We ascend the next set of stairs, flimsy wooden ones with no handrail. We step inside my bedroom, a dusty, unfinished attic with plywood flooring and no installation. I did my best at making it homey, laying down an area rug and placing posters of my favorite athletes and figure skaters on the wall. A few are torn and taped, thanks to Vienna’s rage on the rare times she visited.
There’s a musty odor in the air, and it’s several degrees colder up here, something I’m used to, but I know he’s not. He probably has a normal bedroom with a cozy bed and a temperature control panel. I feel a little silly bringing him up here now.
Dallas places his hand over my shoulder. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. However,shedoes.”
“Okay,” I respond with a nod as my throat gets tight.
I search around the room for my rejection letters. I head to my end table first and then my dresser, no such luck. I can’tquite remember what I did with them. I know I stashed them away when I was upset one evening, but where?
Dallas is a few feet away, digging through my top dresser. He pulls out my favorite frame, buried deep: a picture of my dad and me at the ice rink together, bundled up with hot chocolate in hand, heads together with the biggest smiles.
“That’s my favorite picture of my dad and me. We must have skated for six hours that day. Faye took that picture during one of our rare breaks,” I say with a fond smile. I loved days like that with my dad.
Man, life was so easy and great back then. What I’d give to go back there…
“It’s a great picture,” Dallas adds.
“It is.” It’s also the last gift my dad ever gave me. This picture of the two of us is from my tenth birthday, paired with tickets for the two of us to an upcoming hockey game to cheer on my favorite team in Boston. We never did make it. “A present from him.”
He smiles as he fidgets with the thick gold frame and then fumbles it entirely. I watch in slow motion as my favorite gift in the entire world drops out of his hand and lands on the floor. The glass breaks into several pieces on impact.
I fall to the floor too, reaching for the last gift I had from my dad. The glass is completely shattered, and the frame is bent. My body is hunched over as I reach for the picture underneath, which is thankfully still intact. I hug the picture to my heart.
My hands shake and my lip trembles.
I will not cry.
“I’m so sorry,” Dallas’ voice sounds as broken as my frame.
I just nod once, my throat too tight for words. I know I shouldn’t get upset over this, but it’s the only thing left of my dad’s that was just for me.Mine.
I should know better than to expect anything in my life not to get ruined. To expect good things for myself. It hasn’t happened yet, so why would it now?
“Wait, what’s this?” Dallas asks as he bends down and grabs a folded piece of paper on the floor.
“I don’t know…” My words trail off.
He unfolds the dusty yellow paper as his eyes trail over the page.
“Oh, wow.” His mouth hangs open.
“Wait, what?” I stand up fast and glance over his shoulder to figure out what he’s looking at.
It’s a very formal document, very official-looking, with my dad’s name and signature all over it. My name is on it, too.
“Is this…” No. I shake my head on instinct.
“Your dad’s will.” He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”
What?
I blink as my heart races a million miles a minute. It can’t be.
“But there was no will…that’s what Vienna said.”
“That’s what Vienna said?” His eyebrow raised, skepticism all over his face.
Right.
