I would handle those things.
There was no need to make impulsive purchases or announce some dramatic transformation.
The money didn’t need to turn me into someone else.
Nana hadn’t left it to a stranger.
She’d left it to the woman she already knew.
I placed her letter beside the photograph.
Then I took my phone out of my bag.
There were two missed calls from Mom.
A message from Dad.
I didn’t open them.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I’d spent enough of that day listening to their voices.
I turned the phone facedown.
The room was quiet.
I remembered how Nana used to sit across from me with her hands wrapped around her blue mug.
She’d wait until I finished talking.
Then she’d lean forward and ask the same question.
“What are you building, sweetheart?”
For most of my life, I’d thought the answer was a career.
