Chapter 7 The Will
the will
DAPHNE
“That depends, are you going to tell me how you got up here?”
“I’m Curtis Delaney.”
A tumbleweed rolls through the empty streets of my brain, and the man raises a brow after a few moments of silence.
“Your… grandfather’s lawyer.”
“Didn’t know he had one,” I laugh. “Though I guess it makes sense.”
“Your mother gave me the keys to the bar. She said she texted you to tell you I was going to be stopping by this afternoon. To talk about your grandfather’s will.”
I don’t remember that at all, but the perimenopause has given me massive brain fog over the last year.
I’ve got post-it notes all over my home studio, the kitchen, and my bedroom reminding me to do things, to call people, and to confirm meetings.
It doesn’t help that my phone is a mess of saved notifications and texts that I haven’t even checked, too.
“Right,” I laugh. “Uh, yeah, yeah sorry. Things have just been hectic lately— uh, please come in.”
I never used to be like this. When I was in my 20s, I was sharp as a knife, but the ‘change,’ as my mother so bitterly puts it, is a cruel and unusual beast. Most days, it feels like I’m constantly battling my hormones, but at some point those hormones got hold of a fucking bazooka and they’ve been keeping me hostage ever since.
“Sorry,” I laugh, rushing around to clear the boxes and books off the couch so he can sit down. “We’re just sorting through Joe’s things, trying to find pictures and stuff for his Celebration of Life next week— did you want something to drink?”
Curtis looks more than a little put out the mess, and I think that me pushing around piles of crap is only making things worse.
“It’s fine, Ms. Carmichael. I won’t take up too much of your time. There are just a few things I need to go over in your grandfather’s will.”
“No, Mom told me Joe didn’t have a will.”
My dad was pretty pissed off about that, actually. Brought it up more than a couple times.
“That’s what your parents initially thought, but then we found his safety deposit box.
” He pulls a large brown envelope out of his bag, handing it to me like he’s a mafia don about to make an offer I can’t refuse.
“This was addressed to you, along with instructions on carrying out his final wishes.”
My chest grows tight as I open the envelope, and see my grandfather’s familiar, blocky handwriting.
Daphne,
I apologize in advance, because I have no idea how you’re going to feel about this request— don’t worry, it’s not asking you to play Stairway to Heaven at my funeral. I think that’s a little too on the nose, don’t you?
I chuckle through the tears I can already feel building up.
You’ve spent your entire career writing about heartbreak as you endure it in your life, and somehow, watching you get hurt and let down over and over again made me reflect on my own life.
I lost your grandmother a few years after your father was born, and I never recovered.
Like you, I threw myself into my work, first with my music, and then the bar.
I played fast and loose with love, and got my heart broken more times than I can count.
You’ve got a little girl to think about now, and that child needs stability, so, I’m giving you a choice.
The Hi-Dive can be yours, on one condition: you settle down.
Find a good man who treats you the way you deserve to be treated.
I know you’re probably telling me to butt the hell out of your personal life, but I want you to be happy, Pumpkin.
Should you agree to this condition, the bar is to be held in trust and signed over to you on your next birthday. If you don’t agree, the property will be put on the market and the proceeds will be split between the university and the Emerald Bay Women’s Shelter.
“Okay, so, wait… he wants me to find a boyfriend?”
Curtis clears his throat.
“Not quite. A boyfriend is too temporary.”
“What do you mean, temporary?”
“Ms. Carmichael, this is a very… unorthodox method your grandfather’s chosen to pass over inheritance.
What’s the most clear are his wishes for the business were you not to agree to the terms: The property is to be sold, the the proceeds donated.
He specifically stipulates he wishes for you to,” He clears his throat again, clearly a little bemused by the entire thing.
“Settle down, I believe were the exact words he used. It seems he’s asking for you to get married, Ms. Carmichael, or at the very least I believe that would be the only concrete way to prove that you’re meeting his conditions, and then there will be no disputing it when you apply for probate.
You could stay married for… let’s say a year.
That way, you’ve got enough time for the inheritance paperwork to go through. ”
Married? Is that what he just said?
I want to laugh, but this entire thing is just too strange to ignore, and I’m curious about what else he could possibly have to say.
“So, hypothetically, if I were to do this… when would I have to get the ball rolling?”
“The lease expires on September 25th. That’ll be the end of your parents’ tenure as caretakers.”
My birthday. Hilarious.
“Wait, no, none of this makes sense. I thought they owned it.”
Curtis shakes his head.
“Like I said, they were caretakers, just holding on to it until— Look, I’m not saying you have to do this. You’re free to give up the bar and move on with your life. To be completely honest, you might not even want to take over anyway.”
I arch a brow, folding up the letter and shoving it in my pocket.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs.
“Well, I’m not sure how often you’ve come to visit, but it’s in a pretty hefty state of disrepair. Rotting wood, poor wiring… at this point it’s likely costing more than it’s bringing in.”
He has to be exaggerating, it didn’t look half that bad to me when we came through on the way up here. Then again, the lights were dimmed, and I couldn’t bear to look around with all the memories lingering in the air.
“If it were to be donated, we’d likely be selling it for the property value, and nothing more.”
I’m trying my best to keep my temper in check, but this is fucking ridiculous! I have money. I paid for his medical care, his tests, his hospice, I could have helped with the fucking bar.
“Why didn’t they tell me?”
“I hate to be curt, but I’m a lawyer, not a therapist. My job here is to be the messenger.” He reaches into his pocket, handing me a business card. “You can call, or email me with your final decision. I am truly sorry for your loss.”
My eyes well up with tears as the door softly shuts behind him. Through blurry eyes, I scan the letter again, hoping the words will somehow magically rearrange themselves to add a final just kidding!
No such luck.
“Daph?” Huxley asks from the kitchen doorway. “You good?”
Without a word, I hand him the letter and slump down on the couch, putting my head in my hands.
It takes him a minute or two for him to read it, and re-read it, but when he’s done…
“Holy shit, this is for real, huh?”
“You saw the lawyer!” I groan. “What the hell am I gonna do?”
He’s quiet for a moment, scanning it one more time before folding it up with pursed lips.
“Well that’s easy, you give up the bar.”
I lift my head, staring up at him in disbelief.
“I’m not sure I like how quickly you came to that conclusion.”
“How is this a dilemma, Daph?” Huxley chuckles.
“Because if I don’t take the place, it’s getting torn down!”
I think this is what my therapist would call spiraling. I’ve been told I’m very, very good at it during a crisis.
“Look…” He tosses the letter onto the coffee table as he sits down next to me. “I know how important the bar was to you.”
“Is,” I correct him. “I wouldn’t be here without it.”
I watch Huxley go into repair mode in real-time, softening his expression and lowering his voice.
“I get that, but you’ve got enough going on with Cole, with postponing the tour… do you really want to add ‘owning a failing bar’ on top of everything else?”
I know he’s right, but the idea of handing it off to someone who’s just going to bulldoze it and build some overpriced shithole gets under my skin.
It’s more than just a bar, it’s the place I grew up.
When you look at pictures of EBU, The Hi-Dive is always right there, tucked away in its own little corner. It’s a pillar of the community.
And more than that, all of my memories of my grandpa are here. All of the laughter we shared, the tough conversations we had, the songs I sang…
“Yes,” I whisper after a long silence. “Yes, I do.”
He’s offering me a part of his legacy.
“Daph…”
Huxley squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What?” I laugh. “All I have to do is get married! How hard can that be?”
“God, this is so stupid—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, that was a bad choice of words… but it really is kind of ridiculous.”
“I know that.”
“Just marry dad,” Violet chirps. “You guys already know each other.”
Huxley snorts, shaking his head.
“V, I’m with Katrina, remember? I don’t think she’d be particularly happy with the idea.”
Violet rolls her eyes and Huxley immediately lets out a squawk of protest.
“You like her! Don’t give me that!”
Katrina is Phoebe’s assistant at Titanium Records, and at 25, she’s ten years Huxley’s junior. They only just started dating last month, but she’s funny enough, she’s got fantastic taste in shoes, and most importantly to me, she’s always been great with Violet.
It had been a long time since he’d branched out and actually tried dating again, and I wouldn’t want to fuck that up.
“Mom’s more important,” Violet says with a shrug.
“V, I appreciate the effort, but I’m not interested in breaking up your dad’s first happy relationship in years. Besides, I’d have to deal with his smelly socks again, which is a cost I’m not willing to pay.”
“So you’re really going to try and do this?” Huxley asks.
“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know. I… I think I am.”