I clutch the phone tightly. “Do you think I’d be calling you if it wasn’t?”
“I suppose not.”
“You’re going to do this or what?”
“If I do, then what’s the guarantee that you’ll still stay? Until next year.”
“There isn’t. But that’s what it’s gonna take for me to come work for you.”
I expected another thoughtful silence but he’s prompt in coming back with, “Fine. I’ll do it.” I’m releasing a breath of relief when he continues, “But not with your trust fund.”
“What?”
“That money is yours. I can —”
“No,” I growl. “It has to be my trust fund. It has to bemymoney. The money that belongs tome. You’re gonna give them that money. You’re gonna tell them that you’re feeling generous and that they should use this money for NYU. That they should use it for… her.Mymoney.”
It has to be mine.
I don’t know why this is so important to me.
Why I want her future to be paved by something that comes from me, but it is.
I will pay for her education, her dreams, and no one else.
Me.
“Okay,” my brother says, after a few seconds. “Your money.”
“Good.”
“And I’ll make some phone calls in the morning. See what I can do to get her in.”
For the first time tonight, I feel like I’m able to breathe then.
No, it doesn’t change the past and what I did.
But maybe this might fix a few broken things.
This might bring her some… happiness. Ease her heartbreak a little.
“So Monday then?” my brother asks when I stay silent.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Nine o’clock. Sharp.”
If he thinks that just because he’s doing me a favor, I’ll become his bitch, then he has another think coming.
“Nine-thirty,” I counter.
“Nine-fifteen.”
“Fine.”
“Wear a suit,” he tells me then.
“Over your dead body.” Then, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll wear a suit at your funeral.”