Chapter Nineteen Fran #2
“Wait wait, we need all the Waystar Royco shareholders here, Fran. If it’s going to be a real family meeting.” Kon cracked. He was wearing a backward baseball cap and Fran wanted to punch him. They made no move to get up from the couch.
“Damien. Konstantin. That’s enough,” Fran’s mother growled, watering can in hand, and both boys got up and came quickly into the dining room.
It had been a hard year for her mother, Fran knew.
She had forgiven Fran’s father for the gambling losses, for falling behind on the house payments, but it had shaken her to realize how close they were cutting it, how easy it would be to lose everything.
Fran’s father had been suffering too, but more quietly.
He didn’t want to talk about the money, it pained him to look foolish in front of them, and Fran knew that if her brothers hadn’t told her about his debts, he would have let the bank repossess his house and cars before bringing it up.
That was the thing about Fran’s relationship with her parents.
They hated anything that subverted their traditional roles, and Fran knew her independence drove them crazy.
Of course, for her entire life she had done what they asked of her, she did well in school, she went to church with her mom, she visited all sorts of elderly relatives at their behest, but she never told them a thing that mattered.
She never introduced them to a boyfriend, never talked about fights or prom or minor heartbreaks, never even asked for their help applying to colleges, just wrote her essays and presented it all to her parents as a fait accompli.
It annoyed them that Fran was so intent on doing things her own way, and for years they had taken it as a silent rebuke, as a rejection of their parenting, and so Fran saw, plain as day, how painful it was to accept her help.
“I talked to RJ, and I have an offer, but the offer comes with strings.” Fran sat down. “RJ is going to lend you seventy-five grand and get you entirely out of credit card debt and caught up on the mortgage—”
“Oh, Francesca,” her father muttered quietly.
“But the strings. No more gambling for anyone—Dad, Kon, or Damien.”
“Fuck off.” Kon rolled his eyes.
“That’s my offer.” Fran shrugged. “Take it or leave it. If you have a better option for the mortgage, just say so.”
“I’m a strategic better, Fran,” Damien objected. “I make money gambling. I don’t have a problem.”
“If you make so much money, where’s your seventy-five grand?” Fran frowned at her brother.
“You don’t need to be condescending about it,” complained Damien. “You can just do the right thing without having to drag us.”
“I’m not done,” Fran continued. “I want everyone here to delete FanDuel, delete DraftKings, delete all the apps and close out your accounts. Then, Mom and Dad, once your leases are up, we’re going to trade in the Volvo and the Lexus for normal cars.
No more Caribbean vacations, no more handbags, no more frivolous spending until RJ is paid back in full. Deal?”
Fran’s parents both nodded.
“You know, I gave them four grand and I did it without acting like a total bitch,” said Damien.
“Damien, stop it.” Fran’s mother glared at him.
“I’m just saying, this isn’t how you treat family. If your parents need you, you help them, you don’t give them sanctimonious lectures about their cars.”
“Yeah, Fran, you’re doing your part, and that’s great and all, but you can’t walk in here and shit on everyone about their life choices just because you’re holding the purse strings at the moment.” Kon took off his baseball cap and flexed the brim.
“You know what?” Fran said. “This actually is how you treat family. You tell them when they’re making mistakes and you help them get back on track.
I’ve spent my entire life letting everyone around me live any way they please—drinking, smoking, gambling, spending—even when it was making my life harder.
That was my whole thing—‘live and let live.’ But that doesn’t work for me anymore.
Kon and Damien, you guys are assholes to me.
If you want me in your life you need to start treating me the way you treat Mom, the way you treat your wives.
If not? I’m done.” Fran slapped the table with her hand and for a minute everyone was stunned into silence.
Kon put his baseball cap back on and Damien studied his fingernails.
Eventually Kon leaned forward and put his hand on Fran’s.
“Just don’t make me sell my car,” he whispered, and Fran rolled her eyes.
For the rest of the afternoon the five of them sorted through the monthly expenses and set up a budgeting program.
Kon and Damien deleted their apps (permanently or temporarily, Fran couldn’t be sure), and Fran set up a wire for the mortgage payment.
When they finished, Fran’s mother started dinner and her father invited her outside to look at something in the yard.
For years, Fran’s father had tended to their landscaping like it was the White House lawn and he was hosting the Egg Roll.
He cut the grass obsessively, he trimmed the hedges as if they would be measured with a ruler.
He got on his hands and knees to weed between the flagstones, even if he was wearing his nice pants.
But as he led her toward the far corner of the lawn Fran saw something new.
It was a sort of circular path, lined with little rocks, and what looked alarmingly like wildflowers at the center.
“So, I’ve been listening to this radio program on my phone,” he started. “It’s for men who are trying to be the best versions of themselves.”
Alarm bells rang in Fran’s ears. “Is it a podcast, Dad?”
“Yeah, that’s right. A podcast.”
Christ. If her father was bringing her out in the yard to talk about being red-pilled or the feminist myth of the patriarchy or cryptocurrency, she was going to light the whole house on fire. “Okay…”
“One of my favorites was about meditation. So I studied Zen gardens, and I made this mandala out of pebbles and flowers.”
“Oh, wow.” As they got closer Fran could see that he had mowed a round labyrinth into the grass, creating a sort of path. “So, you walk around it in circles?”
“Yep.” Fran’s father was blushing furiously. “The podcast said that making the mandala would help me connect with nature, and then walking it would help me control some of my impulses.”
“I think that’s awesome, Dad.” Fran leaned over and hugged him. “Can I walk it with you?”
They were just putting dinner on the table when Hale came bursting through the door. “LONDON HAS A NINETY-NINE CHARIZARD FIRST EDITION HOLOGRAM AND IT’S WORTH FOUR MILLION DOLLARS!” He was so excited he was pink in the face and hopping around.
“That’s so great, sweetie.” Fran kissed him. “Do you need to pee? You’re wiggling a lot.”
“AND I GOT AN AUTOGRAPH FROM DR. FUJI!”
“Wow, I can’t wait to see it.” Fran tried to shepherd him toward the bathroom, but London came bounding in.
“Mom! I brought my 1999 Charizard first edition and this guy there said it was worth four hundred dollars!”
Fran’s family was looking at London in amusement. “Well, did you sell it to him?” Kon asked.
“No!” London looked insulted. “I’m keeping it as an investment.”
“Hey!” RJ came in last, carrying the boys’ water bottles, Pokémon binders, and a big envelope. “Did London tell you?”
“About his four-hundred-dollar Pokémon card?” Fran grinned.
“No, babe, four THOUSAND.” RJ kissed her hello.
“Right.”
“I’m serious. They have all these dealers there and London kept saying this card was really valuable, so we went up and showed it to a couple different dealers. They offered us four grand for the card.”
“WHAT? Did you take it?” Fran looked at him in disbelief.
“Nope.” RJ shrugged. “But we bought this sweet plastic case to protect it!” He pulled the thing out of the envelope. It looked like a totally normal card, now encased in an eight-inch sleeve.
“Watch out,” joked Kon. “Fran’s on a tear. She’s probably going to make him sell his whole binder.”