“Okay, Georgiana?” Sasha directed, hoping she wasn’t opening the floodgates for a diatribe on the offensive history of sailing culture.
“I had a really amazing morning, actually.” Georgiana smiled. “I met with a woman who provides feminine hygiene products to schools in northwest Pakistan. She told me that less than twenty percent of women in Pakistan have access to pads. Otherwise, they just use a piece of cloth. And women are told not to bathe during their periods because they have been taught that it will make them infertile. I donated ten thousand dollars and that will pay for almost five hundred school-age girls to have pads for a year.”
“That’s amazing,” Sasha said. It was amazing. What an incredible thing to do.
“I’m really not sure that is dinnertime conversation, Georgiana,” Tilda interjected. Chip looked slightly green and was staring at a puddle of cocktail sauce on his plate.
“Mom, I think poverty is a really important dinnertime conversation,” Georgiana countered. “I think that’s a big mistake we’ve been making as a family, only talking about things that make us comfortable. We need to talk about what life is actually like for most people.”
“But we don’t need to talk about menstruation!” Tilda objected.
“Fine,” Georgiana agreed calmly. “But I don’t want to hear about white asparagus or trunk shows. Let’s talk about something real.”
“Okay.” Tilda wrinkled her brow in concentration. “Sasha, would you like to tell us what it was like growing up poor?”
The entire table swiveled their heads to look at her. Cord, Darley, and Malcolm wore looks of horror. Georgiana bit her lip. Hatcher gnawed on a buttered dinner roll.
“Sure.” Sasha laughed. “But I should clarify that I didn’t actually grow up poor. My family was middle class.”
“Oh, of course, dear,” Chip interjected. “You know, seventy percent of Americans define themselves as middle class. But the reality is more like fifty percent . . .” He trailed off and Sasha smiled, amused at his insinuation.
“Okay,” Sasha started. “Both my parents worked. My mom was a school guidance counselor at a middle school two towns over and my father worked for a company that made uniforms for sports teams.” Sasha was trying to think of what might seem strange about her life to the Stocktons. Maybe it all did? She knew that to the vast majority of people she met, the life that she was describing was completely ordinary, but they were listening to her as though she were describing an upbringing in a yurt on the salt flats.
Some part of her must have secretly wondered if she felt shame before her in-laws over her relatively modest origins. Chip and Tilda had never seen her childhood home, had barely spent time with her parents, but as Sasha spoke, she was surprised by the ease with which she told her story. She pressed on. “I had jobs on the weekends and then summer jobs when I got older. When I was fourteen my dad was laid off and things were stressful for about six months. We had to cut back. Then my dad got an even better job, this one at a company that put custom logos on branded clothing, and everything went back to normal. We got a new car and a few years after that he bought his boat.”
“What did you do for vacations?” Darley asked. She had been listening closely as Sasha spoke.
“Oh, we did lots of fun stuff. Normal stuff. We drove to Niagara Falls. We went to Orlando when I was nine. We drove to Quebec and I practiced my high school French, and we took a funicular up the hill in the old city.”
“Oh, I’ve been on that funicular,” Georgiana said.
“I mean, I had a good education and I graduated from college without debt, which is kind of shocking these days. And now I have my own business, and before Cord and I got together I was making plenty to pay for a nice apartment and a car and an upgrade every time I cracked my iPhone on the sidewalk. I’ve been lucky. I hope I can one day pass that on the way Georgiana did today.” Sasha smiled meaningfully at Georgiana.
“But Georgiana is still so young,” Darley interjected. “She doesn’t know yet what she might need her money for. You have a husband and a house, Sasha. Even if everything went sideways, you’d still be okay.”
“Even if everything went sideways, I would still be okay too,” Georgiana spoke up. “I have thirty-seven million dollars. And that’s not even counting the money tied up in property or what I’ll inherit from Mom and Dad. There is no possible event on earth that would cause me to need that kind of money.”
“But you don’t know that yet, George,” Cord said. “You’re still really young. A lot could change.”
“I’m actually not that young. I’ve been pampered. And I want a lot to change, Cord,” Georgiana said. “I am so grateful for the money. I am so appreciative of you, Mom and Dad. And of all our grandparents. The money is a gift. It’s a chance for me to create meaning in my life and for me to actually save people.”
“What would you do?” Sasha asked, looking at her sister-in-law. Georgiana suddenly seemed different. Where she had been filled with such furious energy for the past several months, she looked calm and emanated a force Sasha usually associated with people who did lots of yoga or rubbed CBD lotion on their bodies.
“Well, Bill Wallis and I have a plan,” Georgiana explained. “My trust currently throws off more than a million a year in dividends. Up until now I’ve just been leaving it alone and letting it compound. But we’re thinking I can start off slow and set up a foundation that offers one million dollars a year in grants. I’ll keep the principal invested for now as I get my bearings. But the goal will be that over time I will transfer all my stocks out to other not-for-profits.”
“What kind of not-for-profits?” Darley asked.
“I’m still figuring it out, I need to research more, but I want to focus on women’s health in Pakistan. That is what Brady was working on when he died. It’s a place where my money can have a huge impact. And it’s a place where there has been a lot of stigma and misinformation surrounding women’s health and sexuality. Nobody should feel ashamed to get their period. Women need access to contraceptives. They need sex education.”
“Isn’t that what you do at work, though?” asked Cord.
“From a distance. But I want to do more. I was thinking that instead of doing communications I could be a donor and I could tag along on some projects. There’s a trip to Benin, in West Africa, coming up, and I want to ask the founder if I can donate to the project and then go and observe their reproductive health program. Maybe someday I could join them on a trip to Pakistan. But I also want to work with other not-for-profits. I need to learn about more places. My friend Curtis has a whole group of people he hired to help him learn about good organizations. I’m sure it’ll take me a couple of years to really understand the best way to do it.”
“You don’t sound like someone who is having a psychotic break,” Cord acknowledged.
“Thanks,” Georgiana said drily.
“But you know foundations shouldn’t have to be the answer. The real problems are tax laws, antilabor policies, and the slow expansion of the welfare state,” Chip said. Everyone turned and looked at him as though the dog had begun speaking Dutch.