“Speaking of points, why are you playing Goldilocks in my house?” And just like that entitled Teagan was back.
“You mean, Nonna Rose’s house?”
“Grow up, Har. Nonna’s gone, and she left me the house.”
A year ago, a statement like that would have felt like a swift kick to the gut. Now it felt more like a light punch to the shoulder. It didn’t matter what that piece of paper said—there was no way Nonna was in her right mind when she’d left the house solely to Teagan. Nonna Rose would never hurt Harley that way.
As far as she was concerned, this was her house as much as it was Teagan’s and, according towww.LegalEgal.com, ownership was nine-tenths of the law. And she wasn’t about to give up her nine percent . . . or was it ninety? She wasn’t sure.
She’d only skimmed the page on contesting wills.
“This will always be Nonna’s house. It even says it on the sign above the front door.” She pointed to it as proof.
Teagan walked to the front door, yanked the sign down, and handed it back to Harley.
“Are you serious?” Harley asked. “This is the sign I made her for Christmas when I was eight.” The sign she’d spent two whole days making perfect. And to maintain focus for two days was a feat even for grown-up Harley.
“How long have you been here?” Teagan asked.
Harley went up on her toes and rehung the sign. “Just a couple weeks.”
“Then what’s up with the remodel?”
Harley put on a bright smile, then did a Vanna White move, complete with the graceful hand whoosh. “Doesn’t it modernize the place?”
“It looks like bohemian meets shaman yoga studio.”
Harley clapped. “That’s exactly the look I was going for.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not really me. I want it back the way it was.”
Harley rolled her eyes. When it came to change, her sister was like a sloth. “I’ll get on that right after I get back.”
“I give it twenty minutes before Garbage Disposal disposes of your swing.”
“It’s a free-hanging chair, and the dog would have a hard time chewing through the solid wood bottom.”
“You’d be surprised. Last month he chewed through Poppy’s mattress. Five thousand dollars later he’s still alive. So about the chair . . .”
“I’ll take my chances. Like I said, I have a beach yoga class.”
“I think you can miss a class, because this”—Teagan did her own, ironic, Vanna White gesture to encompass the entire front room—“isn’t happening. You staying isn’t happening.”
All the amusement was sucked from the room in one breath as Harley had to face the hurtful truth. She’d been the only one playing.
While Harley and Teagan came from the same parents, they couldn’t be more opposite. Teagan had been raised by their mom and Nonna, two strong, loving, independent women who held her hand through the hard times and offered her guidance during the big moments. The only hand Harley ever held was her own.
She remembered the time she’d arrived early for her summer visit and Teagan had to take Harley with her everywhere she went. The mall, the movies, her friend’s beach party. Teagan had groaned the entire time, but it had been one of Harley’s favorite memories—tagging along with her sister as if it was an everyday occurrence.
It was the only time she could remember them both staying at the beach house at the same time.
To call her parents’ divorce hostile didn’t even come close to describing the disaster. Her dad, Dale, had a Peter Pan complex times three, and when it came to women, he made Tiger Woods look like Husband of the Year.
The look on her mom’s face when she’d found out about his philandering ways would forever be etched in Harley’s brain.
Holding a laundry basket, her mom stormed out of the house into the garage, where Dale was packing up for a concert. She snagged a roadie glove from his hands and said, “Did you know that California state law says I get half of everything?” She held up the right glove. “And you can bet your cheating ass I’m going to take half your amplifiers, half your drumsticks, half the strings in your guitar, half your boxers. The new ones.” She dumped the basket upside down and a pile of material landed at her feet. “Don’t worry about your concert tee collection, I’ve already taken my half.”
“I’ve been collecting those for years!” A hundred shirts, his entire collection, cut right down the middle.
