I Can’t Even

Chapter Seven

“W hat is she still doing here?” Em asked. “Did you tell her she could stay?”

“Hell no,” Soph said. “You know I can’t stand her.”

“Don’t look at me,” I replied as they both turned to do just that. “You know how I feel about her.”

We were standing in the kitchen, glancing out at the living room where a few stragglers from the gathering lingered over the last of the wine. Soph had given the caterers the signal to clean up in the hope that the remaining guests would take the hint and leave us to our grief.

More accurately, it was time to meet with Babs’s attorney, Mr. Howard Loren. He’d come for the service and asked our preference for the reading of the will. We’d decided to save us all a trip and have him tell us after the get together so that we knew what we were dealing with and could plan accordingly.

Unfortunately, Paisley Lawson, our obnoxious cousin on our mother’s side of the family was one of the lingerers. What can I say about Paisley? She was Babs’s older sister Jean’s only child and smack between me and Soph in age. She was thirty-one, a serial marrier with three ex-husbands, gobs of money from the divorces, a bottle blond with a faux tan and fake tatas, platypus lips and, well, you get the picture.

Simply put, Paisley was a horror. She was spoiled, selfish, and mean. She had the same light blue eyes as Babs and Aunt Jean, but Paisley’s were full of myopic malevolence.

My cousin had a way of studying you as if she knew all of your secrets. It was unsettling. Added to that she knew just what to say to make you feel badly about yourself all while couching the words in what sounded like a compliment but totally wasn’t.

If we had to chuck her out, we’d need to draw straws to see who’d do it. Yes, this was just like who was going to catch and release the spider in the bathroom or answer the front door when a salesman knocked. Sisters or not, when it came to Paisley, bugs, or salesmen, it was every woman for herself.

“Let’s get Mr. Loren to do it,” I whispered to Soph. She looked at me as if I was a genius. Admittedly, I had my moments.

Soph approached Babs’s attorney. Mr. Loren was a middle-aged man in a dark suit with a lavender tie. He seemed comfortable in his attire, as if most himself. His gray hair had receded to a neatly trimmed fringe around the bald dome of his head—not too pointy or too flat. It made me think he had a lot of brains tucked up in there, which was never a bad thing.

Soph murmured to the attorney as Em walked her boss at the insurance company, Mr. Drake, to the door. The man was tall, broad shouldered, and ridiculously good-looking in that Ivy league, clean-cut, speaks three languages and plays tennis every weekend, sort of way.

I didn’t like him. I didn’t like the way he looked at Em, his hand on her arm while he stared into her eyes with gentle concern. Mostly, I didn’t like it because even from across the room I could see two things: One, Em peered up at him as if he was her entire world. Seriously, I expected heart emojis to explode from her eyeballs. Two, the hand he had on her arm was his left one and the gold glint of a wedding band shone on his ring finger for all the world to see. Ay carumba , Em was in love with her married boss!

I briefly wondered if it was too early in the day to break into the hard stuff. A shot or two of Cuervo might check all of these bad feelings or it could cause me to belt out Guantanamera in my loudest drunk voice...so, no tequila then. When Em finally shut the door, all of the guests were gone—except for Paisley, who was loitering in front of the windows, taking in the view of the neighborhood, the town below and the vast ocean. Or maybe not. I followed the line of her gaze and noticed she was fixated on the house next door, Liam’s house. That’s when I saw Liam, still in his suit, but with his tie loosened, taking a long pull off a Green Flash IPA while he watered some plants in the large pots on his front steps.

The look in Paisley’s eye as she studied him was predatory, like she was sizing him up for a run at husband number four. Hells to the no! That’s when I decided it was time for her to go, git, skedaddle, and move on.

“Paisley.” I greeted her with all of my teeth showing. “So nice of you to come, really, great to see you, but I imagine you have a bit of drive to get back to Los Angeles, and we don’t want to keep you.”

I looped my arm through hers and dragged her to the door. She stumbled along beside me, as if she wasn’t very good at walking on those crazy platform stilettos of hers or maybe the skintight, hoochie-mama orange dress—really, to a funeral? —she had on was impeding her progress. Hard to say.

As we passed Soph and Mr. Loren, Soph gave me a wide-eyed look and shook her head. Now I stumbled, pulling us to a halt. Soph gestured to Mr. Loren.

“Paisley, imagine my surprise when Mr. Loren told me you’re here for the reading of the will as well,” Soph said.

I dropped Paisley’s arm without thinking to mask the shock on my face. What could Babs possibly have left Paisley? She loathed her as much as the rest of us, mostly because when Aunt Jean had passed, Paisley didn’t even think to call my mother until two days later, after all of the arrangements had been made.

Babs had never forgiven Paisley for that slight so what the heck was she doing here now? Was it possible my mother had plotted some sort of revenge in her will? Did she leave Paisley something truly ghastly? I perked up at the thought. This might actually be fun.

Paisley tossed her head. It was a very expensive cut and color she had going, and the layered chop framed her pointy-chinned face becomingly to make her appear less witchy.

My cousin gave me a side-eye and said, “What? You didn’t really think your mom was going to leave anything to you, her big disappointment, did you?”

I lunged for her, but Em captured me in a one-armed bear hug. Some might call it a headlock, if you ignored her forearm around my neck and her heels dug into the carpet, preventing me from reaching our cousin. Damn it!

I shook Em off with a look that said I was fine and we took our seats at the dining room table. Mr. Loren was at the head with Soph and Em on either side. I sat next to Em while Paisley was by Soph. I felt like we were in a situation room, trying to plan our next maneuver, except the person we were at war with had been invited into the planning session.

It might feel like I’m overstating the negativity of the relationship, but no. Paisley was one of those people who always got her way. When we were kids, she was the one who if she got tapped “it” in a game of tag, she suddenly had a horrible stomachache and couldn’t play until some other poor shlub, usually Soph, volunteered to be “it” for her at which point Paisley would have a miraculous recovery and be able to play again.

Plus, having known her before the fake boobs, faux blond hair, nose job, and the plumped out lips, it was very difficult for me to feel affection for someone who clearly got all of her self-worth from her appearance. I like authenticity in my people and as far as I could tell the only thing authentic about Paisley was her meanness.

As if sensing the tension in the room, Mr. Loren cleared his throat and brought our attention to him. He had a sheaf of papers in front of him and a large box.

“If you’re all ready,” he said. “I’ll get started.”

We all nodded, and he began to read Babs’s will. I knew I should have been listening intently, appreciating my mother’s final wishes and all that but the finality of it made it hard for me to concentrate. My heart beat hard in my chest. My breathing was unsteady and I was starting to sweat. I couldn’t seem to get passed the fact that this was the end. Babs was gone. We were reading her will. She would never complain about my hair, my clothes, or my personality again. I should have been relieved, but instead I felt empty.

I had come to define myself in opposition to Babs. It was a defiant stance that had formed when my father died and remained, propelling me across the country in an act of sheer fuck you, for lack of a better description. I had established a three-thousand-mile-wide boundary between me and Babs, even if it was all for show and deep down, I desperately just wanted her love and approval. Knowing I’d never get it, I became the human equivalent of a walking middle finger.

I lowered my head and closed my eyes. I forced myself to listen to Mr. Loren. I could do this, if not for me then for my sisters.

“And here is the proposed timeline,” Mr. Loren was saying. He distributed a single sheet of paper to all four of us.

I glanced blankly at it. I had no idea what it was referring to because during my little existential meltdown I’d missed that portion.

“So, let me be sure I understand,” Soph said. Bless her. “Mom wants the three of us to live together in this house for the entire summer.”

“Correct,” Mr. Loren said.

My eyes widened. Clearly, I had missed some pretty major shizzle.

“And if you don’t, you lose everything,” Paisley said with a grin. “The house and the money, all of it goes to me! Sorry, but that’s my favorite part.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” The words were out of me before I had the brains to hold them in. I blamed the surprise of it all.

Paisley cackled as she read the piece of paper in front of her. She clapped her hands together with a sneer for me. “Looks like you don’t get to go back to New York, doesn’t it?”

I read the paper. Sure enough, the mean girl was right. For the months of June, July, and August, the Blumer sisters were to live together in this house unless we opted out and then everything went to Paisley.

I glanced at my sisters. Soph was reading over the document, clearly trying to parse out what Babs had been thinking. I knew what she’d been thinking. She’d come up with the perfect way for me to alienate both of my sisters when I refused to fall in with her deranged scheme.

I tapped the sheet and faced Mr. Loren. “This isn’t going to work for me. I have a business in New York. I will lose my customer base if I’m gone for three months.”

“I told her that,” the attorney said with a sympathetic smile.

“And I have children,” Soph argued. “I can’t just move out of my house and leave my husband and two teenagers to fend for themselves.”

“Actually, your mother took it upon herself to arrange for the twins to attend an exclusive camp in Switzerland for most of the summer.” Mr. Loren cleared his throat. “She thought it would give them polish.”

Soph slapped a hand over her forehead. “Hang on, I think I’m having a stroke.”

Em looked between us. I could tell by the wobble in her lower lip that she was losing the battle to keep it together. “So, you’re both out?”

“No,” Soph and I answered together. Soph continued, “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure there is a loophole or a way around this.”

“Exactly.” I scowled at the attorney. “There has to be some wiggle room.”

Em’s shoulders sank. “Right, because staying here with me in Gull Harbor is so horrible.”

“Em, it’s not that,” I protested.

“Sure, it is,” my youngest sister said. “Just leave then—after all that’s what you do best.”

With that, Em stormed out of the dining room, her feet pounding on the stairs as she dashed up to her bedroom. The slam of her door echoed through the house, and we all sat there as if waiting for someone else to erupt from the table.

“I think Em has had a very long day,” Soph said.

“Understandable,” Mr. Loren acknowledged. “I did try to persuade your mother not to do this or at the very least to talk to you all about it first but, well, you know your mother.”

“And how,” I said. Babs and her endless machinations had struck again.

“I’ll go talk to Em,” Soph said.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll hammer out the deets with Mr. Loren.”

I ignored Paisley and Mr. Loren gave me a wary look while Soph left the room. I wondered if he thought I was going to pick a fight with my cousin. I would never, okay, that’s another lie. I might one day but not today.

Mr. Loren stood and lifted the lid off the box on the table. Judging by his grunt it took some muscle to heft Babs’s urn out of the box. He put it on the table with a solid thunk . I recognized it as the one the crematorium had listed in their paperwork. It was gold plated with mother of pearl and Swarovski crystals all over it. Very delicate and stylish as a final resting place.

“What is that?” Paisley asked. “Did Aunt Barbara leave her most prized possession to her favorite niece?”

“Not quite,” Mr. Loren said. “This is Barbara.”

“Oh.” Paisley made a moue of distaste.

I reached out and ran one finger over the Swarovski crystals that encrusted the top of the urn.

I turned to Mr. Loren and asked, “Did she tell you what she wanted done with her urn? Are we to inter her in a cemetery or did she expect us to keep her with us for the next three months?”

“Yes, the latter,” he said.

I blinked. “I was joking.”

“She wasn’t,” the attorney replied.

“So, we’ll keep the urn on the mantel or something?” Knowing Babs, she had a very specific placement in mind for her urn.

Mr. Loren checked his notes on the table. “She requested that you keep her on the sill of the main bay window—for the view.” He gestured to the large window that overlooked the side yard, the neighbors’ houses, the town below, and the sea. “She said this is non-negotiable and failure to keep her on the windowsill at all times would be considered breaking the terms of the will.”

“Seriously?” I gestured at the urn. “What if there’s an earthquake and she gets knocked off the window sill?”

“If I were you I’d put her back as soon as it’s over,” Mr. Loren answered. A cackle sounded from the other side of the table. I glanced at my cousin who looked positively giddy.

“What?” I snapped.

“This is just delicious. You have three months of babysitting Mommy Dearest’s ashes and if you don’t, all of this and the millions in the bank all become mine.” Paisley held her arms out wide to encompass the house and all that was in it.

“That’s not true, is it?” I asked Mr. Loren. “We can leave the house, can’t we?”

He nodded. “Yes, but there are limits. Your mother was very specific. You can work, attend functions, live your lives, but every night you are to be here in this home, as are your sisters.”

Like we were wayward teens or something. Talk about conditional love.

“I. Can’t. Even.” I raised my hands in surrender and leaned back in my seat, as if I could push away this bonkers final request from Babs.

Soph and Em reentered the room. Em was puffy eyed and red nosed as if she’d been crying while Soph looked exhausted. Well, this parting gift from Mom would likely perk them right up. Not.

I picked up the urn. It weighed about four pounds, sort of like hefting a sack of flour. I glanced at my sisters and said, “You’re just in time. Babs and I were just going to see Paisley out.”