Read Online Everything You Want by Barbara Shoup - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Shoup
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life on the road in the Winnebago he’s now decided for sure to buy.
Freud’s personality hasn’t improved any. He comes waddling at us, squawking.
“Whoa,” Dad says, tossing breadcrumbs Mom didn’t end up using for the dressing. “We bring gifts.”
Freud stops, his neck an arrow pointing at us, hissing.
It’s funny, really. Dozens of ducks start hurrying up from the water, quacking, happy to get the bread we throw out to them, but Freud won’t touch it. Like he’s thinking, jerks! They’re millionaires on account of me, and they’re bringing me stale bread ?
When we get back, Mom and Dad sit Jules and me down and Dad says, “Your mom and I want to talk to you about some arrangements we’ve made.”
“What arrangements?” I ask.
Money, it turns out. Dad goes to his den and returns with two intimidating folders, which, he tells us, hold information that explains everything in detail. “For the time being,” he goes on, “all you need to know is, you’ve got a million dollars each. The money’s been invested, though; and—until you’re thirty—you can only spend the interest it earns. After taxes, that’ll probably average out to be around seventy thousand dollars a year.”
Of course, I have to be a smart-ass. “Only seventy thousand a year?” I moan. “God, Jules, how will we ever survive?”
Of course, she starts to cry. “You’re already giving me an apartment,” she wails. “Now you’re giving me money, too? Dad , I’m grown up. I’m supposed to be taking care of myself.”
“Calm down,” he says. “Will you? And listen to me. We’re rich, okay? All of us. Your mother and I just expect you to be sensible with what you have, that’s all.” He looks at me. “Both of you.”
He launches into a lecture about how seventy thousand dollars a year might seem like a lot, but it’s easier than you’d think to go through that kind of money in no time flat. Then, suddenly, he stops. “Oh, fuck it,” he says, grinning. “We’re Scrooge McDuck! We’ve got money out the wazoo! I don’t give a damn what you do with it.”
“Within reason,” Mom says.
“Absolutely! Within reason.” Dad grins. Then he goes to the kitchen and brings back a bottle of champagne, apparently purchased for this moment.
He pops the cork. Jules lifts her glass toward me. “Maybe we should go live in St. Maarten,” she says.
“Maybe,” I say. “A nice little villa could be very groovy—set up like we used to set up the backseat of the car on the way to Michigan: one side yours, one side mine, and nobody crosses the line. On the other hand, why stay in one place? I’m thinking, why not take a whole year and follow the sun all over the world? Better yet, follow the snow! Skiing in New Zealand in August. Would that be cool, or what?”
“Hey!” Dad says. “I’d sign up for that!”
Late that night, sleepless, still heady with all the possibilities, I get up and head for the kitchen, thinking I’ll make myself a turkey sandwich and top off the perfect day. But I hear Mom’s voice coming from the living room and stop in the hall to listen.
“But why now ?” she says. “I can’t help thinking about what it might’ve been like if we’d gotten the money when we were younger, when Julie and Emma were still at home. We could have given them so much more.”
More what, I think? I mean, we weren’t rich before we won LOTTO CASH, but I can’t remember anything I really, really wanted that I didn’t get because we couldn’t afford it.
Dad, ever practical, points this out to her now.
“I know that,” she says. “It’s just—” her voice wobbles. “I always wanted a big, wonderful house for them to grow up in. With window seats in their bedrooms and a screened-in porch for reading away summer afternoons. It’s dumb, I know. But sometimes I think of all the things I meant to do better with Julie and Emma and wonder if it would’ve made a difference raising them in the house I
Freud’s personality hasn’t improved any. He comes waddling at us, squawking.
“Whoa,” Dad says, tossing breadcrumbs Mom didn’t end up using for the dressing. “We bring gifts.”
Freud stops, his neck an arrow pointing at us, hissing.
It’s funny, really. Dozens of ducks start hurrying up from the water, quacking, happy to get the bread we throw out to them, but Freud won’t touch it. Like he’s thinking, jerks! They’re millionaires on account of me, and they’re bringing me stale bread ?
When we get back, Mom and Dad sit Jules and me down and Dad says, “Your mom and I want to talk to you about some arrangements we’ve made.”
“What arrangements?” I ask.
Money, it turns out. Dad goes to his den and returns with two intimidating folders, which, he tells us, hold information that explains everything in detail. “For the time being,” he goes on, “all you need to know is, you’ve got a million dollars each. The money’s been invested, though; and—until you’re thirty—you can only spend the interest it earns. After taxes, that’ll probably average out to be around seventy thousand dollars a year.”
Of course, I have to be a smart-ass. “Only seventy thousand a year?” I moan. “God, Jules, how will we ever survive?”
Of course, she starts to cry. “You’re already giving me an apartment,” she wails. “Now you’re giving me money, too? Dad , I’m grown up. I’m supposed to be taking care of myself.”
“Calm down,” he says. “Will you? And listen to me. We’re rich, okay? All of us. Your mother and I just expect you to be sensible with what you have, that’s all.” He looks at me. “Both of you.”
He launches into a lecture about how seventy thousand dollars a year might seem like a lot, but it’s easier than you’d think to go through that kind of money in no time flat. Then, suddenly, he stops. “Oh, fuck it,” he says, grinning. “We’re Scrooge McDuck! We’ve got money out the wazoo! I don’t give a damn what you do with it.”
“Within reason,” Mom says.
“Absolutely! Within reason.” Dad grins. Then he goes to the kitchen and brings back a bottle of champagne, apparently purchased for this moment.
He pops the cork. Jules lifts her glass toward me. “Maybe we should go live in St. Maarten,” she says.
“Maybe,” I say. “A nice little villa could be very groovy—set up like we used to set up the backseat of the car on the way to Michigan: one side yours, one side mine, and nobody crosses the line. On the other hand, why stay in one place? I’m thinking, why not take a whole year and follow the sun all over the world? Better yet, follow the snow! Skiing in New Zealand in August. Would that be cool, or what?”
“Hey!” Dad says. “I’d sign up for that!”
Late that night, sleepless, still heady with all the possibilities, I get up and head for the kitchen, thinking I’ll make myself a turkey sandwich and top off the perfect day. But I hear Mom’s voice coming from the living room and stop in the hall to listen.
“But why now ?” she says. “I can’t help thinking about what it might’ve been like if we’d gotten the money when we were younger, when Julie and Emma were still at home. We could have given them so much more.”
More what, I think? I mean, we weren’t rich before we won LOTTO CASH, but I can’t remember anything I really, really wanted that I didn’t get because we couldn’t afford it.
Dad, ever practical, points this out to her now.
“I know that,” she says. “It’s just—” her voice wobbles. “I always wanted a big, wonderful house for them to grow up in. With window seats in their bedrooms and a screened-in porch for reading away summer afternoons. It’s dumb, I know. But sometimes I think of all the things I meant to do better with Julie and Emma and wonder if it would’ve made a difference raising them in the house I
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