2. Whitney
2
WHITNEY
A fter eating an entire pint of ice cream, I spend the rest of the day binging my comfort TV show, trying to distract myself from my imploding life. I can usually tell how depressed I am by what teen drama I’m watching. One Tree Hill is when I know I’m on the decline, Gossip Girl is getting into pretty dire territory, and Glee is when I know I’ve hit absolute rock bottom. Still, my favorite has always been Gilmore Girls because Lorelai and Rory always reminded me of my mom and me. It used to be us against the world.
Now, it’s just me.
And potentially a million dollars.
I get to Rocka Rolla a few minutes late. Abbi is already in the backyard with our drinks, her fiery hair tied into a messy bun that somehow manages to look both stylish and chaotic. When she sees me, she shrieks and throws her arms around my neck.
“Oh my God! My girl is a free woman!” she shouts as we both sit down. We’re getting side glances from other people sitting on the patio, something that happens often when I’m with Abbi given that her voice is louder than any sane person’s probably should be.
She picks up her margarita and lifts it against mine. “To spontaneous life decisions.” She grins. We both sip our drinks and Abbi leans forward. “So, tell me everything.”
I sigh, trying to figure out where to start. I haven’t even told her about my inheritance. How do I explain the shit show that is the past twelve hours of my life?
“I just… snapped. Walked right up to Dan and told him I was done.”
“Are you sure you and I haven’t been Freaky Friday ’d? Because spontaneous quitting is much more my groove.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I wish. Then I’d be going home to a hot basketball player instead of finding out my roommate is moving out. Olivia got some tour gig that required her to leave immediately, and now some random guy is supposed to be taking her place.”
Abbi frowns. “No way. You gotta vet him first. He could be a Craigslist murderer for all you know. My ex once had a roommate who used his toothbrush. Nasty shit.”
“Thanks, Ab,” I say, grimacing through a wave of nausea. “I’m feeling really assured now.”
She smirks. “Maybe he’s one of the good ones. You never know.”
“Knowing my luck, he’s probably Ted Bundy’s grandson.”
“I don’t think Bundy had kids.”
I give her my best glare, but she just cackles in response and downs the rest of her cocktail.
“Come on,” she urges impatiently, “drink number one should be a distant memory by now.”
I snort and down the drink. When I’m finished, I bang my fist on the table for good measure, startling the people around us. “Same again?”
“You know it.”
I get the second round and return with two more margaritas, setting them down on the table.
“The loser next to us just tried to hit on me. As if I’d ever go out with a guy who wears Kanye merch,” she says, her voice carrying through the garden.
“Pretty sure he can hear you, Ab.” I glance to the right where a kid, who can’t be older than twenty-three, is frowning at us.
She shrugs. “Who cares? Anyway, since you’re a free agent, what’s next for you?”
I grimace, trying to figure out how the hell to phrase this. What’s the best way to explain that phone call?
“Well, actually, I have more news, and this one is a real doozy.”
“There’s something more newsworthy than Whitney Rhodes making her first ever spontaneous decision?” she teases.
“My estranged grandmother who I didn’t even know existed passed away and left me a million-dollar inheritance.”
Abbi’s jaw drops. “Oh my God. What?”
I nod in disbelief. “Yeah. It’s crazy.”
“Whoa,” she breathes out. “I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”
“Thanks,” I reply numbly. “It’s weird. I know I didn’t know her or anything, but I can’t help but feel a sense of grief, like I’ve missed out on an important relationship. I had this whole family that I never knew.”
“It’s pretty fucked up your mom never told you about them,” she says.
Abbi knows all about my strained relationship with my mother, and I’m sure she can tell that this news is only adding fuel to the fire.
It’s quiet for a moment before Abbi speaks again, awe in her voice. “So, a million bucks?”
I hold my hand up. “There’s a catch.”
“Ugh!” she says, throwing her head back dramatically. “There’s always a catch.”
“I have to be married — and stay married for three years — to get it.”
It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I’ve never seen Abbi so speechless. She’s always the quickest to come up with a retort or something clever to say.
I take a large gulp of my margarita. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“So… could you just… repeat that for me?”
“I have to get married and stay married for three?—”
“No right, so I heard you correctly, then.” She nods and then turns to face me. “So, I suppose my next question is: what in the ever-loving fuck?”
“I know.”
“Wow. This is so crazy.”
I shake my head, chuckling, the sound turning into a groan halfway through. “Abbi. What am I going to do?”
She puts her palm on my back, rubbing soft circles. The motion reminds me of when my mom used to rub my back when I was sick. A small, familiar comfort.
“You should probably call your mom.”
“She won’t even answer. I bet she’s holed up in some motel somewhere,” I grumble. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with her for weeks. I think she ditched her phone.”
Abbi is quiet for a moment. “It’s a lot of money, Whit.”
“I know.”
“You could do a lot with that money. Pay off all your loans. Finally open your salon.”
The truth I’ve been trying to ignore hits me all at once then, fueled by the alcohol and openness with Abbi. My dream. I’ve wanted to open my own hair salon for years. Ever since I was a kid, salons were a safe place for me. When I was on the road with my mom, she’d drop me at the strip mall, and I’d find my way to a place where I met all kinds of women. Beautiful women with problems and ideas and dreams.
All I ever wanted was to create that same sort of space for other people, but life got in the way. I ended up taking an office job for the benefits a cosmetology career couldn’t offer me, but I always missed it. Always dreamed of having my own little haven. The picture that Abbi paints is almost too good. It’s the things I never thought would be possible, especially not all at once.
It’s the possibility of my dreams finally coming true.
“It’s crazy that I’m even considering it.”
“Even crazier not to. It’s a million dollars.”
I shake my head. “I can’t get married. I’m not even dating.”
“It’s not like you’d actually be getting married. It’d be more like a business arrangement, right?”
“I guess so, yeah.”
She shrugs. “So, it’s not even a big deal. Sign some papers and bam, you get a million bucks. Honestly, this sounds like every girl’s dream. Or maybe the plot to a Hallmark movie.”
“It gets paid out in installments over the three years, so I’d have to stay married for at least that long. I wouldn’t get all the money at once.”
“Still, it’s worth it. I mean, come on, Whit. You’ve always made excuses for why it’s not the right time for your salon, but now you’ve got the money, so just get over your scaredy cat shit and do it!”
Abbi always has a way of making the most difficult tasks sound like a walk in the park. It’s very annoying.
“It’s not that simple,” I mutter.
“Yeah, well, it ain’t rocket science either, babe.”
I chug the rest of my drink and sigh, resting my head in my arms with a moan. Abbi pats my back. “Cheer up, champ. You’re basically a millionaire. You can get any guy you want to marry you.”
If only that were true.
When I get home from the bar, my plan is to go straight to bed. Even though I spent all day on the couch, I feel completely drained. I’m sure the multiple margaritas didn’t help, but at least I’ll be able to fall asleep without my thoughts distracting me.
After speeding through my skincare routine, I lay down, exhausted, but I’m distracted by the buzz of my phone. I check it and find an email from Trent, reading through it quickly to see that he’s attached the terms of my inheritance and a letter from my grandmother. Curious, I click on the attached document and zoom in so that I can read it:
To my granddaughter,
If you are reading this, it means that I never had the pleasure to meet you. I do not know what your mother has told you about us, but it is my hope that despite our distance and separation she has shared with you some of the fond memories we shared during her childhood. The day I gave birth to Caroline was the happiest day of my life. Every mother knows that their greatest gift in the world is their child, and that losing them is the most terrifying horror imaginable.
Your mother was always a bit of a wild child. I never understood why she so resented the life we led. At the time, I chalked it up to teenage angst and tried not to let it get to me, but your grandfather was more sensitive to her attitude. He believed it was my job to keep her under control and was angry when I failed to do so. When she came to us at sixteen and told us that she was pregnant, I couldn’t believe it. Joseph demanded that she marry the father of the child immediately, but she refused. He told her that he would not have a bastard raised out of wedlock in his home.
I think of that night quite often, mostly with regret and shame. Regret that I did not speak up. Shame that I allowed my husband to throw our only child out into the streets. A few days after your mother left, I begged Joseph to reconsider. I heard she had been spending the night at a friend’s house, but I knew that couldn’t last long, and I feared that if she left town, we would not be able to reach her again. He told me that she was no longer our daughter and forbade me from contacting her. I obeyed, though the pain was unbearable. After a few months, I couldn’t take it anymore. Without Joseph knowing, I managed to find out where she was staying and went to see her. I begged her to come back home, but she refused. She told me that she was leaving town, and that she never wanted to see me again.
Over the years, I endeavored to stay in touch with her, sending letters often. I told her how dearly I wanted to meet you, and always sent her money, which was often returned to me with a note to leave you both alone. For years, I tried to convince your mother to bring you home to us, but every attempt was unsuccessful. Eventually, I started to lose hope. Then Joseph passed, and I was alone. I hate to admit it, but the truth is that in the end, I simply gave up.
I am sorry that I never had the chance to meet my only granddaughter. My wish is that this gift bestowed onto you may help you in your life, wherever you may be. As for the matter of my condition, I desire a different path for you than your mother. I am hopeful that these funds will assist you in raising your own child with the support of your marital partner.
Very sincerely yours,
Agnes Rhodes
I set my phone down, reeling. Licking my lips, I taste a familiar salty flavor and realize that I’m crying. I wipe at my face, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. I’m surprised by my intense reaction, but I think the events of the past two days are starting to catch up with me. I feel tired all the way down to my bones.
Closing my eyes, I fall back against the pillow and hope that life doesn’t have any more curveballs to throw me.