Family Trust

by Kathy Wang

  When Linda arrived at the mega-shop, turning the familiar corner, she impulsively chose the wrong lane and found herself trapped in a string of cars at a complete standstill. The culprit, of course—once she managed to catch a glimpse—was a dour Asian woman in a bloated Mercedes SUV, the most expensive model, wearing one of those ridiculous oversize sun visors. As Linda idled closer, she saw that the woman had on a quilted jacket, a halfhearted Burberry imitation made all the more lurid by its contrast with the opulence of the vehicle, and gave an involuntary shudder. She knew exactly how Americans saw women like the Mercedes driver—as indistinguishable from herself. An Asian lady consumed with the creation and consumption of money, who neglected to hug her children. Why did white people like to pick and choose from cultures with such zealous judgment? Of course they just loved Szechuan cuisine served by a young waitress in a cheap cheongsam, but as soon as you proved yourself just as adept at the form of capitalism they had invented? Then you were obsessed. Money crazed. Unworthy of sympathy. And God forbid your children end up at superior schools; then it became all about how much they must have been beaten, the investigative conjecturing over what creative instincts had been snuffed out in order to achieve such excellent test scores.

  As she crept toward the Mercedes, Linda could clearly make out the woman’s terror. She seesawed between reversing out of her spot and then lurching back in, petrified of hitting one of the cars waiting increasingly impatiently for her space. A man in a red Toyota truck and a Hillary Clinton ’08 sticker leaned out his window. “Hurry the fuck up!” he called.

  The woman ignored him. Didn’t he know none of them had taken driver’s ed in high school? Though they had—at least at the #1 Girls’ School—practiced target shooting with rifles, which you’d think Americans would approve of, Linda thought. Eventually, each of the cars in front of her gave up, the red truck zooming off with squealing vigor, and she turned on her signal and dawdled, giving the woman a good thirty feet. And snagged the spot.

  “Who managed the money, when you and Dad were married?”

  These days, Kate only asked to spend time together when she already had plans for something else—errands, or shuttling the kids from one of their myriad expensive activities. This was something that usually bothered Linda in theory—wasn’t she worthy of a solo lunch or dinner date?—but she rarely minded in execution. The tasks were typically something she needed to get done anyway, like the pharmacy or library, and sometimes they were even interesting. Linda had meant to go to Whole Foods ever since Stanley’s diagnosis. Why was green juice so expensive, and why couldn’t she just make the same at home for far less?

  “Your father did, of course. He wanted complete control of the finances.”

  Kate frowned. “But you always said he was bad with money.”

  How quickly children could sway from protective to critical! Kate had chewed her out just last week, when Linda had lightly suggested that she and Fred prod Stanley for updates on his will; as far as Linda was aware, no progress had been made, typical of Stanley.

  “He’s sick!” Kate had cried, as if being seventy-five with a fair chance of dying that year was so much more significant than the conditions everyone else their age toiled under on a daily basis. That was why Linda had long since finalized her own estate plan, moving all of her assets into a family trust, with clearly marked copies and supporting documentation in her file cabinet. A heart attack could happen at any moment; a stroke could reduce one overnight to a jabbering simpleton. And then where would you be, if you hadn’t planned ahead? There was the regular truth, and then the economic reality—how foolish she was to have assumed that her son, who had chosen a career in finance, and her daughter, who worked for one of the most profitable companies in the Bay Area, would understand this.

  Linda let it go. They were having a nice time and were going to eat lunch after. She also had some questions about probiotics she thought Kate might be able to answer. “I didn’t always know your father was so stupid. You have to remember, he’s a few years older than me. When we met, he was already getting his PhD! How was I to know he’d never end up finishing? He was an engineer, so I thought he would be good with numbers.” She shouldn’t have said stupid, she realized. Kate would take offense; it probably wasn’t a word allowed to be used for those with cancer.

  “And how much did you guys save of your income? What percentage?”

  “Well, we both worked, so there were two paychecks coming in. Of course, that was just our situation, I know every household is different these days,” Linda added piously. “Each person’s paycheck was deposited into their own separate account. Your father wanted things that way. Probably to be sneaky. From my account, I paid the household costs, any bills for you and Fred. And then once the money left over reached $5,000, I wrote your father a check. Then he’d go and manage it, since of course back then I didn’t know how stup—uneducated he was with money. Still, we probably saved around fifty percent that way.”

  The figure was actually closer to 65 percent; the separate accounts were how Linda had been able to steadily squirrel away for so long without Stanley’s knowledge. She probably should have realized earlier how incompetent he was—what sort of so-called financial genius didn’t notice 15 percent of the household money disappearing, for decades? But he’d benefited handsomely in the end. Only Stanley, Linda thought, could manage to conjure money out of ignorance.

  “What if one of you wanted to make a big purchase? Like a car or house remodel?”

  “Why? Denny wants a new car?” It would be just like her lazy son-in-law to dream up more ways of spending money, instead of earning it. She would have to find out the make and model, which Kate would surely be cagey about. A BMW? Porsche? Or dear God, a Tesla? Linda saw them everywhere and still hadn’t figured out why they were so expensive.

  “There is no car. I was just wondering. Doing some basic planning.” Kate had a faraway look. Could she and Denny be having financial issues? Linda waited patiently, but Kate didn’t elaborate. She filed this nugget away under To Be Investigated Later.

  “Well, your father and I, we didn’t really spend much, ever,” she prompted. “And things like a car or roof we would save a little for each month, so there were never too many surprises. We didn’t have all the luxuries our children do, these days.” She darted her eyes over to catch Kate’s reaction, but she was still. Linda tried again. “Did I tell you about Yvonne Cho’s daughter? She is having her third baby and is a vice president at Facebook now. Isn’t Facebook the same size as your company? Their stock has been doing very, very well. I bought a little for myself. Already up thirty percent!”

  “You did tell me about your friend’s daughter.” Kate yawned. “Facebook is a very successful and large company.”

  “You could always have another baby, you know. But soon, before you are too old. I wish I had.”

  “I told you, the train stops at two. There’s no way we’re adding another child. Especially not now.”

  “Why? Your health? You’ve always been delicate, eh?” Which to be honest was probably from her side of the family, seeing how Stanley’s entire lineage was comprised of healthy peasant stock.

  Kate fingered boxes of green tea. “Don’t buy any of those,” Linda commented. “Very overpriced.”

  Kate put back the box she held and turned toward Linda. “Do you remember when you used to say that one bad decision could change your life?”

  “I did?” Linda couldn’t remember. Lately, she’d had the overwhelming sensation that there were no single, seminal moves that completely altered the course of one’s destiny. Instead, life just seemed to be a series of small mistakes, which you continued to make over and over again.

  “When we were growing up. You said it all the time.”

  “Maybe I was talking about Stanford admissions.”

  “Like Dad,” Kate persisted. “Why did you even marry him, and then stay together for so long? It kind of seems like you always hated hi
m.”

  “I didn’t always feel that way. I was very young and naive when we married. I believed everything your father told me. It was only after many years that I saw who he really was. And then before I knew it we were already old, and I realized that if I ever got sick I couldn’t count on him to take care of me. He would always put himself first, even if I was dying, so it’d serve him right if— Well, anyway, life can be very funny. And he had such a bad temper, with you and Fred. The way he used to yell and go crazy!”

  “He never lost it with you?”

  “Never. He knew I wouldn’t stand for that.” She felt a hot pang of regret, the stowed memory of Stanley’s erratic violence with their children. Maybe she should have done something more about it back then, really threatened to leave him if he didn’t stop, but at the time it had seemed impossible. As it was it had taken her decades to assemble her courage. Besides, what could be done about it now?

  “I will speak to your father about his will,” she declared.

  “I’m not interested in his money.”

  “Why not? I earned most of it. You don’t care that I worked so hard? You have enough already for Ethan and Ella, their college? Your retirement?”

  “Of course I care. I know how much you did for him.” Kate looked cross and then confused. “The college funds—I’ll have to think about that later.”

  A woman approached, a tall brunette with two miserable-looking children in tow. As she and Kate exchanged greetings, Linda unconsciously took a step back and stood silently. It was a habit she had acquired when her children were teenagers and embarrassed by her.

  “This is my mom,” Kate said. “We’re doing some shopping. Ma, this is Sandra Mays. Her daughter goes to Children’s Academy with Ella.”

  The woman smiled toothily. Linda bobbed her head and stared at the ceiling. It was useful, for an introvert, to allow white people to assume you didn’t speak English.

  “So funny to see you here,” the woman exclaimed. “This isn’t my normal Whole Foods; we’re here because Kayla has a class nearby. Didn’t I see Ella at Jade Mountain the other day? The new nanny seems nice.”

  “The park? Ella goes, but usually with Denny. Maybe it was one of the other mothers.”

  “Ah! Well, my mistake.” The woman smiled silkily. “And how is the hubby?” she asked after a moment. “You’re so lucky Denny’s such an involved parent. Brian would expect a parade in his honor if he ever took the kids outside.”

  “He’s fine,” Kate said curtly.

  Linda was taken aback by her tone, and studied the woman more closely. This Sandra person was a crafty witch, she decided, and was deliberately making the point that Denny’s shiftlessness meant they had no need for paid childcare. It was the sort of stunt Shirley Chang was always pulling, loudly exclaiming her well wishes for whatever she found most worthy of disapproval in your life, thus announcing to everyone your misfortune.

  Despite Kate’s rudeness, the woman continued to linger. “Are you going to the gala?” she asked. “We pay so much in tuition already, why these schools need even more is beyond me. I might end up attending solo, since Brian just transferred to a new job at Google. It’s more internal, but of course they’ve still got him signed up for all sorts of public events, symposiums and the like. . . .” She glanced at her phone, and then jammed it back in her pocket. “The other day Julie Reznikov comes up to me at pickup, you know who she is, her son’s that husky shouter, the one always swaggering around the swings like a little bully. Her husband works in Brian’s new group. And she starts talking about the Founders’ Award, as if I had any control over who gets that. Well, to be honest, I could probably try, since Brian depends on me for so much. I basically dictate all his white papers. But Julie Reznikov? Fat chance.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m going,” Kate said. “Work.”

  “Well if you are, let me know. I’m happy to pick you up; our neighborhoods are so close. At least until our new place in Los Altos Hills is finished. Austin!” The woman gave a tug at the boy, who had batted down a row of boxes. “We can text,” she called back.

  Kate gave a wave. After she was gone, Linda sidled closer. “Who was that woman?” she asked in Mandarin. “She said she lived near you. What do she and her husband do?”

  “Sandra?” Kate quickly glanced around. “Don’t worry about her, she’s harmless. Kind of an idiot, actually. The husband too.” She grimaced, and for the first time Linda could see small lines around her mouth.

  She patted Kate on the shoulder, an aggressively affectionate gesture. “You want to talk any more about your dad?”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m going to sit with him tomorrow during chemo. You don’t want to come, do you?”

  “Why would I? He has a wife, doesn’t he?”

  Kate exhaled, with a look that indicated she was exercising infinite self-control. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you?”

  Linda considered this. So far, the only person she had confided in about Winston was Yvonne. They’d met for lunch at Lemon Fish, one of those pleasurable meals where there were endless topics to discuss and the day seemed to yawn ahead with nothing but empty hours. When the restaurant closed they’d moved down to Starbucks to continue, commandeering a small outdoor table as far away as possible from a group of smoking teenagers.

  “Jackson is driving me crazy,” Yvonne had confided, kicking off one of their most popular topics. “I’m thinking of finally leaving. You know what he told me yesterday? That going forward, he will no longer vacuum the house. Apparently, for the forty years we’ve been married, each time I’ve asked him to vacuum I’ve been demeaning him! And you know what his reasoning is? That PhDs shouldn’t vacuum, because it’s a waste of their time. As if sitting in front of the TV in your robe is so efficient.”

  “You have a master’s,” Linda pointed out. “And you were always the better student. Remember how Professor Shih said it was you who should have won the department math award, not Jackson? And you have your children, your grandchildren.” And Jackson his other family in Taiwan, she added in her head, a little tidbit everyone knew but nobody spoke of, at least not to Yvonne. Though Yvonne wasn’t as pitiful a doormat as everyone assumed—Linda was one of the few privy to the knowledge that as a condition of future matrimony, Yvonne had negotiated that the entirety of her and Jackson’s current and future assets be placed in a trust in their children’s names. The wife and child in Taiwan, Linda assumed, would get nothing when Jackson kicked off—which is how it should be and how responsible heads of households conducted affairs, unlike her idiotic ex-husband, who would probably end up leaving it all to some trashy villager.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Jackson is very smart.” Yvonne never missed a chance to worship her husband. “But I am getting tired of him.”

  “Being divorced isn’t so difficult. I much prefer it to being married to Stanley. And I’m not lonely. Why—” Linda hesitated, and decided to push forward. “I even have a boyfriend.”

  “A boyfriend?” Yvonne leaned in. Romantic gossip was a rarity in their group. Linda, as the only divorcée, had already provided conversational fodder for years, a fact she’d always loathed. “Where did you meet him?”

  And then, within minutes, Yvonne, the most gentle of all of Linda’s friends, had managed to extract that Winston:

  owned no property in the Bay Area or greater California region,

  had not attended any of the top colleges in Taiwan or Hong Kong or mainland China, and,

  had still never met Linda in person!

  She should have lied about the last part, Linda realized, when the merits of a virtual relationship became impossibly difficult to explain to a technology blockhead like Yvonne. Being forced to expound on what she wore on camera, or how she was certain Winston wasn’t some imposter, or (most shame-inducing) how they managed to be intimate, had been her most humiliating experience in recent memory. Yvonne had deftly excavated for details under the feigned guise that
she, too, might one day discover herself in an online relationship and in need of such knowledge—no doubt revenge for all the times Linda had done the same with detailed inquiries into Jackson’s shadow family.

  Finally, unable to take it a moment longer, she had blurted that she wasn’t feeling well and had to go. Yvonne grasped her hand. “Linda, you are so smart and capable. I know you will take care of yourself.”

  When Linda returned home, her answering machine flashed eight missed calls and her cell phone another six. She prepared dinner and carefully watered each of her orchids before deigning to answer the ringing handset.

  “Why didn’t you pick up?” Winston roared. “I called many times. I was so worried!”

  “I was busy.”

  “Whenever you don’t answer, I’m so frightened something happened to you. That maybe you were in a car accident, or someone broke into your house. Can’t you have some sympathy for how I feel? I would die if something happened to you.”

  “Why would you die?” Linda snapped. “We’ve never even met.”

  Later, after she’d apologized for her mood, she told Winston about her lunch with Yvonne. “She said I should be very careful with you,” Linda said, even though Yvonne hadn’t, not exactly. “She thinks it’s strange, that we haven’t met.”

  “There is nothing more I would like than for you and I to see each other. I told you, just say yes and I’ll buy you a ticket. Business class, of course.”

  “I don’t want to go to Lebanon.” Western Europe was the least-civilized destination she was willing to travel to these days, and even Paris or London could be tolerated only once every few years. “Why can’t you come here? The weather is so nice, and Din Tai Fung just opened.”

  “I would do anything for a bowl of spicy pork and vegetable dumplings.” Winston groaned. “Please, my darling, just wait a little longer. Once the sanctions are over, I’ll be able to travel again. And then the first thing I’ll do is send you the beautiful Buccellati bracelet I saw last week in Vanity Fair.”