Christy told the salesman what she wanted, and he showed us a red SL 500 convertible with all the options. To absolutely no one’s surprise, it was love at first sight.
Purely out of curiosity, I checked the sticker price and actually laughed. Out loud. The car cost as much as a house. Granted, not as much as ours, but plenty of people could’ve bought a comfortable place to live for the cost of the Mercedes.
Christy didn’t even notice the price, of course, and the poor salesman thought he had an easy sale. Lucky for him, I wasn’t mean enough to prolong things with a test drive.
“Okay,” I said instead, “let’s make sure Susie’s car seat will fit. The older girls’ booster seats too.”
“I’m sure they will,” Christy said breezily.
The salesman looked confused, which was understandable. The car was a two-seater, with a luggage well behind. Christy hadn’t noticed that little detail. In her defense, her mother’s convertibles had had rear seats.
“Let’s check,” I said, “just to be sure.”
At that point the salesman looked at me. He glanced at Susie. Then his eyes fell to Laurie and Emily. They smiled politely, of course, and I actually felt a little sorry for the guy as he realized he wasn’t going to get a fat commission after all. He sighed and nodded in resignation.
Christy wasn’t very happy when she figured it out. The salesman rallied and tried to sell us a sedan instead, but I thanked him and apologized for wasting his time.
“You could’ve just told me,” Christy sulked as we drove to the Honda dealer.
“I tried.”
“Fine. We’ll do it your way. Stupid mommy van.”
* * *
We had our next argument about schools.
Laurie had gone to Catholic school for kindergarten and first grade, and Christy wanted her to continue. I wanted her to go to public school, especially since our local elementary was the best in the area. I had an ulterior motive as well. I didn’t want Laurie and the younger girls to grow up in the same conservative environment that Christy had.
“Sister Prune,” I reminded her.
“Quality education,” she shot back.
We both dug in our heels that time. Trip and Wren were on my side—they’d both gone to public schools, after all—but three against one made Christy even more stubborn.
“Why don’t we compromise,” I said at last. The first day of school was approaching quickly. “Let’s look at private schools that aren’t Catholic.”
Wren thought that was a good idea, but Trip was Trip.
“Seriously? It’s a waste of money,” he complained. “Besides, we don’t have to send our kids to school with theirs.”
Wren gave him a look that could’ve seared steak.
“What?” he said defensively. “We don’t.”
She ignored him and started working on Christy. She eventually convinced her, but Christy was a bit of a sore loser.
“First the stupid mommy van, now public schools.”
“It isn’t a public school,” I said patiently. “It’s the best private academy in the area.”
“It isn’t Catholic.”
“Quality education,” I countered.
“Fine. Ugh.”
The academy was expensive and exclusive. We had to jump through some hoops to get Laurie admitted, but we made it work. They had a pre-K program as well, and they gave preference to younger siblings, although it didn’t matter in Emily’s case. She scored so high on the admission test that they practically fell over themselves to enroll her.
Trip grumbled almost as loudly as Christy, although Wren ignored him and went through the process to get Davis and Missy admitted. Trip still balked at the cost of tuition, so Wren wrote the check herself.
“Our kids are going to school with theirs, and that’s final.”
* * *
Our lives settled into a routine once the kids were in school, so we began making concrete plans for the new design company. Wren took a page from her mother’s playbook and offered to invest. She insisted on it, actually.
“I’ll match Trip’s share of the startup capital.”
“I can do the same,” Christy said to me. “With your half, I mean.”
I resisted the urge to point out that the amounts were the same, so it didn’t matter whose half was whose. Then I started doing the math. She had money in the trust fund from Nana C., but I didn’t think she realized how much. The startup investment would almost clean her out.
I glanced at Trip, but he’d never been the type to turn away money. And his utter lack of surprise convinced me that I was the “one” in this three-on-one discussion. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since I’d done the same thing to him five years earlier, when we’d started our first company. He grinned smugly when he realized I’d figured it out. Fortunately (for him), Wren started up again before I could say anything.
“If you guys want us to play Suzy Homemaker, then we want an equity share in the company.” She was talking to me, of course.
“Yeah!” Christy agreed.
“We don’t want a say in the day-to-day operations, but we want the financial security.”
“Yeah.”
“Besides, you guys can’t do your jobs if we don’t do ours.”
“Yeah. Wait, what?”
Wren looked at her. “What’s the matter?”
“Your job doesn’t have anything to do with theirs,” Christy said.
“I meant at home. Watching the kids. Cooking and cleaning.”
Christy frowned. “Hold on, I thought you were—”
“I am,” Wren said quickly.
Trip’s smugness faded as he sat forward. “Um, babe…? Is there something you wanna tell me? Have any of the headhunters called?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hated the phrase, which was why she used it. “Christy and I are going to keep the home fires burning while you guys get the new company going.”
“Home fires?” Trip countered. “But you don’t have anything to do at home. Not without the kids there.”
“I have other plans,” she said evasively.
Trip knew he wouldn’t get anywhere by arguing, especially if Wren didn’t want to discuss it. He decided to feign indifference instead, which was his way to annoy her.
“Whatever,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be successful. Let me know when you’re ready to share.”
Wren eyed him suspiciously. He was never that agreeable.
They were playing games with each other, and I was happy to leave them to it.
* * *
Trip and our attorney handled most of the paperwork for the new company, but the rest of us still needed to review and sign the articles of incorporation. We sat around the dinner table one evening, and Trip handed out copies.
Christy bounced with excitement when she received hers, although I thought I knew why. This was the first time she’d ever been a shareholder in one of our companies.
I was wrong, as I found out almost immediately.
“Hold on,” I said, “what’s this?”
“What’s what?” Trip asked, a little too coolly.
“Here, the name of the company, Paul+Hughes Design. I thought we were going to call it Whitman-Hughes.”
“We were,” Trip said, “but I decided to change it. Whoa. Let me rephrase. It was Wren’s suggestion. We discussed it and all agreed to the change.”
Christy beamed and nodded enthusiastically.
“We didn’t tell you because we wanted it to be a surprise,” he finished.
“Well, you succeeded! But… why? Change it, I mean.”
“Several reasons. But it was Wren’s idea, so I’ll let her explain.”
She thanked him with a smile and took up where he’d left off. “First, we don’t want any whiff of Trimble—”
“Scumbag.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “So… we haven’t moved on?”