I spent all morning signing things. Listening to things. Watching things transpire. My baby lawyerlings were well-organized and knew to bring me coffee with a quarter teaspoon of plain white sugar and a drop of cream every couple of hours. They knew to take all my weird-coloured pens away from me before we started and they physically winced when they heard of the interest lost should we cash out early*.
*(Three times I opted not to cash out early because honestly it isn't worth the loss and I can wait. The paperwork is drawn and dated, and it'll be ready to invoke the day certain things come due.)
(I can overrule Batman.)
They brought me a sandwich for an early lunch break. It was not a Monte Cristo but it was good anyway. There was a pickle with it. More coffee and as I watch Caleb sign things and talk to his brokerage and banking advisors it occurs to me that he's aged more in the past five months (since the wedding) then the past thirty years and I make a mental note to ask him to come to dinner.
After lunch I sign some more things. Then finally we're finished. They have a list for me. Today's transfers and the list of those to come, plus several ventures that haven't come to fruition yet but will soon and those are mine too. Caleb also got a raft of statements after the fact and in the car, I asked if I could see them.
Why, Bridget? He hands it all over, somewhat wearily. It isn't defeat, maybe it's just resignation in his manner that's making him seem far older than his years today.
I want to make sure you kept your full share so I don't wind up having to be your sugar momma.
He's amused. Speaking of which, there are precious few ways in which I'll be able to fulfill that role after today.
You'll have to pay me in affection, then.
Something tells me that's worth more to you than everything we put down on paper today.
It is. You should know this by now, Diabhal.
The smile did not leave his face the whole way home. Maybe he (after all this) puts his values on the same way I do each morning, one leg at a time.
