The Human Division #10: This Must Be the Place Read Online Free Page A

us?” Brous said.
    “Uh, yes,” Hart said, taken slightly aback. “Yes. That.”
    “There was a period where I did, yeah,” Brous said. “I mean, what do you expect? Resentment is about sixty percent of being a teenager. And all of you—you, Catherine, Wes, Brandt—were pretty clueless about the rarefied air you lived in. Down here in the flats, living above the garage? Yeah, there was some resentment there.”
    “Do you resent us now?” Hart said.
    “No,” Brous said. “For one thing, bringing that college girlfriend back to the carriage house brought home the point that all things considered, I was doing just fine. I went to the same schools you did, and your family supported and cared for me, my sister and my mom, and not just in some distant noblesse oblige way, but as friends. Hell, Hart. I write poetry, you know? I have that because of you guys.”
    “Okay,” Hart said.
    “I mean, you all still have your moments of class cluelessness, trust me on this, and you all poke at each other in vaguely obnoxious ways,” Brous said. “But I think even if you had no money, Brandt would be a status seeker, Catherine would steamroll everyone, Wes would float along, and you’d do your thing, which is to watch and help. You’d all be you. Everything else is circumstance.”
    “It’s good to know you think so,” Hart said.
    “I do,” Brous said. “Don’t get me wrong. If you want to divest yourself of your share of the family trust fund and give to me, I’ll take it. I’ll let you sleep above the garage when you need to.”
    “Thanks,” Hart said, wryly.
    “What brought about this moment of questioning, if you don’t mind me asking?” Brous asked.
    “Oh, you know,” Hart said. “Dad pressuring me to leave the diplomatic corps and join the family business, which is apparently running this entire planet.”
    “Ah, that, ” Brous said.
    “Yes, that,” Hart said.
    “That’s another reason why I don’t resent you guys,” Brous said. “This whole ‘born to rule’ shit’s gotta get tiring. All I have to do is drive your dad and string words together.”
    “What if you don’t want to rule?” Hart said.
    “Don’t rule,” Brous said. “I’m not sure why you’re asking that, though, Hart. You’ve done a pretty good job of not ruling so far.”
    “What do you mean?” Hart asked.
    “There’s four of you,” Brous said. “Two of you are primed to go into the family business: Brandt, because he likes the perks, and Catherine, because she’s actually good at it. Two of you want nothing to do with it: Wes, who figured out early that one of you gets to be the screwup, so it might as well be him, and you. The screwup slot was already claimed by Wes, so you did the only logical thing left to third sons of a noble family—you went elsewhere to seek your fortune.”
    “Wow, you’ve actually thought about this a lot,” Hart said.
    Brous shrugged. “I’m a writer,” he said. “And I’ve had a lot of time to observe you guys.”
    “You could have told me all this earlier,” Hart said.
    “You didn’t ask,” Brous said.
    “Ah,” Hart said.
    “Also, I could be wrong,” Brous said. “I’ve learned over time I’m full of just about as much shit as anyone.”
    “No, I don’t think you are,” Hart said. “Wrong, I mean. I remain neutral about the ‘full of shit’ part.”
    “Fair enough,” Brous said. “It sounds like you’re having a moment of existentialist crisis here, Hart, if you don’t mind me saying.”
    “Maybe I am,” Hart said. “I’m trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up. A nice thing to wonder about when you’re thirty.”
    “I don’t think it matters what age you are when you figure it out,” Brous said. “I think the important thing is to figure it out before someone else tells you what you want to be, and they get it wrong.”

    “Who’s giving the toast this year?” Isabel asked. They were all seated at the table: Alastair and