The Bequest

"Awesome," Izzy says.

"Right?" Ethan's grinning at her, his hair again blocking my view of his sky blue eyes.

"I am being considered, after a year of very hard full-time work and many years of part-time work, for partnership, just as your dad was considered before."

"But I hate having you gone all the time," Whitney says. "Why do we need more money?"

I don't grit my teeth. I won't grit my teeth. She's simply expressing that she likes to be around me, and that's a good thing. She doesn't understand finances and the fact that without a full time income, we'd need to live in an apartment. "They don't pay me very much when I don't work very much, sweetheart. If you want to go to college some day and live in a nice house like this one, you'll have to work hard too."

"You're not even considering it?" Ethan's nostrils flare and his hands flatten against the dinner table. "You've just decided for us, without even asking us?"

"You can't go anyway," I say. "You start college in the fall."

"Actually, I don't." One eyebrow lifts and his lips compress into a tight line.

"You'd rather work a ranch than get a college degree?"

Ethan stands up, tossing his hair back again. "I would rather do that, but that's not what I'm saying, counselor."

I hate when he calls me counselor. He doesn't like when I press with leading questions, but what else can you do with teenagers? They willfully ignore you otherwise. With his mood, we clearly need to continue this conversation without an audience. "Alright, time to get ready for bed. Whitney, help Gabe brush his teeth-"

"I can brush my own teeth!" Gabe runs from the room.

"If you let Whitney check and make sure you did a good job, I'll let you watch an episode of Pokémon before bed."

That always works. "And Isabel-"

"I know," Izzy says. "Do the dishes and clean up after dinner." She mutters under her breath. "Because you don't want me to listen in to whatever you're saying.

Sometimes she's a little too smart for her own good. "Ethan." I point at my office, and he follows me without argument. I close the door behind us, and circle the desk to sit in Nate's wingback leather chair. Ethan takes a seat in one of the upright chairs across from me. "What is your point?"

"I won't be going to college this fall, no matter what you decide for us about the ranch, because I didn't get in anywhere."

His words make no sense. "What do you mean, you didn't get in? You had a great SAT score, and your grades aren't perfect, but they're respectable. I'm sure that, even if your letters haven't come yet-"

"Mom." Ethan slams his hands down on the table so hard that it shakes. "No letters are coming. I didn't apply anywhere."

He didn't apply? "I wrote your personal statement. I helped fill out the applications."

"I'm not like you and Dad," he says. "I don't want to work in an office all day. I want to use my hands. I'm really good at fixing things and putting stuff together, and I like to be outside."

He's spouting utter nonsense. "Honey, do you think I want to sit in an office all day? Do you think I want to stare at a screen? Until I was ten years old, I told everyone who asked that I wanted to be a rock star. I really thought I might be one day. Your grandparents taught me that I could do or be anything at all." I pause to make sure he's listening. "That tripe is the reason so many kids wind up working at McDonald's and loafing in their parents' basement." "We don't have a basement."

"You've noticed," I say. "Take that as your sign. Work is rarely fun or fulfilling. It sucks most of the time-that's why they pay you." "But, Mom-"

"Ethan, you're seventeen. You've been cared for and raised in a very nice home. You've been given everything, so pardon me when I correct your understandable delusions-delusions I probably created. I know that right now, anything feels possible. I've nurtured you and nudged you to the very edge of the nest. You're ready to take flight. I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that, with your current flight plan, you're going to go splat." I still can't quite wrap my brain around the fact that he didn't even send in the applications I spent so many hours perfecting. He's talking again, something about how he won't crash, because he can always work on cars or something, but I can't listen to any more. "Did you throw the applications in the trash? What exactly did you do with them?"

Ethan's mouth hangs open for a moment.

Good. He's realizing how big a mistake he has made. And now it's time to figure out some kind of solution. It's taken me a moment, but the gears in my brain start working again. I may not have been a perfect wife. I may not be a perfect lawyer. I may not be a perfect mother either. Clearly I'm not.

But I am perfect in times of crisis.

"The good news is that, in spite of your catastrophic lapse in judgment, we can still fix this," I say. "Or at least, you may not have your choice of any school, but I'll call my friend Gus. He was my best friend at Harvard, and now he's the provost in charge of the admissions department at Rice, which means "

"Mom." Ethan looks disapproving. "I don't want you to fix anything. I don't want to go to college at all."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're not listening. I've never wanted to go. That's your dream for my future, but I'll be eighteen soon, and no matter how much you poke and prod, no matter who you call, you can't make me go."

I failed him I had no idea how much losing his dad has wrecked his view of the future. "Sweetheart, you just don't realize how severely not going to college will limit your future. It's hard to see now, but-" He crosses his arms and takes a step backward, and I realize that if he really won't go, there's nothing I can do.

"Don't sign anything saying we don't want the ranch," he says. "Because I do."

It's like he's speaking Greek. It's like I don't know my own son. But there's a solution to this, I know there must be. "You can't have the ranch," I say. "You're a minor."

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience-all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! "Which means you can sign away my right to it," he says. "Believe me, I know. It's your leverage."

How could such a smart kid not want to go to college? "What do you want, then?" I can't believe I'm negotiating with my son to keep him from ruining his own life. "How about this? If you'll agree to come with me for the summer to work the ranch, I'll agree to go to any school you can get me into for a full year and give it my all." Go to Utah for the whole summer? Has he lost his mind? "I have a job."

He shrugs. "That's my offer. I get an entire summer out there with you to convince you that college isn't my path. And if I can't do it, then I go to college, just like you want."

"But it's pointless," I say. "You turn eighteen on September 2. College classes start at the end of August. Even if we spend the entire summer there, I won't change my mind. You'll still have to go." "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

There couldn't be a worse time for me to walk away from my job, but if I have to choose between what my son needs and what my career demands...well, there's no contest.

I call the other kids. "Do you guys want to spend the summer at that cattle ranch?"

The resounding chorus of yeses decides it. "I guess I need to call my friend Gus, and I should call Robert, too, right away." And then I need to pray for a miracle, because there's no way I'll make partner this fall. I'll be lucky if I still have a job by then.