Yours, For Good (Cozy Latine Billionaires #4)

5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Date : September 7 To : Mr. Smith From : Eleanora Subject : What is charity, really?

Dear Mr. Beanpole,

As per my subject, I've been thinking a lot about charity. How most people think it's generous and altruistic. That it helps change things. But it doesn't, Mr. B. Not in the long term.

PLEASE, don't get me wrong: I'm truly, deeply appreciative of the opportunity you've given me. Your sponsorship to this program is a bridge to my dreams like I never thought possible, and I will freely acknowledge that you've effectively changed the course of my life. But if it changes my life, how does it change the life of the other students at JGH?

Because, really, we'll still be living in a world that makes it possible for people to be in need in the first place. Policies keep things in the status quo. Unless power gets properly distributed and laws and action make it sustainable, charity won't really make a difference except for a tiny portion of us. Then we get what-abouted or tokenized. And the pattern repeats forever, nothing ever getting any fairer.

I think that was my biggest problem with the John Grier Home Charity. I needed the JGH, Mr. B. I wouldn't have been able to complete my studies without its support. And the JGH reminded me of that often, made me feel like I OUGHT to be thankful, and see it as a miracle, and see it for its complete benevolence… like the JGH was the one studying for me, tutoring for me, or cleaning the ten toilets in the home for me. Like it wanted me to remember my place in the reality of it all and that, if I was afforded the chance to write my own story, it was because of their power— their goodness. Not my effort: their magnanimity.

That's why meritocracy is a myth, you see.

But back to my point. Giving is such a messy thing, because our society has made it messy. I'm sure you know my business plan will involve supporting and guiding youth that can't pay for the services themselves; that a percentage of each full fee enrollment goes to subsidize a sliding scale for others. I'll be perpetuating the problem, in a way, won't I? Because I can't change policy or culture as a whole; I don't have that kind of power.

It makes me sad, but I don't know how to help, otherwise.

Take care this evening, Mr. B.

Nora

Javier

Oof.

I threw myself on my guest bed in Laguna Island, and covered my eyes with my forearm. Night had fallen late in the coastal small town. Some of my friends still chatted away and visited, enjoying the balmy evening and the view from Max and Eva's patio.

The Pacific and twinkling lights were breathtaking, but I retired early. Several emails had reached me at once, including one from Nora. I thought I could catch up with everything, journal for a bit, and then read a book before sleep. That was until Nora's message hijacked my intentions.

Fuck. I liked to think of myself as a progressive man. Someone who'd grown in a world that taught me to expect all doors to be wide open for me and who, despite the odds, had managed to lift the veils covering my eyes.

It had taken a long time and a lot of luck to figure out the extent of my grandmother's advice. When she had said to flip the script, she hadn't only meant leaving the Pendleton rules behind. Freedom from the family's expectations and their views of the world implied seeing our wealth and social responsibility differently, too.

I bit back a groan and, sitting at the edge of my bed, reached for the phone I had thrown on the comforter.

Surrounded by light sage-green walls and thick, wooden beams; with the sound of breaking waves in the background and laughter reaching me through the window, I read Nora's email again. And again.

Shame washed over me, for my share of responsibility in making Nora feel pain.

It wasn't her responsibility to teach me a lesson, but I had much to learn from her insight. In my position, I could never know what it was like to be in the shoes of someone like Nora. With every letter, she showed me a new perspective and it was made clear— what I thought I knew was lacking.

I tried to be good, do good, but I had to be better. Everything had to change. Just like Nora said, giving money away wasn't enough.

I used the mortification flooding into my chest. I let it make me solid. Determined.

Max knew I wrote in my journal every night. I suspected that's why I got the guest room with a desk in his and Eva's newly renovated home, and I left my bed for the beautiful piece of furniture. Unable to enjoy the classically carved wood, I put on my glasses and opened my trusty diary.

For the next hour, I wrote every intention down; a bullet point through which to hold myself accountable. I promised to myself and Nora, I would do everything in my power to do better with every single project and program and scholarship I ran. If I had anything to do in the matter, I would make sure things turned out well for Nora, too. I would pay attention. I would witness her journey and do what I could to make her experience a bit easier to cope with. There wasn't much I could offer, not in the current set up while not jeopardizing the opportunity for future JGH students, but I would do what I could.

I just needed to find the right thing to do.

Nora

Fall was around the corner, but not much had changed when I looked out the window to the city. I had been in San Francisco for two and a half months, and it may not have been home yet, but it had started to feel familiar.

One of the many advantages of being surrounded by rich people was that the coffee in the break room was incredible . It was so velvety and it smelled so good, I might have been developing a mild dependency. Sigh. I loved it. My emotional support hot bean juice.

I poured a large cup and breathed in the rich smell. It promised an ease; a spike of that delicious focus I so needed to keep up with the program tasks. Even the scent alone brought me back to my body, and the sound of liquid hitting porcelain swore everything was going to be okay.

The feeling shattered once I was back at the working table and I opened my laptop. The taste itself turned chalky, when I read Tommy's email.

Eleanora,

I don't think I should be telling you this, since you're out of the JGH now. But Susie got kicked out— I think she failed another class. I'm not sure. All I know is she got summoned to Mrs. Lippett's office and I never saw Susie again. I hate that Susie had to run like she was guilty of a crime. That's why I wanted to reach out. I'm nowhere near close to being at risk, but I feel like I am, and it sucks. Knowing that you're free of this pressure will keep me going. I didn't have Susie's email address or phone number. She was always so private! But if you hear from her, please tell her I hope she's okay. I hope you're okay, too. One more year and I'll be done! Wish me luck.

Best,

Tommy

My arm moved in a slow arch as I put the mug on the table. I didn't have enough presence of mind to say I wanted to avoid spilling coffee on my computer— the truth was my mind had emptied out, and the whole of my insides had gone still. The way I moved came more out of shock than anything.

Susie had gotten kicked out. Tommy worried it could happen to him next. And I was free, but was I really? Shit.

If you fail, you will have two weeks to find a new place to stay.

I gazed around the workroom. All details blurred, but I had gotten to know the space well, almost to the point it felt like a second home in San Francisco. Large windows overlooked the city, with a tiny peek of the bay between the buildings. The walls were painted a modern charcoal gray, and the furniture had a sleek white sheen, except for the big center table. The incubator group could work in between meetings on the large warm wood surface, or have lunch together there too.

Or have a minor existential crisis, it seemed. Because I may not be at the John Grier Home anymore, and maybe Mrs. Lippett couldn't reach her long arm and bring me back, or kick me out… but I wasn't really that much more secure at the incubator. Nothing was mine yet.

That was why I had to focus on my business. Its mere existence was the foundation to repairing my history and giving me independence. Through it, I would help others too, so they wouldn't feel this fear. No one should ever have to feel this fear.

I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth not to shudder. Maybe I should come up with some sort of plan in case the incubator opportunity got ripped away from me. A parachute to deploy in case of emergency. Maybe I could write to Mr. B…

"Here you are!" Sally entered the break room with a bright smile on her face.

Julia followed, but we ignored each other as we usually did.

I plastered a smile on my face. "Hey— yeah. I've been here for a bit."

I hid my hands under the table and squeezed them hard in my lap. It wasn't enough. My face must have shown enough that Sally noticed my insides quaked.

She frowned. "Everything okay?"

I felt more than saw Julia's eyes dart in my direction. Not that it mattered. I held Sally's eyes as my guts warred with my heart— I wanted to tell her, seek her understanding ear, but Julia killed the impulse. Even if she hadn't been there, I didn't know that I would have trusted Sally with the truth. Could she really understand how fragile security could be for people like me?

Crap. I didn't think she could. She didn't even know I hadn't been born into a life like hers, and that my presence in the incubator was a carefully crafted game of chess on Mr. B.'s part. No, she assumed I was there because I belonged.

At least she didn't ask about that .

Still, words came out of my mouth before I could filter them properly.

"I heard from an old friend… she failed a class and got kicked out of a program…"

"Oh." Sally cocked her head. "Well, if she failed her class, I get it."

"These programs come with requirements for a reason." Julia raised an eyebrow like her uninvited opinion was simply common sense. "She should have worked harder if she wanted to stay."

It took one heartbeat for blood to rush to my face. I had to bite my tongue not to say what sprung into my head. Work harder? Right. What about helping her harder? Did anyone bother to ask what supports she needed to pass the class?

My cheeks warm, I closed my eyes for a hot second, not to let the vision of Julia and Sally imprint in my brain. I had been right. They couldn't understand.

I scoffed. "It doesn't matter. It's fine."

Maybe I had gotten comfortable in the JGH straitjacket and had made it my own. The truth of my history was mine to share, and it would do me well to keep it tightly sealed for a while longer.

Maybe in the future I'd tell Sally but, for now? Back to a locked room it went.

Better alone and independent than placing my heart in judgmental hands. I wasn't in the practice of putting myself in harm's way.

"How's your report going?" I asked her.

Sally slumped in a dramatic way, and I let it make me smile. So I wouldn't have to think about the heavyweight concrete that had made a home in my diaphragm.

"It sucks!" she said. "I may ask you to read a section of it in a sec if you don't mind? You're so good at this stuff. Help?"

I nodded and each of us turned to our laptops.

The mug was still perfectly warm as I grabbed it and sipped from my coffee. I used the cup as a prop to look like I was deep into reading my draft.

In reality, my mind had left the place. My lungs still labored to work normally and even my throat tingled a little, like I could cry. What on earth? It sucked to be alone, but I should be used to it by now.

For alone I was, like almost every JGH student I met in my years there. What happened to Susie could happen to me, too. For people like her, like Tommy, like me… things could fall out from under us at any second.

How could people who have it all understand? The only person in my life who knew parts of my past was Mr. B., and he wasn't actually there. He never replied. He did not act like the grandfatherly figure I liked to pretend he was.

At the end of the day, I had no idea what he actually thought about me, if he thought of me at all. My emails may be letters that gave me comfort, but it didn't mean he was willing to give it.

He had been the one to put the rule in place that I would lose his support if I didn't do well in the program. And that was enough of a mindfuck to remind me I didn't have him at all.