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“Oh?” I asked, raising my brows with hope.
“Yes, talking to you has been both insightful and instructive.”
“You shouldn’t say such things. They go straight to my head,” I said with a grin.
“It’s the truth. I like that you don’t mince words. And you see me for who I am. Who Ireallyam.”
“And what’s that?”
He grinned. “A hopeless romantic who is now determined to prioritize his own happiness.”
I didn’t know why it felt good to hear those words from his mouth. He hadn’t remotely alluded tous, to a possibility ofus, yet somewhere in his hope, I found a ray of sunshine I could ride all the way to my own happiness.
“What’s next?” he asked, nodding to the menu.
I returned my eyes to the last thing I’d read before this conversation. “Wet, Tender, and Delicious. Guess what that is?”
“I don’t have to guess. I eat here once a month. Mushroom and pea risotto.”
“This is hilarious!” I said.
We chose an unconventional route that evening and ordered martinis.
“You know what the best part about coming here is?” he said when the drinks arrived. “Watching stuffed shirts with a lot of money and old school morality come in and be appalled at the names of the dishes. This is a three Michelin-star place.Being here is a thing to show off at parties and gatherings. But they can’t make themselves say it, so they end up using the description. ‘I’ll have the mushroom risotto.’ The servers respond with a straight face, ‘Will that be the Wet, Tender, and Delicious, sir?’ It’s priceless. It’s like a harmless revenge of the have-nots against the have-too-much-of-everything, taking a little joy in their discomfort. It’s highly entertaining.”
“And in all likelihood, they are taking more than their fair share of wet, tender, and delicious behind closed doors,” I said with a gentle shake of my head.
“That too,” he agreed.
“Point to note, we also fall under the have-too-much-of-everything category,” I commented. “We wouldn’t be sitting here spending an indecent amount on food and drink if we weren’t.”
“Yes, but hopefully, we know our place and responsibility in society. Else, it’s a waste.”
“How do we ensure that?” I asked with curiosity.
He sipped his martini and considered me for a beat.
“A small, good deed at a time…” He took another smooth sip. “But kindness alone cannot remedy social inequalities. So, don’t cheat on your taxes.”
He was definitely living up to my standards—and more.
“Since our first meeting, I’ve been trying to figure you out. I think I finally have. You are ethically balanced,” I said.
He returned an inquisitive frown. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but it’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”
I pulled my hands down under the table to my lap and fidgeted with the ring on my left index finger. This proximity to him, physical and emotional, was starting to get daunting.
“You know why I’m rich?” he continued. “Because currently, society values my skills more than it does others’, like my father. Teachers used to be the most valued in society. Do you knowwhat grade school teachers or even university adjuncts make these days?”
I shook my head.
“Society determines who gets valued, what kind of labor is worth more based on how much money it brings to the most powerful. When I was little, I used to see construction workers and servers at restaurants and wonder why they were poorer than my father, who sat all day and read books. Surely, manual labor must beget more money than reading?”
Hearing him speak about wealth so unhesitatingly knocked down the walls I always put up around me. Since I was little, I had learned to behave as if I was born into money. Talking about our struggles meant that we were new money and thus needed to justify our place among the crème de la crème. Not talking about it signified that our wealth was incidental, a behavior I had learned from Mary Beth.
The truly rich didn’t need to showcase their wealth through brands and brags. That was the difference between old and new money. New money felt the need to justify its place in society. Old money took its place for granted. New money needed fancy cars and loud bags. It craved to be seen. Old money preferred its quiet existence because much of it was derived through exacerbating the social inequalities in our societies. Historically, obscene wealth accumulation was made possible only through exploitation, whether it was feudalism, enslavement, colonization, or neoimperialism. This wealth also gave old money the power to define and determine the rules of existence and etiquette.
When the Industrial Revolution led to the creation of a new class of rich in the West, the aristocracy needed to distinguish itself from the nouveau riche. The terms classy, classic, and classical all alluded to this distinction. Where new money was ostentatious and gaudy, old money was “classy.” Where newmoney loved to show off its wealth with loud clothing and jewelry, a “classic” wardrobe became the hallmark of old money. Even today, we use these words as if they don’t actually establish the legitimacy of a certain class of people over others.