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Patrick is wealthy from Glenn & Glenn Legal, and he could’ve swung some sort of deal with Mom so she wasn’t left penniless, but he chose not to.
I take a seat at the far end of the table, away from everyone.
My dad gives me a gruff, “Hello, Riley.”
Before I respond, my mother says, “I see that you couldn’t manage to dress appropriately for the occasion.”
Occasion? Is she for real? Now there’s pomp and circumstance for a reading of a will? This is the moment where I’m finding out what my beloved grandmother left me. As far as I’m concerned, I could wear any damn thing I want because I’m grieving.
I ignore her and open the bottle of chilled water that sits in front of me and every other seat, then turn my face toward the door as I wait for the lawyer.
As if conjured, Mr. Sloan walks in. He unbuttons his suit coat before shaking all our hands and taking a seat at the head of the table. The room fills with tension as everyone champs at the bit to see what they’re getting. Well, everyone but me. It’s so sad and painful to watch, but I owe it to my grandmother to be here—to accept whatever she has decided to leave me. I’m still reeling in pain, but it doesn’t seem like my mom is, and Grams was her mother. If she is, she’s not showing it.
But then again, what would I be doing right now if my mother had passed? Would I be grieving? I guess it’s tough when a relationship is strained and complicated. Maybe Grams made Mom feel the way Mom makes me feel? But I don’t see how—Grams was so good to me. I wish Mom would talk to me about it, but she refuses.
After Mr. Sloan pulls out a stack of papers from his briefcase, he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope today canbring you a step closer to finding peace from what I’m sure has been a trying time.”
“Thank you,” I say, fighting not to tear up.
He gives me a nod. “We’re here today for the reading of the last will and testament of Mrs. Winifred Verlene Glenn. Once the will is read, you have a few documents to sign. Then you’ll be on your way.”
My maternal grandmother and I share a last name because my mom kept her maiden name when she married my father. She wanted the Glenn last name because of the pull it has in Atlanta, then passed it on to me.
When the room nods, the lawyer continues, looking at me. “For Riley Glenn, Winifred has left you her set of royal costume jewelry.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that Grams remembered. Of course she did, but I’m so glad it’s official. I smile, but no one else in the room appears to even see me. They’re all staring intently at Mr. Sloan.
He runs down a list of other minor items, all of no real value, to each person in the room. I’m surprised Grams gave away things in such a specific manner, but then again, that fit her. She always fussed over details. When my mom gets Grams’s old-as-dirt toaster, she scoffs, and I have to hold back a chuckle. Mom always said that it was a fire hazard, and Grams should “pay the fifty bucks already” for a new one.
Love you, Grams.
When Mr. Sloan says, “Now. Moving to the estate of Mrs. Winifred Glenn.” The room goes frozen, silent, and the lawyer pauses as his jaw tenses. “Her three properties, her investment portfolio, and all other assets are being held in probate to reconcile debts owed. There are no further assets to distribute.”
My mother gasps. “What? What do you mean? That’s impossible. She was worth over ten million dollars,” Mom chokes out, her eyes finally welling with tears. “That can’t be.”
Of course, my mother knows the exact value of my grandmother’s net worth. So telling. At the same time, I’m sure Mom was counting on Grams’s money to get her and Dad back on their feet.
The room erupts into angry chatter, and it’s taking everything in me not to burst out in hysterical giggles. I close my eyes and imagine Grams’s spirit floating above us, laughing her ass off.
God, I’m so grateful our PR people didn’t force Maddox to join me at this thing. I don’t want him to meet my family, especially like this.
Mr. Sloan raises his voice over the yelling. “As I said, Mrs. Glenn lost all her assets to business deals gone bad, and she has nothing significant left to will any of you. Just the personal items that were mentioned previously.”
My mom’s voice is a screech. “But she left me a shitty toaster!”
Despite my best attempt to suppress it, a snort-laugh noise escapes, and I try to cover it up by coughing. My mother shoots me a glare, and I take a big swig of water, like I’m choking.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Glenn,” the lawyer says, not sounding genuine whatsoever.
“It was you, Patrick,” my mom says to her brother. “You were always trying to get mom into these pyramid and Ponzi schemes.”
“I did no such thing.” He stands, a vein popping on his forehead.
The room erupts into a cacophony of yelling and blaming, and it’s all too bone-chillingly familiar. This is how most of myfamily events end up, and I look at the lawyer, my eyes pleading with him. Can I just sign my papers and go?
Finally, Mr. Sloan whistles, scowling when he says, “Enough, everyone! I have another meeting shortly, so you’ll have to kill each other on your own time. Now, let’s get back to the proceedings. He looks around the room, his sharp gaze making everyone quiet. “That’s better. Mrs. Winifred Glenn requested that the family take her ashes and spread them over the cliffs of Scotland. In her hometown of Whistleburg.”
My mother squawks, “With what travel money?” She goes to say something else but stops when my dad gently nudges her.
