“It’s the least I can do, given all you do for me,” I said. We were eating off my timeless Wedgwood-blue china because why have it if you don’t use it? A few of the teacups were scarred by the cruel assault of time, but so was I, and I think we both hid our ailments well.
I enjoyed cooking for more than just myself, but there weren’t many people I could tolerate for the entire time it took to eat a meal. Nathan was the rare exception. Besides being my nephew, he was also a lawyer. I had invited him for supper on the pretense that I had a legal matter to discuss with him. Of course he was too elegant to broach the subject during the meal. So we chatted about his love life （inexplicably nonexistent）， his job （tolerable but not scintillating）， my garden （ensnarled by ivy）， and of course my kids （too busy, always too busy）。
“How is my brother?” I asked Nathan because it would be impolite not to. Nathan’s father was my only brother, and among those people I could endure only in limited doses.
“Dad’s fine,” Nathan replied. “Still gets up at dawn every day to oversee his empire.” He chuckled at his own joke. My brother had some sort of wholesaling business; it bored me to tears to talk about it. But it got his four kids through college, and he seemed to like it well enough. As long as I didn’t have to hear about the latest shipment of whatever from wherever, I was perfectly pleased for him to carry on.
I cleared the plates and put the kettle on, and Nathan took that as his cue to inquire why I had called him. “So you mentioned there was something you wanted to talk to me about?” he said as I put out a plate of store-bought shortbreads. I didn’t like to bake, but I did enjoy a bite of something sweet after supper, and I’d never met a cookie I liked more than Lorna Doone.
“I’m going to change my will,” I announced as I sat back down across from him. I had an estate lawyer—I didn’t need Nathan’s help with this. And he looked appropriately confused.
“Change it how?”
“I’ve been thinking about it and have decided that it doesn’t represent my wishes,” I said, evading the question. What I was about to ask him was bound to be received with some resistance; I thought it best to ease into it.
“Are you asking me to do it?” he asked.
“No, you can’t.”
“Why not?” And it was time to drop my first bomb.
“Because I’m leaving everything to you.”
He opened his mouth to object, but I cut him off. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided it’s the only way.” I was hoping he’d ask, “Only way to what?” but he didn’t take the bait.
“Louisa, if you want to see Winnie and Charlie more often, you should just tell them.”
“Why should I have to goad my own children into coming to see me?” I harrumphed. “Both of them live within driving distance; it’s despicable that they never visit.”
“Because they are ambitious, just like their mother.”
“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?” Nathan knew full well my children were not consumed by ambition—that I would have respected. No, they didn’t come see me because they were selfish, and with more than just their time. I’d never told Nathan all they had withheld from me—it was too upsetting—and I was certain they hadn’t told him, either.
“I am touched that you want to make me your beneficiary,” my nephew said, “but I can’t let you do that.”
I knew what he was thinking. If I left my money to my nephew instead of my children, the family would implode. His siblings would revile him. My children even more so. They would sue. Everyone would hate everyone. Which was not only true, but kind of the point.
“Why do children assume they are going to get everything their parents worked for?” I said. “It’s not like they did anything to deserve it. Plus they already had the opportunity to be rich; why not give another family member a go at it?” I despised the notion that being rich was their destiny simply because they were born into it. They were humans with free will, not fish.
“It’s just the way it works,” Nathan replied. “Besides, getting all your money would ruin me,” he added. “I’d become a lazy, rotten slob.”
“Is that what you think happened to me?” I asked.
“Perhaps a little bit rotten,” he said with a sly smile. “But not lazy or a slob.”