“Julian, you’re next.” She leaned forward, squeezing his knee. If there was one positive thing about the aftermath of Dad’s death, it was the fact that Julian had been given a second chance without really asking for one. It was both universally and silently agreed that he was a world-class idiot who’d acted like a douchebag of enormous proportions for the past few years, but karma had fucked him so hard—so dry, sans lube—that none of our family members felt particularly passionate about ruining his life further. Let me amend: I would never pass on a good opportunity to torture Julian, but I no longer wanted to ruin his life.
“Julian gets twenty percent of the shares, both properties you reside in with Amber, the Edinburgh castle, and your Dundee childhood home. There is also a personal message.” She cleared her throat, peering at him worriedly. Julian lowered his head and clasped it in his palms, his back quivering. He was sobbing. The Dundee home was a nice touch. None of us had known Dad had even kept it. We’d always assumed that since Dad managed Julian’s inheritance, he would sell the house. It seemed more practical. Julian also got more shares than Katie, proof that Dad had not been bullshitting. He really did consider Julian a son.
When Julian looked back up, his eyes were red and wet. “A personal message?” he echoed. “How come you and Lori didn’t get them?”
“We did. Privately,” Mom explained from her place on the couch. “I have a feeling whatever he has to say to you is meant to be public and heard by all members of the family.”
“Okay.” Julian hesitated. “Let’s hear it.”
“He said . . .” Katie trailed off, frowning. “Okay, this is verbatim, so don’t kill the messenger: ‘Dear Julian. Are you out of your goddamn mind? You have everything a man could dream of, and you’re throwing it away for more work, more headache, and more responsibility? Start focusing on the important things. Money, status, and Amber were never a part of those things. I love you, son, but you are a complete pain in the ass. If you don’t get your priorities straight, you are banished from heaven. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me when I say you will not like the alternative. Make wise choices, and love hard. Dad.’”
The entire room burst out laughing. The first time we’d laughed since Dad had died almost two weeks ago. Katie sent me a sideways glance, lifting her manicured fingernail in warning. “I would not be so gleeful if I were you. You’re next, bro.”
“Lay it on me.” I sprawled backward on the damask settee, jesting.
“Twenty-five percent of the shares,” Katie said simply.
“That’s it?” Mom raised her eyebrows. I reverberated the same question in my head but obviously wasn’t enough of a brat to utter it aloud. Another 15 percent of the shares were locked up with external shareholders.
“No, you have a note too.” Katie grinned, enjoying herself. I got the fewest material things. Which suited me fine, since I’d never cared for them.
Julian passed me an imaginary item from across the couch. “Your lube, sir.”
I pretended to grab it. It was just like old times. When I was a kid. “A good brother would offer to apply it too,” I noted.
“Seems fair, seeing as kicking your ass at chess is my favorite hobby.”
We stared at each other dead in the eye for a second, then burst into laughter. Katie shook her head, used to her older brothers’ antics.
“Dad’s message to you is as follows: ‘Dear Chase, if you’re sitting here without Maddie under your arm, you’ve failed me and, frankly, all men as a gender. Go and rectify the situation immediately. The woman brought you back to life after years of being a shell of your former self. I’m not sure what she did, or what made you this way in the first place, but you cannot afford to let her go. Love, Dad.’”
The words sank into the room, inking themselves on the walls. Katie gave a curt nod, as if agreeing with the sentiment, then continued. “‘I left something for Maddie. It’s in the safe. Kindly give it to her at your earliest convenience. PS: If you fire your brother, you, too, are banished from the heaven mansion I am currently building.’”
I turned to Julian, handing him his imaginary lube back. “Looks like I’m going to be your boss for a long-ass time. I believe you’ll need some lubrication for that too.”
“Boys.” Mom clutched her pearls, like we were back to being preteens. “Behave.”
“Fine,” Julian said, sulking.
“He started it,” I mumbled. Julian laughed and elbowed my ribs.
Katie looked between us, then began to laugh and cry at the same time. I felt oddly compelled to agree with her mixed emotions. I was thankful Dad had left us like this. With a humorous bang, so to speak.
“And another, general message, directed at all of us.” Katie wiped a tear under her eye. “‘Dear family, please never forget I’ve always been quite resourceful when it comes to taking care of myself. Don’t worry. Wherever I am, I’m okay. I miss you and I love you, and I ask kindly that you take your time in joining me. Love, Dad.’”
“False,” Mom muttered. “He never could take care of himself.”
Another round of chuckles.
“Yeah, he could.” Julian scrubbed his chin. “If heaven turns out to be some sort of Lord of the Flies situation, you know Dad would be Ralph.”
Dad. He was saying Dad again. I smiled.
If we laughed like this less than two weeks after his death, maybe we could survive it after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MADDIE
I was curled into myself on the couch when the doorbell rang. I got up to answer, Daisy at my heel, barking excitedly, as she did when Chase came over. We hadn’t discussed him dropping by, but the hollowness I’d felt at not being with him today, for the first time in weeks, terrified me. I flung the door open. The hallway was empty. I wondered how whoever had gotten in had done it in the first place. The front buzzer hadn’t rung. I just guessed it was Layla. I surveyed the empty hall, frowning.
“Layla? Chase?” My voice bounced on the walls. Daisy whimpered, lowering her head and bumping her nose against something on my doorstep. I looked down. Was that . . . a sewing machine? It looked old school. Heavy. The expensive kind. A vintage Singer in black and gold. I crouched down, picked it up, and carried it into my apartment. There was a note plastered onto it. No sewing machine case. I plucked it off.
Maddie,
When I was a wee lad in Dundee, my mother was the neighborhood’s seamstress. I witnessed firsthand how clothes transform people. Not just visually. But their mood and ability and ambition. When I moved to the States, I decided to incorporate Black & Co., basing my entire business plan on something I’d learned from a poor widow who couldn’t afford to put milk on the table. From my mother.
This is what Gillian Black taught me—if you love what you do, it will never be work for you.
To making many more dresses, and hopefully happy memories with my son.
—Ronan Black
I blinked, desperately trying to get rid of the tears so I could reread the letter again and again. Ronan had left something for me. I didn’t know why it hit me so deeply. Maybe because the circumstances reminded me of my mom, and all she could afford to leave behind were letters. It took me another twenty minutes and two cups of water to calm down. I picked up my phone and texted Chase. I knew a normal person would call, but texting was our safety net. We were still treading carefully, trying not to reveal too much of our hearts. Texts could be deleted. Words spoken would be inked in our memories forever.