by Shen, L. J.
“Mom went into the bedroom to ask him if he’d like her to have lunch by his side.” Katie sniffed, holding the back of Lori’s head. “He wasn’t responsive. She pressed the emergency button.” The Blacks had installed a medical alert on the side of Ronan’s bed. “When the paramedics came in, he still had a faint pulse, so they took him here. He died within minutes.”
I wrapped my arms around both of them, as if I were holding them together somehow. I breathed in their misery and kissed their heads, not sure if I had the right to do that but desperate to console them.
When their ragged breaths calmed, I stood up. Both Julian and Chase had their backs to me in different corners of the room. I went to Julian first. He was pale as an egg. He had that extra lonely shine about him, of someone who had recently lost much more than just his father. I knew he was going through a divorce and that adjusting to the new reality with Clementine wasn’t a picnic for him. Cautiously, and while holding my breath, I put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. His eyes dragged up to meet mine, inch after inch, so slow it was obvious he was expecting some kind of confrontation.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said simply.
“You shouldn’t feel anything but contempt toward me.” He bowed his head. “But I appreciate it.”
“And I know it means nothing right now, when the wound is a gash, torn open and bleeding, but I promise you, there are better days ahead. You just need to hang in there.” I ignored his words.
“Why are you doing this?” His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Why do you even care? I’ve been nothing but awful to you.”
“You were,” I admitted, unable to move my hand from his shoulder. “You uncovered my lie and called me a six. You were unkind to me, but that doesn’t mean I should be unkind to you. I happen to like who I am. A six, but with a ten heart.”
“You heard that?” His eyebrows rose, almost comically.
I shrugged. “Beauty is subjective.” It wasn’t the time or place to talk about it, but I had a feeling it kept Julian busy, and that was the essence of dealing with grief. Keep going, talking, doing things.
“I wanted to rile Chase up.” Julian sniffed. “I didn’t mean it. And for the record—I did. Rile him up, I mean. So . . .” His gaze drifted to the window where Chase stood, still oblivious to my presence, deep in thought. “Make what you want out of it.”
All it meant was that Chase and Julian loved hating each other. I couldn’t allow myself to believe any differently. I dragged my eyes over to Chase. He pressed his forehead against the window, the condensation from his breath spreading over the glass like a gray cloud. The need to hug this dark, feral beast shredded me.
“Go.” Julian patted my hand on his shoulder. “It’s him you came for.”
I approached Chase. Put my hand on his corded back. My heart coiling in my chest. Looping. Twisting. Begging. Let me out. I’d never been so scared to talk to someone. I didn’t know if I could survive his pain.
“Chase.”
He turned around, collapsing into my arms. I stumbled back from the impact but wrapped myself around him like a vise. Every inch of us was connected, pressed together. Like we were plugged in, me the charger, him sucking energy from me. His face was a wreck of emotions I’d never seen before. There was so much vulnerability there it felt like being slashed open by a sharp knife. I gathered his face and pulled him away so I could look him in the eye. Tears ran down my face so freely I was scared for my own sanity. I adored Ronan, but I didn’t know him enough for his death to inspire such a reaction. All I knew was that he’d left a family who truly worshipped him. That meant he was a person worthy of my tears.
“I’m going to take you home now,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “There’s so much to do.”
“No,” Katie and Lori said in unison, standing up.
“There isn’t. It’s all bureaucracy now. We’ll meet in a few hours and regroup,” Lori insisted. “I want to take a shower. I want to get myself together. I need to tell my sisters.”
The cab drive to Chase’s place was quiet. We held hands in the back seat, watching New York crawl past the window. When we got to his apartment, I poured him a generous glass of whiskey and curled his fingers around it. I sat him down on the U-shaped kitchen island, then headed into his bathroom and turned the shower on. Steam covered the glass doors of the five-jet spray heads. I threw a towel on the heater, returned to the kitchen, tipped the glass with the remainder of the whiskey to his lips, and had him finish it in one gulp. Then I dragged him into the shower. “Call me if you need me.”
“I’m not an invalid,” he said, surly, then took a ragged breath. “Fuck. Sorry. Thanks.”
I fixed him something hearty while he took a shower. I wasn’t much of a cook but knew he needed actual comfort food, not some fancy takeout. You could tell his fridge had been stocked by someone else who knew he was a bachelor who didn’t frequent the kitchen. I settled for beef chili with mushrooms, eggplants, and a pumpkin I found in an untouched Organic Living basket someone must’ve gifted him that sat lonely on the counter.
I read the recipe closely on my phone while swirling a wooden spoon inside the steaming pot of chili. The only ingredient missing from the chili was paprika. I opened Chase’s pantry to see if he accidentally kept any spices. Stopped. Put my hand to my heart, letting the phone slip through my fingers and fall onto the floor.
The azaleas were there, tucked in the darkness of the pantry, which now contained nothing but three humidifiers turned on heat. The azaleas were in full bloom, bursting with colors through the darkness. White-rimmed petals, their insides bright pink, staring back at me. I took a step in and carefully tipped the plant up, seeing the secret Sharpie mark I’d made there to make sure it was the same plant.
It was.
Dark, humid, hot spaces. That’s where the azaleas thrive best, I’d told him that day.
He’d remembered.
He hadn’t thrown them away or let them die. He’d nurtured them.
I closed the door, stumbling back, struggling to breathe. My lungs felt ten times too small for the rest of my body. He’d done the impossible. He’d kept the flowers alive for many weeks, clearing out his entire pantry and taking care of the flowers daily.
Chase was ready for commitment. I knew that with every fiber of my heart. But I also knew that he was grieving and confused and not in the right headspace right now.
“Hey.” I heard his voice behind me. I jumped, turning around.
“Oh. Hi.”
“Are you making something?” He looked exhausted, rubbing a towel into his unruly hair.
“Yeah. Chili. You hungry?”
“Sure, if it’s not burnt.”
That was when I realized the chili was, in fact, in advanced stages of burning. By the time I reached the stove, a black crust of charred beans covered the pot.
Chase poked his head behind my shoulder, peering into the singed mess.
“Pizza?” I sighed.
He nodded, his chin touching my shoulder blade. “With pepperoni and artichoke hearts. Just like Dad liked.”
CHASE
Five days later, we buried Dad.
Mom had aimed for three days, but we had relatives coming from Scotland, Virginia, and California, and they all had different schedules and flights to consider. Madison had been there every step of the way, just as she’d promised. She’d gone casket shopping with Mom, had personally taken care of the flower arrangements for the funeral, and had been a great help accepting visitors into Mom’s house and signing condolences deliveries.
Ronan Black’s casket lowered to the gaping mouth of the earth on a gray fall day. The funeral itself had been a grand event of over a thousand people, but we’d asked that for the burial ceremony, it would be close family only. Mad had her small, warm hand tucked in mine the entire time. It was crazy I couldn’t kiss her whenever I wanted to. Bury myself inside her whenever life felt too unbearable. The days after
the funeral stuck together like pages in an unread book.
People brought food to our house, as if anyone had an appetite, and when shit got too real, when I couldn’t muster another polite smile, Mad took over and entertained the guests for us. I doubted she had much sleep during those days. She kept working—half from home, half from the office—and was there for us until the late hours of the night.
A week after the funeral, all of us sat together and read the will as a family. Madison had insisted on not taking part in this. Called it “the clinical side of death, the one I’m not comfortable with.” We all respected that, although we thought of her as an undesignated part of the family by then. Which—I was the first to admit—was another level of fucked up. We met at Mom’s. The housekeeper served us cranachan parfait, Dad’s favorite Scottish dessert. We consumed it while sipping the barely bearable Ogilvy potato vodka, the way he liked.
Katie was the one reading the will. She was the only sibling out of us three who didn’t seem hell bent on killing someone if she didn’t get what she wanted out of it, so it seemed fair.
“Mom is getting the estates, twenty-five percent of Black & Co.’s shares, and all the family jewels.” Katie looked up from the paper and squeezed Mom’s hand.
“Shit, I only came here for the Tiffany necklace. Well, that was fast,” Julian said, pretending to stand up from his seat. Mom slapped his thigh and guided him back down. They shared a tired chuckle. I appreciated that Julian reintroduced sarcasm into our daily post-Dad routine, but I wasn’t in the mood for laughs. Katie’s eyes returned to the page. The paper quivered like a leaf in her hand. She cupped her mouth, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.
“I inherited all the vintage gowns Black & Co. owns that were made or used by fashion icons. Fifteen percent of the company shares. And the loft!” But I knew what was making her cry. The dresses. They meant the most to her. We had a Black & Co. museum uptown, containing famous historical dresses she loved. As a kid, she’d visited there almost monthly. I wondered if Mad had ever been. I wondered if I could take her. I wondered if she would let me.
“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 L
ayla. 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.
Maddie: Thank you for the sewing machine. How was it today?
Chase: Surprisingly not horrible. I think Julian and I are salvageable.
Maddie: I’m so happy to hear that.
Chase: *Read that.
Maddie: Still a jerk, I see.
