Too bad it’s not coming in time to chip in to buy the lodge.
Uncle Robert reaches into his pocket. “Your grandmother had a codicil. Do you know what that is?”
“No, sir.”
He pulls out a small box. It’s blue and velvet, like a jewelry box. “It’s a handwritten addition to the will that your grandmother wrote, laying out what personal effects go where. It’s easier to execute than a will. Estates take a while to close when they’re as complicated as your grandmother’s, and I have a feeling I’ll be hearing from your mom and things will get nasty pretty quickly. But, I’m able to give you this, which your grandmother left directly for you.”
He sets the box on the table. I glance up at him, bewildered, and he nods at it. “Go ahead.”
I pick it up. It is a jewelry box, and it’s heavier than I expected. I flip open the lid and . . .
There’s the biggest fucking diamond ring I’ve ever seen in my life. Not that I’ve seen many diamonds in person. But this one’s huge; no wonder the box is so heavy. It’s even bigger than Mrs. Gardiner’s, who still wears the ring her late husband gave her.
It’s a rectangular shape, surrounded by light blue stones. I try to think of what stone is light blue, but I have no idea. Sapphires are dark, right? And the diamond is the size of a disco ball for ants. Seriously, the sun catches the light and it sparkles and glitters on the tablecloth like a tiny party in . . .
Wait a minute.
I sit up straight. “My grandmother left this for me?”
“Yup,” Uncle Robert says, a faint smile on his face.
I snap the box closed and put it back on the table between us, like if I can’t see it, I can’t lose it or break it or otherwise damage this family heirloom. “Why?”
“Well, you are her oldest grandchild, and I think she feels . . . felt. I think she felt guilty about not knowing you better.”
An uncomfortable feeling sits in my chest. Money makes people weird. She couldn’t spend time with me in real life, so now I get this ring instead? That’s ridiculous.
Uncle Robert reaches into his pocket again and I eye him warily. Is there more? Matching earrings? A fancy watch? What the fuck?
Instead, it’s an envelope.
“The ring was appraised a few years ago, the last time Mom updated her will. If you’re going to keep it, you should insure it, and they may take this appraisal or they may ask for a new one.”
I open the envelope, which is unsealed, and pull the stack of papers out. I scan the official-looking letter until I arrive at the number at the bottom.
“Holy shit.” I jump to my feet, my chair hitting the ground behind me and my hips knocking into the table. It’s enough to tip a full glass of water over, which spills through the mesh table and onto Princess. I lunge for the glass but accidentally send the ring box flying.
Princess is barking, and Uncle Robert, brushing water off his lap, laughs.
Tuan comes out to help us clean up and by the time Princess is settled and somewhat dry, I finally think about the ring.
I look around and spot it at one of the tables nearby in the hands of another patron. The box is open and three sets of eyes ping-pong back and forth between me and the ring.
“Janet. Willow. Mrs. Gardiner.” I nod at all three of the older women. Just my luck that they’re here today.
Miss Mullins and Miss Bright (Janet and Willow, respectively) insist I use their first names, but they’ve been Miss Mullins and Miss Bright since I was a boy, so it’s hard to think of them as Janet and Willow. (Mrs. Gardiner has never told me to use her first name.) Miss Mullins is the one holding the ring box, and she snaps it closed. “Morgan Law. I didn’t know you were dating someone.” She peers at me with curiosity. Today she’s wearing a shirt that has Ruth Bader Ginsburg on the front and says, “Fight for the things you care about.”
“Who?” Miss Bright asks, her braids over one shoulder and her movements languid. Not even a giant diamond ring can faze the chillest woman I’ve known in my life.
“Is it Melissa?” Miss Mullins asks, making me do a double take. Melissa and I had a discreet hookup a few months ago while she was broken up with her on-again-off-again boyfriend. How the hell does Miss Mullins even know about it? “She’s such a nice girl.”
“Good grief, Janet. She’s back together with Charles,” Mrs. Gardiner snaps. “A nice girl shouldn’t have taste that bad.”
Kind of mean, but also true. Charles is a walking red flag.
“Women date according to their self-esteem,” Miss Mullins says sadly. “Think about that.”
“It’s not Melissa,” I say, and put my palm out for the ring box.
