1
MADISON
The thing about loneliness is how quiet it is.
After Kyle died, the whole world became silent. I felt like I was hearing everything from the bottom of a swimming pool while also wearing earplugs and noise-canceling headphones. When people spoke, syllables blurred together. When music played, the melody fell flat.
I return home from catering a raucous quinceañera, head pounding, and I miss that quiet. Standing outside my apartment door, I can already hear engines revving, with announcers shouting over the noise. Sounds like my roommates are watching another car race.
“Hey, Mads, you got something in the mail.” Felix greets me when I walk inside.
I reach for the envelope in his hand, but he pulls it away at the last second.
Holding in a sigh, I attempt to smile. “Haha, Felix. Can you hand it over, please?”
“You don’t want to try to get it?” He raises it over his head. He had his tips frosted recently, and the throwback to the nineties isn’t doing him any favors. “Come on, if you jump, I bet you can reach it.”
I’m so tired of his bullshit. I look to our other roommate, Hugo, for help. But Hugo is watching TV while shoveling mac-n-cheese into his face, and his eyes don’t leave the screen. Not even when he plucks a fallen macaroni from the couch cushion next to him and pops it back in his mouth.
Felix waggles the envelope in the air. “Come on, Maddy-Maddy-Madison.”
Fuck this guy with a cactus. I start to walk past him. “Never mind. I don’t care what it says. It’s probably a bill.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll give it to you. Just come out to dinner with me. Once.” His blue eyes are wide and hopeful.
Even though I have big plans later tonight, I almost say yes. I haven’t gone out with anyone in weeks—friend or date. No drinks, no coffee, no meal or snack. The truth is, I don’t have a lot of friends. I had quite a few before Kyle died, but after the accident, they slowly dropped away. Nobody knows how to talk to a nineteen-year-old widow.
So I’m tempted by Felix’s offer…but not for the reason he thinks. And that’s exactly why I have to say no. Firmly, but kindly.
“No, Felix. We’re roommates and I have zero interest in changing that dynamic.”
His blue eyes darken. “You know, you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”
“I’m not?—”
He thrusts the envelope toward me. This time when I reach out to take it, he lets it fall to the floor. He sneers at me before stomping away.
I have to get out of this apartment.
Hugo, who will usually step in when Felix gets mean, hasn’t even noticed.
I pick up the envelope. It’s weighty in my hand. The return address names a legal firm. A sinking pit grows in my stomach. I had to deal with attorneys after Kyle died. This is a different law office, but I don’t think anything good will come of this. Kyle’s parents fought my survivor benefits after Kyle’s death, thinking they should receive the funds. The only thing preventing a legal battle—which wouldn’t have been worth the tiny sum—was Kyle’s brother, Seth, stepping in. I don’t know what he told his mom and dad, but they backed off, and I was at least able to pay rent for the remainder of Kyle’s and my lease.
I scan the letter, printed on heavy stationery.
Dear Ms. Greene...you’re invited…inheritance…formal reading of the last will and testament of Vivienne Montparnier…
I gasp. Great-Aunt Vivienne? I haven’t spoken to her in years—not since I was eleven or twelve. We had one conversation, where she impressed how important it is to love, and to believe in love. The message wasn’t revolutionary, but something about the way she said it, how intense she was, blew my preteen mind.
After we finished talking, she gave me one of her rings. It’s a tiny star sapphire in an antique-looking gold setting. Afterward, my mother told me I was never to talk to her again. I overheard Mom telling Dad that his lesbian aunt was trying to corrupt me.
Her star sapphire ring still sparkles on my middle finger.
I check the date of the will reading. Great-Aunt Vivienne and I weren’t close, despite that one conversation that left a mark on me. A part of me is tempted to skip the whole thing. I’ve had enough of death, enough of difficult family.
But that conversation—the way she told me to believe in love. She told me I was beautiful, even though I was an awkward, mouth-breathing preteen with an overbite. She said I had a beautiful soul, and someday others would see that, too.
Fuck, my eyes are tearing up. I don’t know why her death is hitting me. Probably because I should’ve looked her up after I moved out of my parents’ house. I feel guilty as fuck about that. She was kind.
