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Next to me, Sara groans. “To hell with your shift. You should go see the boy.”
I shake my head. “You’re a terrible influence, you know that? You shouldn’t tell your employees to ignore their duties, it’s counterintuitive. Plus, I do need to work to put food on the table, so I think I’ll take the hours.”
When my phone buzzes again, I look down with jitters, but it’s not Teizel that’s texting me this time. It’s the lawyer handling Àvia’s estate.
Just following up on your grandmother’s accounts.
The certificate of death has been filed and funds should be transferred to you within the next seven business days.
Then, another.
Also please note my invoice is due tomorrow, and I currently don’t have a payment.
My throat closes up. Next to me, Sara tenses.
It slipped my mind a payment was due. Not that I’d forgotten about its existence — I owe fifteen grand in executor fees, plus other lawyer-y bills, and that’s not a sum you just forget. I just didn’t realize they were due already. I’ll have enough to cover the fees once her accounts transfer to me, but I’m kinda out of time.
Any chance I can pay you once the transfer is complete?
The three dots dance, and each time they disappear and reappear is a punch to my gut.
“Honey, if you need money…”
I forcefully shake my head. “You are giving me money. In my paycheck. I’m good.”
Sara sighs, but she doesn’t push the subject.
The executor fees aren’t due yet, just my first round of billable hours.
Taking this as a no. Great.
Would you like me to re-forward the invoice?
What I’d love is for the invoice to magically vanish. Not happening though. I’m about to answer that there’s no need, when she texts again. This time, it’s a document attachment. When I open it, the number $4,520 blares at me in bold, black digits.
The good news is that’s not the full amount of her fees, so I’ve got time to pay the rest.
The bad news is that there’s about a thousand bucks in my bank account.
I tip my head with a groan. Sara’s pinched mouth says she’s holding back words. It’s just as well — I’m not taking any money from her other than what’s in my paychecks, and that’s final.
“You know…” she starts, but I raise a finger to silence her.
“No.”
“It would be an advance —“
“No,” I cut in again. Not up for discussion. I’m in her debt for taking me in when I was looking for a job, and I’m not going to add lending money to the list of things I owe Sara for, especially not when I’ll always have to keep her at arm’s length, on the outside looking in. It’s not fair for her to treat me like family, when I’m giving her little more trust than I would a stranger.
Sara runs a hand through the front of her hair, loosening a few shorter strands from the messy braid holding them captive, then lifts her hands up in defeat.
At least that battle is won. I just need to figure out how to come up with thirty-five-hundred dollars before the end of business day tomorrow, and I’ll be set.
I dwell on the problem the rest of the workday, and on my drive home, mulling it as the setting sun paints the streets burnt orange. There’s the option of selling the house, but that thought is short-lived as I pull into our street and spot the still-green camellia shrubs lining Àvia’s house. My house.
My treacherous heart refuses to let go of my family’s sole legacy, our only history. I can’t dwell on what that means for my future and plans for escape, because if I did, I might change my mind in a panic.
The house stays. It’s the Parella’s family home, the only one we’ve ever known. That doesn’t mean that everything inside it has to stay.
