own. You’ve been following my plan, haven’t you?” he asked, referring to the budget he created for Tom and me several years ago.
“Of course. Paul?”
“Hit me.”
“Wh—”
“Ow!” he exclaimed, and in spite of myself, I laughed; I’d been falling for that stupid joke since we were kids.
“Seriously, though. What if I sell the condo?”
“And come live with me for a while? I could turn the whole bottom floor of the brownstone into a private apartment for you.”
“Maybe,” I said vaguely, as I had no intention of actually moving in with him. “How much would I need then?” I wanted to liquidate as many assets as possible. Also, the idea of Tom being homeless was appealing.
Paul gave me another number, one that was much lower.
“Awesome. One last question. I want to give, um, some money away. You know, try to boost my karma and lower my taxes for the year,” I said, asking God to forgive me for this and the many fibs I’d had to tell over the past several days. “How would I find a good charity?”
“Check out Charity Navigator. They have a full rundown of who’s legit. Look for an organization that has at least a B-plus rating.”
“You know everything,” I said. I was starting to see the light again.
“It’s a burden, I tell you.”
“I love you the most, Paul.”
An hour later, I emptied half my savings. I would’ve unloaded the entire account, but since there was a chance I’d have to split it with Tom if I lived long enough to legally divorce him, I stuck the other half in a cash deposit.
I couldn’t find a well-established charity specifically for children who had lost parents to cancer; and while
He laughed. “They never come off, Libs. Is this about divorce lawyers? Because I already looked into it. It’ll run you about twenty-three thousand, give or take a few. Mediation’s a fraction of that, but if you want to take Tom to the cleaners, I suggest spending more up front.”
“He’s worth nothing.”
“You can say that again, sister.”
I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. It was pointless; Paul could smell my sob from eight hundred miles away. “Oh, Libby. I know you don’t like it, but I’m sending you a psychic hug right now. Mmm-mmm! Okay, now hold on, I’m going outside so I can hear you better.”
When the commotion died down, I asked him how much money I would need to live on for a year. I probably wouldn’t last that long, but just in case, I didn’t want to be a burden, not even to Paul, who had roughly a trazillion dollars tied up in investments and property but who also had two children to care for.
“Are you taking a year off?” he said with a mix of delight and horror. Paul became comatose when he wasn’t working, and had two smartphones on his person at all times. But he liked the idea of downtime and was constantly telling me to take a break.
“Affirmative.”
“What are you going to do with yourself?”
“I’m going on vacation. Then maybe I’ll come see you and spend some time with Dad,” I said vaguely. If our mother’s ovarian cancer was any indication, I would also lose half my body weight, pretend not to be in horrific pain, and compensate by sleeping for fifteen to twenty hours at a time. But Paul would learn this soon enough.
“Perfect! The twins will be so happy to see you, and we can do career brainstorming while you’re here. I think you would make a brilliant hedge fund manager.”
“If that was true, I wouldn’t be calling you to figure out how much cash I need.”
“I do see your point. So . . .” He muttered a few numbers to himself, then rattled off a figure that was higher than I was expecting. “I want to double-check this when I have my computer in front of me, but I’m assuming you’ll need to front your own health coverage and will end up paying the entire mortgage on your own. You’ve been following my plan, haven’t you?” he asked, referring to the budget he created for Tom and me several years ago.
“Of course. Paul?”
“Hit me.”
“Wh—”
“Ow!” he exclaimed, and in spite of myself, I laughed; I’d been falling for that stupid joke since we were kids.
“Seriously, though. What if I sell the condo?”
“And come live with me for a while? I could turn the whole bottom floor of the brownstone into a private apartment for you.”
“Maybe,” I said vaguely, as I had no intention of actually moving in with him. “How much would I need then?” I wanted to liquidate as many assets as possible. Also, the idea of Tom being homeless was appealing.
Paul gave me another number, one that was much lower.
“Awesome. One last question. I want to give, um, some money away. You know, try to boost my karma and lower my taxes for the year,” I said, asking God to forgive me for this and the many fibs I’d had to tell over the past several days. “How would I find a good charity?”
“Check out Charity Navigator. They have a full rundown of who’s legit. Look for an organization that has at least a B-plus rating.”
“You know everything,” I said. I was starting to see the light again.
“It’s a burden, I tell you.”
“I love you the most, Paul.”
An hour later, I emptied half my savings. I would’ve unloaded the entire account, but since there was a chance I’d have to split it with Tom if I lived long enough to legally divorce him, I stuck the other half in a cash deposit.
I couldn’t find a well-established charity specifically for children who had lost parents to cancer; and while
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