Mar. 19, 2005
Mike and Laura announced they were pregnant. I was visiting, and they gave me the happy news.
“Wow, that’s great!” I said. “When are you due?”
“September,” Laura answered. “We’re leaving it a surprise as to whether it’s a boy or girl.”
“Congrats, guys.” I wasn’t sure what all to say until they actually had the baby, but they were happy nonetheless, Mike with his arms around Laura’s shoulders as we stood in the kitchen chatting. Laura wasn’t showing yet but seemed to have a healthy glow, even more than normal.
The happy announcement came atop some sad news, and I was pretty bummed to find out that Molly had been put down a few months earlier. She had been like family to all of us, and her loss was a blow.
“Beer?” Mike asked. “There’s plenty of basketball on, and I’ve got a case of Heineken in the fridge.” He was referring to the NCAA Tournament since it was March Madness season.
I smiled. “Don’t need to twist my arm.”
“Just pace yourselves till we get Jason’s taxes knocked out,” Laura warned.
“Well, so long as you aren’t drinking, sweetheart.” Mike grinned and handed me a beer. “I doubt drunk accountants and taxes mix well.”
Since Laura was a CPA, she was my go-to person for tax assistance. I always tried to pay her, but she would never let me. With all my investments, my taxes were getting more and more complicated each year. And I was looking into buying a place eventually, so they would get even more complex once I did that. But I planned to wait until the Great Recession hit so I could find a place on the cheap—maybe even more than one, with the possibility of renting a property out.
I broke out my folder full of tax paperwork and followed Laura into her home office while Mike went back to the living room to watch basketball. His job on the force was going well, but he was antsy to move on to something other than patrol cop. He’d recently dropped his application for the CBI and was waiting to hear back.
After Laura had been typing away on her tax software for about fifteen minutes, with me occasionally feeding her a 1099, she remarked, “Jay, you’re doing very well for yourself! I’m so happy for you.”
I looked at the screen and was pleasantly surprised to see that all my assets combined—stocks, mutual funds, and 401k—put me over a quarter million, well on my way to becoming a millionaire. And it should grow substantially by the time the Great Recession hit in another two and a half years, before I changed the majority of my investments to cash equivalents.
“I’ve been trying to convince Mike we need to invest more aggressively,” Laura said, “but he doesn’t trust the stock market. We’ve put a little in, but nothing even close to how you’ve done.” She looked proud of me.
I was proud of myself too. Other than that initial Cash 5, I hadn’t resorted to any other lotto winnings. My growing wealth was a result of basing my investments on my copious notes on market behavior. Sure, it was cheating in a way, but I didn’t feel guilty. Wall Street types made buttloads of money based on insider information all the time.
“I foresee another two and a half years tops before the next recession,” I said. “Seriously. And this housing bubble is ripe for bursting.”
“I know. It’s getting so expensive to buy… It’s going to be unsustainable at this rate.” Laura typed for a while longer. “Do you have anything to itemize?”
Uh oh. I hadn’t really thought all that hard about tax implications. The IRS was already taking a large chunk out of my salary, but with the massive dividends and capital gains, I was going to be screwed even though the tax rates were lower on investments than regular income.
“Uh… no, not really. A few hundred bucks to charities is all, but I don’t have receipts. And maybe my car registration, but that’s not much.” The old Ranger had bitten the bullet the previous year, and I’d replaced it with a Corolla beater for the time being.
Laura grimaced as she turned to me. “Well, now for the bad news: as a single guy who rents, and with as much money as you made this year, you’re going to end up having to pay the IRS. And maybe the state too.”
“Pay? But I already have them withhold a shitload.”
I wasn’t about to buy a house yet and lose my shirt on it when the market crashed even though it would have given me some much-needed deductions. And my single status wasn’t likely to change anytime soon either. As time went on, I was becoming convinced I’d never meet someone who was the complete package like Laura: beautiful and personable and smart. I just never met anyone who interested me that much or was long-term-relationship material. And online dating was where all the weirdos and crazy people seemed to end up. I’d nearly given up on dating altogether.
“Mm-hmm. So now let’s talk about some tax planning for next year.” She pointed at the red four-digit number on the screen, the amount for which I would be writing out a check to the IRS.
I groaned. “I’m gonna need another beer first.”