There are a few gifts that stand out from the others, though. Someone took the time to have our wedding announcement from the paper encased in an ornate gold frame, and I immediately steal it for my room. There’s also a pair of his-and-hers matching cashmere robes complete with our monograms. The same couple also included an elegant box filled with Ladurée macarons. I tuck into the sweets immediately while slipping into my new robe. Rest assured, that couple gets an extra-long thank you note written from the heart and complete with a tiny smudge of raspberry filling I can’t get off. Oops.
I’m actually enjoying my morning of unboxing gifts until my mom calls.
I let her first call go unanswered because I don’t want to be bothered, but then she calls again, and I worry that it’s something actually important.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Elizabeth. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
Not bothering to answer that question, she steamrolls right along. “Are you still in that hotel in New York? Please say you’ve moved somewhere more decent.”
I consider for a brief moment telling her the truth about where I’m living, but I think better of it. I don’t know what she’ll do with that information, and more likely than not, she’ll assume there’s more to the story than there really is.
So, I give her the barest details.
“I actually found an apartment.”
“Oh? Where? Please tell me you have a doorman at least. I worry about you being in that city all on your own.”
“Um, yes, there’s a doorman.”
“Good. Where is it located? Not north of 96th, I hope.”
“It’s in Tribeca, actually.”
“Tribeca? How can you afford an apartment with a doorman in Tribeca?”
“It’s…um…small.”
“Of course. It’d have to be.” I can practically see her grimace on the other end of the line. “I don’t see why you choose to live there when you could move home and do your art here. Or better yet, find a profession that’s a bit more suitable for you.”
Just the phrase “do your art” makes my blood boil. It’s derogatory and she knows it.
“Are we really going to do this again? Every time, Mom? I’m going to start ignoring your calls.”
“Oh all right, I’ll set that issue aside for now. I actually have an important reason for calling you today, and it’s not to give you a lecture. I need your assistance.”
“My assistance? What now? Have you talked to Charlotte yet, by the way? You do realize she never planned on running away with her driver, right? That was all a lie. You let her off the hook too easily.”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me. Charlotte is none of your concern and I plan on dealing with her accordingly, but what you did for your father and me…well, I hardly think it was some huge sacrifice. Not after everything we’ve done for you.”
Immediately, my hackles go up. “Everything you’ve done?”
“Yes. We provided you with every resource you ever needed while you were growing up. Everything you ever dreamed of—riding lessons, dance classes, private tutors. You were enrolled at the most prestigious schools, and you were connected to all the right families.”
I bite my tongue rather than argue with her about what a child really needs. She’ll never see it from my perspective. I’d rather save my breath.
When I don’t argue, her tone eases up. “That being said, I’d like you to please speak with Walt on our behalf concerning our monthly disbursement from the trust. It hardly covers the credit card bills, let alone mortgage and insurance and living expenses.”
Of course. I knew this was coming. I knew that original amount would never be enough for the way they like to live.
“Can’t you talk to him yourself? I didn’t agree to be the family liaison.”
“I would plead our case if he’d take our calls. We’ve been trying to get in contact with him ever since we received our second wire transfer. It’s a pittance, Elizabeth,” she hisses angrily.
“I don’t know why you think I’ll be able to get him to increase your monthly payout. I don’t have any sort of sway with him. We’re not even friends.”
“Well then become friends, Elizabeth. I expect an update from you in a few days. Please do this for us.”
I don’t want to go to Walt with this. In fact, I’m trying hard to distance myself from my family in his eyes. It’s clear he harbors no love for them, and I don’t want those feelings to rub off on me, though they probably already have. On top of that, I’m already asking too much of him as it is. Living with him is embarrassing enough; I don’t think I can work up the courage to go to him and ask for even more.
I decide I’ll wait a few days, just to see if maybe he’ll return my parents’ phone calls himself and settle the matter without my involvement. It’s a good plan considering I have more pressing matters on my agenda, namely calling Hauser & Wirth incessantly to try to get in touch with their acquisitions director to confirm whether or not they’re taking on new artists. So far, I’ve only managed to speak with the receptionist at their New York office, and she’s starting to get annoyed with me.