“You will not see a dime.” Lydia dug in.
“Hmm, well, that’s going to be a problem,” Michelle said calmly. “Because I made a police report at the hospital. I didn’t give them your name, but if we don’t walk out of here with a check for Scott’s pain and suffering, you can expect a visit from the Venice Beach Police Department.”
The standoff was on.
Bill went still. Not angry. More like calculating. I watched it happen as the implications caught up with him: police at the door, questions he couldn’t control, a story tied to his name.
Lydia scoffed, but Bill didn’t look at her. He went to the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a checkbook. When he glanced at Michelle, I saw it then—fear, not of reprisal, but of losing her. He cleared his throat, then clicked the pen.
“Make it out to Scott McKallister,” she instructed, then spelled it out. “Capital M. Lowercase c. Capital K. Then a.l.l.i.s.t.e.r. Don’t forget, because it’s about to become my last name.”
The collective blinking was almost comical. With no way out, he put pen to paper, spelling my—our soon-to-be—last name correctly. As he was about to fill in the amount, Michelle stopped him.
“Oh, and Bill? Make it for thirty thousand, and we’ll call it even.”
“…Inow pronounce you husband and wife.”
The words dropped with no fanfare, no music, no applause. Just us. Our only witnesses were MGM, April, and the justice of the peace who would, in a few minutes, sign our names into the county record. Somewhere down the hall, a typewriter clacked and a phone rang. Real life kept on rolling while ours quietly changed.
Michelle looked up at me, her eyes bright but steady. God, she was beautiful. Heaven sent—well, not quite, considering I’d just watched her shake thirty grand out of her father like it was pocket change. I knew before we walked in what she was planning to do: get back the check I’d torn up. I’d earned it in blood. Yeah, I had no problem with the blackmail. I just hadn’t known my girl was going to ad-lib the final amount.
And now here she was, marrying the guy with absolutely no pedigree. The kid who watched his mom die at ten and figured that was his warning—don’t get too close, don’t hold on too tight, because everything you love disappears. I’d lived by that rule for years, until Michelle came along and made me want to risk it. With her, I wasn’t afraid of losing. I was afraid of missing out.
“You may kiss the bride,” the justice said, already reaching for the next stack of papers.
Michelle’s fingers curled against the back of my neck. I cupped her cheeks, and we kissed for the first time as husband and wife. Sparks flew.
When we finally pulled apart, the justice gave us a polite, almost bored smile. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. McKallister.”
I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Capital M. Lower case c. Capital K. Then a.l.l.i.s.t.e.r. Don’t forget—it’s now your last name.” She laughed, and we kissed again.
It was going to be a great life.
After the no-frills ceremony, April snapped a few Polaroidsto mark the day, including one with MGM between us, getting a kiss on each cheek. I caught the look of acceptance in April’s eyes and tucked it away. She’d been mildly supportive of our union, and that was all I could ask of her.
Once she headed out with the baby, Michelle and I sat on the steps of City Hall, taking in the moment, just the two of us. Husband and wife. Against all odds, against every bruise and warning and dollar of her father’s hush money, we’d made it—married seven weeks after meeting. Impulsive? Sure. Stupid? Possibly. But she loved me, I loved her, and that felt like enough to build a future on.
We both leaned back on the steps, propped on our sides with our elbows. Our eyes locked, her grin widening in sync with mine, and I said, casual as ever, “Now what?”
21
MICHELLE: REALITY BITES
1990s
Six Years Later
The womanin the mirror looked nothing like the one I used to know: hair piled into a messy bun, no makeup, sweatpants—Scott’s, probably—and a gray T-shirt with a faded logo that had survived one too many wash cycles. Nothing about her said wealthy heiress. Still, I sat like her, my back straight and chin angled just so. Muscle memory, I suppose, a reflex from a life I no longer lived. Posture was one of those stubborn holdovers that set me apart from the women in this working-class beach town and drew quiet judgment, as if I thought I was better than they were.
I checked over my shoulder, making sure the door was shut before opening the little drawer in the hand-me-down vanity and reaching all the way to the back for the velvet box. I popped it open. Inside, the diamonds still sparkled like they had the night I wore them to Mother’s charity gala and later to the Allard Street House, where Scott had voiced opinions about myjewelry choice. I smiled at the memory of that naïve girl as I slipped the necklace from its cradle and let it dangle between my fingers, my thumb tracing the largest diamond. Cool and perfect, everything I wasn’t anymore. The stones caught the light, scattering it across the chipped paint and mismatched furniture.
This choker was the last remnant of my past. All the other jewels in my carry-on the day I exited that plane had already been quietly pawned. Scott’s broken arm. The death of the washing machine. A used car with under one hundred thousand miles on it. But this necklace was the most valuable of all and the hardest one for me to part with. Some days, I just needed it.
Clasping the choker around my neck instantly transported me back there, to the parties, the country clubs, and laundry that went out dirty magically returned to me clean. Studying my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but long for the parts of myself I’d lost. I could still see shadows of the girl I used to be, ghostlike beneath the flickering, incandescent light. Not gone. Just… faded.
“Hi,” I whispered, my eyes misting over. “Do you hate me?”
I'd been struggling with this question lately, especially when hardships piled up beyond my means. Money wasn't just a luxury; it was stability. Without it, impossible decisions became routine. In those moments, dark thoughts crept in. What if I'd stayed on that plane?
