"I'm always ready," I told him.
He smiled, still watching me carefully. "My mom wants Dess and me to return to California and oversee the restaurant."
My breath caught in a gasp. The imaginary bouquet in my hand withered away and was oddly replaced with an imaginary bottle of suntan lotion. "Is that what the two of you were talking about? We're moving to L.A?"
The right side of his mouth curled up in a grin. Adorable. God, I loved him. "Just for a year. After that, we'll see where we want to settle down. We'll come back to Washington, if you want. But every family member takes turns manning the restaurant. Next year is our year."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"We didn't know we'd be next. Every year on my mom's birthday, she draws the name of one us kids out of a hat. Usually it's one family member per year, but Dess and I come as a matched set." He paused and searched my eyes, possibly nervous about my reaction. "We should be out of here before January, so we'd still have a couple months to get everything together. So?" he prompted, making an encouraging motion with his hands. "What do you think?"
"About us living in L.A?" I asked him incredulously.
A full-blown smile adorned his face. "About us living in L.A," he agreed. "I personally think it's a great idea. You need a change in environment. I'm feeling restless being in a serene city like Lynnwood. Dess is homesick. It all adds up."
A million thoughts coursed through my mind. "Wait. You don't like it here in Lynnwood? But what about the people that are hunting you down in L.A., the people your mom wanted you to hide from?"
"We have people hunting us down here, don't we? I'm not going to stop living my life because of people like that. We'll work on our self-defense techniques. We can hire a security team, if we need to. AND, my dear, you forget that we have a little heavenly advantage. I'm ready to take on the world."
I couldn't help smiling at his confidence and excitement, and the fact that not too long ago I, too, had gotten sick of living my life for other people. "So the ultimate challenge is moving to California? Are we really ready for L.A?"
"The question really is, is L.A. really ready for us? And no, the ultimate challenge is not moving but meeting my mother and my large, insane family."
I laughed but otherwise didn't answer, moving my face closer to his neck, smelling his natural clean smell. How could he possibly smell like that all the time?
Slowly, Ree stood up. "I'm distracting you," he said sheepishly. "Look, I'll go grab some food for us. Why don't you think about it and we'll talk about it when I come back?"
I looked up at him, still mesmerized by his perfection. "Sounds good."
I watched him as he stood up, mostly because the view was so grand. His butt reminded me of a perfect apple. I laughed to myself as I heard him yell at Dess loudly, asking her what she wanted from the local Subway.
It wasn't until he was out of my line of vision that I realized he'd neglected to answer my question about not liking Lynnwood. Oh, well. I'd have to remember to ask him again another time.
Even though he hadn't proposed, I almost felt like he had. Meeting his family was no small thing, and it really demonstrated a lot about his feelings for me to know that he wanted me to be there with him in his hometown, in fast-paced, ultra-warm Los Angeles.
I walked to the living room just as he finished taking Dess' order. Holding on to his arm, I walked with him to his car, planting a kiss on his mouth before he drove off to Subway. As I watched him leave, I wondered if I'd survive in L.A. From what I understood, it was a totally different world there.
Los Angeles for a year? Really?
The figure of a man approaching me snapped me out of my reverie. It had begun to drizzle a little, so he was hard to see at first, especially since he was wearing a hood, which mostly everyone around here did anyway. He stopped in front of our house and looked up at me.
Ethan.
Immediately I started to run back into the house, too caught off guard to scream. Faintly, I heard something, someone yelling something.
"Wait, Morgan! I come in peace! I just have a message for you!"
That stopped me in my tracks. I turned around to face him, but did not come any closer. "What message?"
"Your number changed and you don't have a Facebook anymore, so…I'm sorry. This is the only way I could get a hold of you, or for your parents to get a hold of you."
"What is it, Ethan?" I braced myself to hear a scripture reading which would undoubtedly describe, in exquisite detail, the utter humiliation and disappointment that my parents had to endure every day because of my selfish trashiness.
"Your father died a couple hours ago."
"What?" Tears automatically spilled out of my eyes. How? What happened? Why was I finding out this way? A strange ball of emotions burrowed into my heart, refusing to come out—emotions filled with shock, tragedy, and a kind of grieving that wasn't quite ready to surface just yet. He might have been an unreal shadow for most of my life, but he was still my father, and I would never have another.
"There's something else," he added gently as he handed me a large manila envelope. I took it hesitantly. "He opened a bank account for you a long time ago. He never told your mother. He… never told her about a lot of things, in fact." I looked down at the envelope as if it were somehow at fault, as if my hating it would somehow bring my father back to life.
After a moment, I opened it just enough to see what was inside, taking precautions with the drizzle. An assortment of items were inside, so many that I didn't want to take the time to inspect them right now. It all faintly smelled like my father's aftershave. A deluge of emotions gripped my heart in an iron fist, my heart breaking and my eyes stinging with tears that should not be emerging, not at this vulnerable moment. I hugged the envelope to my chest, still sobbing, and looked at Ethan in shock.
He dared to take a step closer. "He was the one who hired me to look after you, Morgan. Not your mother. He'd known he was going to die these past couple of days, and he wanted to make sure I tell you that he loves you, has always loved you. But, see, your mother stood in the way and made life difficult for him. She was jealous of how devoted he was to you, so he kept tabs on you secretly—through people like me." He looked down for a moment. "He sent someone over to my place last night to drop these things off to you. I'm sorry—it's your family—but I'm starting to think the only reason your mother knew about your life was because she always intercepted my reports to your dad. If not for that, I really don't think she would have known very much at all. I'm sorry for how this must sound to you, now of all times.
"But he kept your bank account a secret, mostly because his CPA handled everything. It's an account that only you can touch. He really loved you, Morgan. He wanted to say that he's sorry for not showing you while he was alive, but he wants to provide for you, wants you to know that he never stopped thinking about you."
At that, Ethan bowed his head down a little, then turned to leave. He hesitated, adding, "Just so you know, I'm not working for anyone anymore, and I'm certainly not going to keep tabs on you, especially not for your mother. I'm really sorry for everything. I know it's sort of too little, too late, but I wanted to tell you anyway." He stopped for a moment and sighed. "I put my number in that envelope as well, in case you need me—well, in case any of you need me. With anything. I have a lot of making up to do. I'm really, really sorry about your father, Morgan." He turned and left for real this time, leaving me standing there alone with shocked tears streaming down my face.
I ran inside the house and closed and locked the door, running to our bedroom and sitting in the corner of the room. I stood there, feeling somehow protected between these two walls, my body frozen in shock.
I have no idea how much time passed before I heard the door open and Ree's shoes thumping on the floor. "Morgan? Have you thought some more about us mov-"
He paused when he walked in the bedroom and saw me huddled in the corner, hair and clothes wet, cheeks s
tained with tears, holding a strange, large envelope.
He moved quickly, approaching me cautiously, his arm extended so he could touch my shoulder. "What happened?" he asked, his voice sounding panicked. Dess appeared behind him, her eyes wide as she took in my appearance.
I began bawling loudly, tears continuing their already-established flow.
"You weren't with her?" Ree asked Dess accusingly.
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted in order to save her hide, since Dess really had no way of knowing what had just happened. Through broken, sobbing speech, I managed to relate Ethan's quick visit to the twins.
Dess barged her way between us and gave me a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Morgue," she said in an oddly-quiet manner. "I'm so sorry about your dad. We're here for you."
"Oh, my god, Baby. I'm so, so sorry. I should have been here so you wouldn't have had to endure this alone, with everything else that's been going on." Ree pulled his sister off despite her protests and hugged me, holding me tight for a long time.
"Do you want some time alone?" When I didn't answer, he hugged me tighter for a moment and then released me gently. "We'll set up our food on the table. Come out when you're ready, or call if you need me." He kissed my forehead and walked out to the kitchen, Dess following him and looking over her shoulder at me.
I sat on the mattress and dried my tears, opening the envelope. Inside was a small cardboard folder and a flash drive. I opened the folder to find bank information, including a checkbook. Curious, I opened the checkbook, flipping to the check register, which had been updated every month, adding interest and the occasional additional deposit, making my current balance $4,071,089.51.
Four million dollars! I mean, it was a joke compared to the Rios Empire, but to me, it meant that I would never have to struggle again or depend on anyone else, if I was careful. But my parents were comfortable, not wealthy. How did he get so much money?
Maybe they specifically weren't wealthy because of the fact that my father put so much money away for me? Ethan's words came back to me: He never told her a lot of things. Was my father a millionaire, and I never knew it? Would he keep himself away from a luxurious lifestyle just to make sure his daughter was provided for? And how in the world would my mother not be aware that he had access to that much money in the first place? Maybe she did know about it after all, and just never told him. I mean, how could she not know?
I felt like my life had been turned upside down. Weeks ago I was bogged down with drugs and self-pity, feeling like the most lonesome, pathetic girl in the universe. Last week I got into my first argument with Ree and broke a chair over my ex-boyfriend's head.
And today I was told that my father, who I had deemed invisible long ago, had loved me and kept me close to his heart, to the point that my own mother was jealous and stood in between him and me. It had even threatened their marriage.
And I never really knew my father loved me, not until Death took him away.
The corners of my mouth turned upward in a sad smile. I looked off in the distance and remembered the countless Mariners games he'd taken me to. Those days were priceless. We were friends during that time and most importantly, we were father and daughter, and it showed.
We would come home to an impatient woman who did not try to hide her angst about the time we shared together. She'd have me do my homework as soon as I walked through the door, and if I didn't have any, she'd give me something to do, whether it consisted of washing the windows or every mirror in the house. Then she would usher my father into a room and scream at him for hours. I didn't know what their discussions were about, but I could hear my mom's screechy voice through the walls.
Looking back at it now, I realized she'd been giving him a hard time about being such a good dad to me, possibly even giving him an ultimatum—her or me. What kind of mother would do that?
It hurt my heart in a fresh, different way to know that I could have spent more time with my father if it hadn't been for her, if what Ethan said was true. Maybe I could've come to him with questions about boys or career choices, or whenever I'd tripped and fell. That would have been an entirely different childhood, instead of the one in which I had been forced to sob quietly, figure out the solutions to my own problems, and try to wash and bandage my cuts by myself.
I could have had a real father, but she'd stood in the way.
Sighing painfully, I looked at the envelope, which was already starting to be a symbol of suppressed daughterly love. My fingers caressed the flap absentmindedly.
I didn't have the energy to try to reach out and talk to my mother. I didn't want to deal with her nastiness, her negativity, or her general hatred of humankind. I wanted to keep my wonderful father's memory fresh and alive in my mind, and I would not allow her to taint it.
Silently I decided that I would not go to his funeral, which would probably only serve as a tribute to my mother's already-exaggerated ego. I vowed then that I would build a suitable memorial of my father someday, in whichever house I finally settled down in. I'd remember him in my own way, independent of anyone else's discriminations.
I reached up and massaged the right side of my neck, taking a deep breath and using all my willpower to hold the rest of my tears back. I'd done way too much crying lately. I really needed to clear my head and get away from here.
"You guys," I called into the next room, "Let's do it. Let's move to Los Angeles."
* * *
A few nights later, I massaged my temples with my fingers.
Alone in the bathroom and sitting on the closed toilet seat, I could hear the twins in the kitchen. They'd been working on what already smelled like the best damn meal I might ever consume. We were going to have a 'we're-moving-to-Los-Angeles' celebration dinner.
I wanted to have a peaceful, perfect dinner with them. I didn't want to bother them with a letter that I found in the mailbox this morning.
It rested ominously in my right hand, the opened envelope in my left. It was from Milton Newhall, my father's political career 'manager,' the one who Adim claimed was the Distinguisher that worked for the Melted. I had no idea how he knew my address, but that was the least of my concerns right now.
I reread his letter.
So, I hear you've officially joined the GG. I also hear your late great father left you some money that he really should have given to your mother and me instead. The bastard always said he didn't have enough money to give me a raise or a bonus, but as it turns out, he'd been putting money aside for his little whore daughter. Is it fair that I'd been slaving night and day to prepare him for a seat in the local representatives, only to be paid a few bucks?
Morgan, I know what you've been up to. I've been keeping my eye on you because you're trouble. True, your father's dead now and you can't bring him any shame, but your mother—oh, your mother.
The last thing she needs is a brat running around making things worse for her. She doesn't know about your GG affiliation, of course, since she isn't the type to understand these things. I've taken it upon myself to comfort her MORE than usual.
Worry not; I'll come see you again soon, and then I'll know for myself exactly WHAT you are, besides a snotty little bitch who never visited or called her father, yet gets one hell of a fucking payday.
I will find you, and I will make you pay.
What Adim did to you is nothing compared to what I will do.
All my love, Uncle Milt.
How the hell did he know about Adim when my mother obviously didn't? I took a deep breath, wondering if I'd need to have another talk with Ethan and get a full understanding of all the things he'd done against me. I didn't think he had anything to do with Milton, but I had to admit that I was curious if the two men were connected or working together somehow. If Ethan really had a crush on me the way Ree seemed to think, he might open up and tell me everything he knew. All I had to do was ask him.
And the implications about Milton and my mother! He made it sound like they w
ere involved, like they had an affair or something, or like he was sleeping with her now that she's a mourning widow. I shook my head.
No. That was an insane notion. My mother would never cheat on my dad, and it was much too soon for her to be with someone new, let alone with a married old friend of the family. She was the most uptight person on the planet. Still, recalling how she was perhaps too concerned about what my father did in his own spare time…and the way she never argued when he went on business trips and she seemed to go away for a couple days herself…I shook my head again. Absolutely not. I wasn't going to think about this anymore. It was bad enough just dwelling on his threats.
I wanted to call my mother and inform her, maybe warn her about this crazy lunatic that we'd known for years. But my father had just died, and I had no way of knowing what kind of emotional state my mother was in right now. Sadly, I didn't know her well enough to make that kind of judgment. That, added to how much she obviously hated me, helped me decide that I wasn't going to talk to her about this anytime soon. I'd have to just put this on a shelf in my mind-room and consider it again later, at a different place in time.
It was also pretty evident that I was going to have to deal with Milton's intense wrath for me, which I never saw coming at all.
Suddenly, I felt nauseous. What have I gotten myself into?
I flew to a standing position and then fell to my knees, lifting up the toilet seat. As I emptied my stomach contents into the porcelain bowl, his written words haunted me: I will find you, and I will make you pay.
I wondered which people out of everyone I'd known since childhood were Worthy, Melted, or Slates, and if they, too, were planning my downfall at this very moment. Briefly, as a passing thought, I also wondered if any of the bitches at work or back in high school were Melted.
It would certainly explain a hell of a lot.
Sitting there, panting and weeping, head hanging over the toilet, I realized with a quiet laugh that I was mirroring my actions from what seemed like so long ago, the morning after the very last time I had taken ecstasy. I felt like I was lifetimes away from the person that I was then, yet here I was, doing almost the same thing. There was probably some mystical irony and/or lesson in all this, but I was way past the point of caring.
Surreal Ecstasy Page 25
