To make it easier, we split the unused reception materials between the funerals. Dad’s bride-to-be, a woman I never had the chance to meet, was laid out the day before him. Her sisters arranged everything, including first dibs on the wedding supplies. She got the flowers and coffee. Even worse. They swiped all the cutlery too.
We, of course, had the wedding soup.
So, after an hour of slurping through mugs of reheated broth and meatballs, the funeral director ran to Walmart, found spoons, and we cut the wedding-turned-wake cake.
Which was weird.
We removed the little figurine toppers at least. And, in someone’s foresight, they tugged the fondant off and scribbled condolences on the top layer in the darkest aqua-marine icing gel they could find.
Sorry For Your Lots Loss
It worked for our purposes.
Champagne wasn’t appropriate, but neither was the extended family dropping wedding gifts by the casket like Dad was some sort of Egyptian Homeware Pharaoh taking toasters and expresso machines to the afterlife. Just another headache to send back with ridiculously involved explanations. Yes, we’re having a funeral…I guess you can bring your +1 if you really want.
About the only thing that kept me level-headed and calm during the whole ordeal was the one completely wild and unpredictable night I had earlier in the week.
Zach Harden.
Oh, sweet merciful Jesus, he was a beautiful mistake.
I knew he would be a perfect blending of pride and shame. I realized it as soon as he flashed that bad boy grin. I felt it in my core when our hands brushed. The mistake seared forever into my memory the instant our lips touched in that bar.
We crossed six blocks to his apartment in record time, collapsed on the bed, and our instincts took over. Our night was one animalistic, wild experience so crazy I didn’t recognize half of the things I demanded of him. Kiss me here. Touch me there. Fuck me where?
When I was little, Gran used to swoon and beseech Jesus’s mercy when she came across something that offended her sensibilities. I wished I had the luxury of fainting to avoid thinking of the contorted and sinful acts we committed.
Instead, I had to look myself in the mirror and admit—yes, I did love every minute of it, even if I could never tell another soul what a freak I was.
At least my first and last one-night stand was the best night of my life. And thank God it’d be the last time I saw him.
I didn’t get his number. I could never face him again. Not after what we did. How he took me. How I reacted…multiple times, hoarding orgasms like I stockpiled canned goods for an apocalypse.
I exhaled. I didn’t have time to worry about my wild indiscretions…of which there were many. The wake concluded, and my relatives claimed their centerpieces—won from a very morbid game of who has the birthday closest to the funeral. My feet ached, but I had one last errand before I could plunk them down in a bubble bath.
I buzzed over my apartment, grabbing a respectable skirt, sensible pantyhose, and a modest blouse. They cloaked me like a schoolmarm but the outfit did not reveal that I was a wide-eyed harlot who let a stranger have his way with her.
Three times. Or was it four?
Well, one of those ways couldn’t be classified like the others.
But people couldn’t tell that a nice young lady did those sorts of things.
…Could they?
It wasn’t like I was wearing a sign that read Ask me where I put a stranger’s penis. No one ever had to know. Still, I styled my hair in a low ponytail to manage the curls that took too much influence from my newfound free-spirit. Then I changed into a pair less-racy panties. Once I felt innocent enough, I head to the last place I wanted to go so soon after the funeral.
The family lawyer’s office.
I was only twenty-one. Sometimes I forgot it, especially after taking care of Momma when she was too traumatized by her and Dad’s separation to function. I loved her to bits, but I’d never let a man rip out my heart like Dad did to her.
All his money and gifts didn’t help heal me or Momma. I saw how it ruined a good wife, and I experienced how it hurt a daughter. I wanted nothing to do with Dad after he left us, and where did I end up?
Front row and center to his will, earning a posthumous apology from a cold letter. Too little too late. My family wasn’t just broken. We voided the warranty.
“Come on in, Shay.” My father’s accountant shook my hand. William was an older man with a waistline that grew as quickly as the hair in his eyebrows. He sported a gold Rolex on his wrist. No doubt one of Dad’s gifts. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. The sooner we get this settled, the better.”
“Of course.” I agreed even though I didn’t have a clue what to expect. After Momma died, the only things of hers I settled was finally throwing out her creepy little salt and pepper shakers in the shape of demonic-looking children. I never dealt with wills or trusts or money. “Let’s get started.”
“Can I get you coffee?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I think we’ll be in and out pretty quickly.”
At least I knew how to bluff, even when I was supremely uncomfortable. I didn’t want any of this. My goal in life was to make it through college, find a nice teaching job, and be a force of stability for the kids I taught. I’d be that someone who would listen to them, help them, and comfort them, especially if they didn’t have it at home.
Instead? I faced the attorney instrumental in my parents’ divorce. Still, I smiled as I stared at the listing of assets Dad hid to avoid alimony.
To my surprise, most of Dad’s fortune was in a trust for me. I never asked how much I was set to inherit if only because it sent Momma into a spiral, calling on the Lord to cast the devil of greed out of me. But I knew I’d be more than comfortable, especially since Dad was good with his money and investments.
“Shay,” William took my hand, though the southern gentleman was just consoling himself. “Let me tell you, I am so sorry for your loss.”
This particular one, or when Dad originally ran out on us when I was thirteen?
I nodded anyway. “Thanks. I know he was your friend.”
“A good one. The world lost a good man.”
If he said so.
“So, uh.” William shuffled a couple papers on his desk. “I don’t know how much your dad told you about his estate and how he planned to have it managed after his death.”
“I know he has a trust for me.”
“Oh, yes. The trust is set to release on your college graduation. That is definitely secure.”
I frowned. Why wouldn’t it be secure?
“But I’m talking about the rest of your father’s assets. His personal fortune, investments, land holdings, new house.”
“New house?”
William folded his hands. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “Okay, Shay, I know your father hasn’t really…been in contact with you lately. But believe me, he meant for this to be a second chance. He wanted to start a new family and include you in it. He loved you very much. He made sure you would be entitled to so much. And, Shay…there’s more than you think.”
“Okay,” I said. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“Your father recently purchased a new estate just outside of Atlanta.” William shifted. “A rather…large estate.”
“How large?”
“About twenty-five million dollars’ worth.”
Oh.
My.
God.
“Dad had that much?”
William cleared his throat. “Your father had some considerable holdings. A couple very recent investments that worked in his favor.”
“O-kay?”
“Just before his death, he was worth over a billion dollars.”
And now I knew what Gran meant about swooning. I gripped the chair, but even its arms couldn’t hold me up.
First the best sex of my life and then I inherited a billion dollars?
Jesus, I had good weeks before, but that was the result of a nice haircut and no eight AM finals, not becoming a modern day princess!
My stomach did a victory dance…but the rest of my body didn’t recognize the steps. I leaned over and gulped as much air as I could get. That only made it worse. William panicked, raking through the mini-fridge beside his desk until he found his lunch. He cast the Chipotle burrito aside and handed me the paper bag.
I breathed in, crinkled the bag, spat out the receipt, and tried to calm down.
A billion dollars.
Dad had a billion dollars.
I’d pop the damn bag and rip it to shreds if I didn’t breathe fire first.
“Dad had a billion dollars and my mother lived downtown alone in a two bedroom apartment for years?”
William grimaced. “He offered your mother quite a bit of money—most of which she refused. And he made sure you had everything you needed while you were growing up.”
Sure, everything I needed except a father! Someone to hug me after school, to ground me that one time Momma found a pack of cigarettes stuffed under my mattress, to teach me to drive the car he gave me. He sent me to a fancy prep school but never once came to a play, science fair, or graduation. Dad never remembered my birthday either, he was always a year and two weeks late.
I spent my teenage years hating him, but he only cared when he decided to edge into my life. By then it was too late. I created excuse after excuse not to see him. College homework. Finals. Group assignments. Rush—and I wasn’t even in a sorority.