The things I’d do for my grandmother. Put on a button-down shirt with a collar, that was one. Sure, it was still black and I wore it with jeans, but I tucked it in and wore a belt. Plus I combed my hair and covered up the smell of alcohol on my breath with minty wash. I still had to have a drink before I headed out to meet up with the family, that went without saying. If I knew Gram she’d be doing exactly the same thing right now, sipping a good, strong G&T with Plymouth gin and two slices of lime. We were all gathering together that afternoon at her Upper East Side penthouse, due to arrive in 30 minutes. It was our annual pre-holiday get together, just the intimate nuclear members prior to the Kavanaugh family fete for 500 tomorrow night. Today the featured speaker would be our family attorney, Nelson Armistead. Nothing packed in the members of a wealthy family more than a lawyer discussing the terms of inheritance. More British than the queen, Nelson divided his time between London and New York.
