When I got off the phone with my mom, I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and tried to compose myself. I thought about calling Libby—she was my best friend after all—but I was a little surprised to find that the voice I most wanted to hear was Dylan’s.
“Amber, you sound awful. Is everything OK?”
“My Great Grandma Mona passed away.” Tears started gushing again, and I pulled one tissue after another from the box.
“The one who taught you to make Tiramisu? I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“I’m flying out in a couple of hours for the funeral.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Was he nuts? Didn’t he have a clue what it would mean in my family if I showed up at a funeral with a guy? I might as well send out a Save the Date card. “You’re sweet, but no. When I introduce you to my family, it will be on my terms, not upstaging poor Grandma Mona at her own funeral.”
“Can I at least take you to the airport?”
“Dylan, you don’t have a car.”
“I can take yours. That way, I can pick you up when you return.”
“It will be easiest to use airport parking. With my old leased car, I used to be nervous about leaving it in a big public lot. I was always paranoid it would get dinged up.”
“Another advantage of buying a pre-dented car.”
“Yeah, with this one, I might not even notice. I’ll call you when I get back, OK?”
To me, Great Grandma Mona was this sweet old woman who spent all day in the kitchen, baking treats for the entire family. We’d visit her twice a year, and I’d spend at least half my time cooking with her. She’d ask me about my life and always remembered the names of my friends and teachers, and later boyfriends.
Sitting at the funeral, it hit me how little I’d asked her about her own life. Grandma Maria’s eulogy stretched for three-quarters of an hour, going on and on with details I never knew. Grandma Mona came to America with nothing. Her family had saved for years to afford her passage over. At first, they’d objected to the idea of a single woman making the journey alone. They only relented once arrangements were made for Grandma Mona to move in with her uncle’s family in Brooklyn, so she’d at least be under the watchful eyes of family.
There she put her cooking skills to good use and got herself a job in the kitchen of an Italian restaurant. She saved virtually everything she made until she had enough to send for her younger brother. Then the two of them saved up enough to finally bring over their parents. Only once she was surrounded by her family did she marry my Great Grandfather Frank, who died before I was born. His first two businesses failed, and Grandma Mona kept working in that Italian restaurant, even once she had kids of her own, until Grampa Frank finally broke through with his furniture business. Even while raising her kids, Grandma Mona helped out in the back office of the business as much as she could, and when Grampa Frank passed away, she took over running the company until it could be sold.
I thought of my dented car sitting back in the airport parking lot. To me, that old car had been a sacrifice. Meanwhile, Grandma Mona didn’t even have a car of her own until she reached her forties. What would she have thought of Dylan? To her, a man had to have gumption about providing for his family. I couldn’t help but think she would’ve liked him. What would she have said about me holding back because he didn’t take me out to eat? Grandma Mona had a sharp tongue and wasn’t afraid to give any of us a piece of her mind. I’d have heard an earful from her if I’d dared bring up the hardships of sticking with a man like Dylan while he built a foundation for his family.
There was hardly a dry eye during the funeral, but the luncheon afterwards was a different story. Family reunions were family reunions, and no matter what the occasion, whether it was a funeral or a wedding, we’d sooner or later do what my family did best: gossip. My cousin Maria Rose sat next to me. Her dress was a shade too red and three inches too short for a funeral, but I supposed this was as conservative as she came.
“I didn’t know half those things about Grandma Mona, did you? What are you going to miss most? For me, it’s her cannolis. I swear I’ll never learn to cook like that.” She tightened her gaze. “Amber, what happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look different.”
“Well, my eyes are a mess.”
“Oh please, none of us could stop bawling during Grandma Maria’s talk.” Maria Rose blew off my comment. “I mean, you look good.”
“Thanks. I guess—.”
“What’s his name?”
“What?”
“The last time you looked like this, you were head-over-heels for that loser who flaked out on you in college.” She leaned in. “So. What’s this one’s name?”
If I didn’t fess up, Maria Rose would recruit our other cousins to bully it out of me. “Dylan.”
I watched for signs of recognition in her face, but there weren’t any. None of my family met him in college, and even if Maria Rose had, she probably wouldn’t have connected it. After all, at the rate she dated, she’s probably gone through two Dylans since then herself. “And Dylan does…?”
What was I supposed to tell her, that Dylan worked on a home remodeling crew and still waited tables on Friday nights to make extra cash? Grandma Mona would have understood, but would the rest of the family? “He’s in real estate.”
“Oh yeah?” She leaned back. “What is he, an agent?”
“No, he owns a few apartment buildings.”
“Not bad. Carina, come join us.” Maria Rose waved over another cousin who was looking for a seat. “Amber was just telling me about this real estate mogul she’s dating.”
“Uh, he’s not quite—.”
“You’re dating someone new?” Carina sat down on my other side and bit into a breadstick. “I swear, Aunt Sofia had us half-convinced you were going to wind up an old maid.” She put a hand on my knee. “Tell us about the guy! When can we meet him? You’re bringing him to Thanksgiving, right?”
“Uh….”
“Oh come on, Amber,” Maria Rose piped in. “You have to.”
“We haven’t been dating for that long.”
“How long have you known him?”
How could I explain? “Seven years, but—.”
“You’re so bringing him!” Carina hit the breadstick onto her plate like a gavel. “Discussion closed.”
Dylan surprised me at the airport. He held a bunch of daisies that I’d be willing to bet he picked from his small garden behind The Crypt. I took the daisies from him and said, “I brought you something as well.”
“From the funeral?”
“From my time with my family. Close your eyes.” I reached my hands around the back of his neck, leaned in, and kissed him, our first kiss since college.
“Does this mean…?”
“Keep it in your pants, sport. It was just a kiss.”
“Then why…?”
“Grandma Mona would have wanted me to.” Butterflies danced in my stomach. “I can be too harsh on you at times. I want you to know: all this effort you’re putting in, it’s not lost on me.” I pushed my suitcase forward. “And speaking of effort, I’ll let you be a gentleman and take my bag.”
He took my suitcase and rolled it behind him. With his other hand, he softly held mine. It felt…nice. “How’s your family handling it?”
“Grandma Mona was 98, and her health had been going for years, so everyone was prepared.” Again, my eyes grew hot with tears. “Still, it’s hard to say goodbye to a woman like that.”
“I’m sure.” Dylan stopped, pulled a neatly folded tissue out of his shirt pocket, and handed it to me. I guess he came prepared. “I remember when my grandfather died. We sat around for days, telling one Gramps story after the next. Is that how it was?”
“Uh…” How could I tell Dylan that Grandma Mona was hardly in the ground when Maria Rose first asked me about my romantic life and that, from that point on, it was all anyone wanted to talk to me about? “Everyone’s eager to meet you.”
“You told them about me?”
“What was I supposed to do? Half my aunts already think I’m an old maid. They insisted I bring you to Thanksgiving.” I gripped his hand a little tighter.
“Just how many relatives will I have to meet?”
“Um…a lot.”
“Like 20?”
I actually cackled—right in the middle of the airport parking lot. “Yeah, right. Try 100 if we’re lucky.”
“100?” Dylan stopped in his tracks. “Your family get-togethers must cost a fortune.”
“They do, but Grandma Mona was always willing to pitch in for whoever needed it.”
“She could cook, and she was rich?”
“Well, my great-grandfather eventually did quite well for himself.” I steered us deeper into the long-term parking area. “Which leads me to the other piece of news from this weekend.”
“You’ve inherited a fortune?”
“Hardly. She had too many descendants to make any of us rich.” At this point, we’d reached aisle G5, and I pulled the keys to the Honda out of my purse. “But I got enough that I could have gotten a new car rather than this old, dented one.”
“Amber, it’s just not worth it. New cars depreciate so fast. They’re a killer to anyone striving for financial independence.”
“I know, but still…”
“How much did you get?”
I popped open the trunk and faced him. “$20,000.”
“That’s great. You realize how much time your great-grandmother just saved you?” Dylan lifted the suitcase into the trunk and slammed it shut. “Even with all the changes we’ve made, it would have taken you years to accumulate that much cash. Now you’re ready to start building your Cash Machine.”
“Start? What about all the work we’ve been doing?”
“The Cash Machine is your portfolio of investments that generate passive income. So far, we’ve just been trying to curb your outflow, so you have some money to work with, but you don’t yet have any income-producing assets.”
“I don’t have any assets at all—other than this thing.” I tapped the hood of the car.
“This ‘thing’ is not an asset, but that’s for another time. The point is, with Grandma Mona’s help, you can now use the most powerful tool I know to start building your Cash Machine.”
“What’s that?”
“The House Hack.”
