Chapter 12

12

Dakota

T his is the Monday from hell.

It has to be.

Maddox, Archer, and Reed have been so proficient in their lovemaking that every night I get to spend in their company leaves me with a vibrant energy that would normally get me through an entire week.

But as I stare at the foreclosure notice, I fear nothing, and no one can help me overcome the river of shit that I'm about to wade into.

"Wow, you look like hell," Chelsea proclaims as she comes into the kitchen with Maisie in tow.

"Thank you," I mumble and look up.

My daughter looks so pretty in a pale pink dress, a big white lacy bow tied at the front just under her chest. Chelsea combed her hair into two adorable pigtails, adding a couple of butterfly clips for a dash of extra cuteness. Yet, I can't enjoy the moment as much as I wish I could. Not with a foreclosure notice staring back at me from the kitchen counter.

Chelsea frowns, her eyes searching my face.

"Mommy looks pretty," Maisie says, her lips curling into an adoring smile.

I reach out and take her, wrapping her in the sweetest and tightest hug I can muster, breathing her in as I thank the stars for bringing her to me. Maisie may not have had the best of luck in terms of parents, at least where her father is concerned, but I'll be damned if I'll ever let her feel like she came up short on the mother side, too.

"I am nowhere near as pretty as you, my love," I tell her. "Chelsea sure picked out the perfect outfit for your picture day. Are you excited?"

"Does my hair look okay?" she asks, chubby little fingers twirling through one of her blonde pigtails, curls bouncing with each move.

"It looks perfect," I reply, laughing lightly.

I blink back tears as I look at her. She can tell I'm in a bad mood. For her young age, my Maisie can read me better than most people. She plants a kiss on my cheek. "It's going to be okay, Mommy. You look perfect for picture day, too."

"All right, let's get you some breakfast before we head out," Chelsea takes over.

She helps Maisie with a bowl of milk and cereal, leaving her at the breakfast table before coming back to talk to me. I'm doing everything in my power to hold it together, but that damn piece of paper has lodged itself in my mind.

I catch a glimpse of Maisie working her way through her meal as she watches one of her favorite cartoons on Chelsea's smartphone.

"We're out of earshot," my best friend assures me as she pours herself a cup of freshly brewed coffee. "Talk to me, what's going on?"

"Look there," I mumble, nodding at the notice.

I watch her as she reads through the first page, her expression changing from concern to devastation. After a few minutes, she exhales sharply, then sets the paper down and gives me a wide smile. "You're not going to think about this today. Today is picture day at school for the little miss, and you're going to smile, so she smiles," Chelsea says. "If you're gloomy, she'll carry that all day with her."

"You're right." I sigh.

"I mean it. Put this out of your mind, at least for now. It is awful, but we'll figure something out. I'll talk to one of the counselors at the community center, a guy who specializes in these kinds of housing issues."

"There's nothing to figure out. I need money and lots of it. Keith still hasn't paid the last eight months of child support."

"Screw that prick," Chelsea replies.

I love this woman, even more so in a crisis. I've never seen anyone react so quickly and become so laser-focused on finding a solution instead of dwelling on the problem. "Forget about him. You couldn't rely on him before; do not expect him to save your ass now. He's the reason you're in this mess, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"We'll figure something out; I promise. But in the meantime, let's get some coffee in you. Maybe something sweet to keep your blood sugar up? Do you have any leftover cookies from yesterday morning?"

I nod slowly. "In the cupboard."

"Come on, bear with me here, Dakota. You're going to be okay."

"One way or another, yes. Just having you by my side makes everything a whole lot easier, Chelsea. I can't thank you enough."

She gives me a hard look. "If you think I'm going to charge you a single penny for the next six months of Maisie's daycare, you're crazy."

"Oh, come on."

"I will slap you silly if you insist."

I'm so close to crying, but I manage to hold it in because I don't want my daughter to see me like this. Chelsea rushes to hug me. I welcome the embrace and the smell of jasmine and citrus flowers in her short, black hair. I find comfort in her soft blue eyes and sisterly care.

"You're right. We're going to figure something out," I conclude, trying to convince myself that we will, in fact, find a solution to this problem. I could see it coming from miles away. It wasn't a shock. It wasn't supposed to be a shock. But I am still devastated. "We will."

"You bet your sweet caboose," Chelsea shoots back.

The doorbell rings, and we stare at each other in slight confusion.

"Are you expecting anyone?" she asks.

"No."

"If it's Keith, I will take a meat tenderizer to his face."

I chuckle softly, thinking that she's joking. But then Chelsea opens one of the drawers and takes out the actual meat tenderizer before stalking out of the kitchen and heading straight for the door. I need a couple of seconds before I realize what's about to happen.

"Chelsea, wait, don't!" I call out.

Maisie can handle herself over the breakfast bowl, so I leave her at the table for a few minutes as I rush after Chelsea. I find my best friend standing at the front door, which is wide open. There's a man in a dark grey suit standing just outside with a grim look on his face.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he says, giving her an envelope. "We'll see you at the funeral."

I am thoroughly confused. "What's this?" I ask.

The man is already back on the sidewalk, about to get into his vehicle, a dark, late-model Town Car.

"Grandma died," Chelsea mutters.

"Both of your grandmas died a few years back, if I remember correctly," I reply.

She holds up the envelope for me to see. " Your grandma. I answered the door, and I guess he assumed I was you."

"Huh."

Indeed, my name is printed on the envelope.

"Katherine Monroe is gone," Chelsea says.

A few minutes later, Chelsea and I are sitting at the kitchen counter again. Maisie is still powering through breakfast. She's got a banana to peel and execute, along with a glass of orange juice.

"My grandmother," I whisper, reading the letter from Katherine Monroe's attorney. "I can't believe it."

"What, that she's dead? She was pretty old, wasn't she?"

"That's not what I mean. I'm just surprised she asked that I be notified about it. After what happened at Grandma Sally's funeral, I didn't imagine—"

"Oh, don't remind me. What a shit show that was," Chelsea sighs. "I still can't understand what possessed that hag to show up at Sally's funeral—and with your sister—who you didn't even know existed."

I shake my head slowly. It's been almost seven years since we buried my grandma Sally, my second mother, for that matter. And I have yet to fully process what happened that day. Sally died in her sleep. Peacefully, albeit unexpectedly. There were so many people at her funeral. Friends, former coworkers, and volunteers from the community center where she'd spent most of her spare time when she wasn't busy raising me.

"The whole neighborhood grieved for you, babe. After your parents died, you were on your own. Katherine didn't give a shit about you then, did she?"

I shush her. "Language."

We both look over at Maisie. She's still watching the cartoon. I can only pray she didn't hear us. My girl is like a sponge for profanity. And you never know when she's going to drop the f-bomb, either. She does it for giggles, too.

"I had no idea that my father had another life before he met my mom. I could never understand why they chose to keep it from me," I say. "Sally never told me about them, either. I didn't know my dad got divorced and left his firstborn daughter behind. He moved here and just… started over, I guess."

"Katherine should've gone about it differently," Chelsea says. "I saw her, I heard her, and I heard that bratty half-sister of yours, too. So much hatred and venom in that silver spoon-fed princess—"

"Hey, don't fault Callie for anything. I can only imagine how she must've felt when my father walked out on her."

"But it wasn't your fault either, and they shouldn't have taken it out on you the way they did," Chelsea insists. "Remember what they said? That you'd never be a real Monroe. That your dad abandoned his family and forfeited his entire inheritance so he could be poor but happy with your mother."

"There's a history we don't know about," I remind Chelsea. "And since most of the people involved are now dead, I don't see a point in dwelling on it. The fact is Katherine is going to be interred this Saturday. And I'm expected to attend the funeral."

Chelsea scoffs and rolls her eyes again. "Puh-leeze. You should go there and cause a ruckus like she and Callie did at Sally's funeral. I bet that would go down well with the elites."

"Callie was upset. She grew up thinking her father had left her behind. I can totally understand why she got mad when she found out about me. I only had Dad for the first eight years of my life, but I had him. She never got a chance to know him. She was maybe three years old when he divorced her mother and abandoned her."

"My God, it sounds like the soap opera my mom used to watch every day at three in the afternoon."

"Yeah, who'd have known my family would turn out to be so complicated?"

Chelsea covers my hand with hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Dakota, you grew up without your parents. You hadn't even graduated from high school when Sally died. Having Katherine and Callie verbally attack you the way they did was simply brutish, rude, and downright cruel. I will never forgive nor excuse their behavior, no matter what your dad did or didn't do, okay? You were a kid."

"I guess."

"So, what's the purpose of the letter then?"

I go over it again. "It says Katherine died of an aneurysm and that she's going to be buried next to her husband on Saturday. The will be read that same afternoon, and apparently, that's the part for which my presence is requested. It says, and I quote, ‘You need not attend the funeral service itself,' which is code for, ‘Don't come and cause a scene like she did at your grandma's funeral.'"

"That's rich," Chelsea chuckles softly, then stills, her eyes suddenly wide. "Wait, wait, hold up. Reading of the will?"

"So, it says here."

"A reading of the will."

"There's a will, and it will be read, yes," I shoot back with a perky eyebrow.

Chelsea leans forward. "Dakota, are you not hearing the words that are coming out of my mouth? You are going to attend a reading of Katherine Monroe's last will and testament. The woman was filthy rich."

"She cut my father off. We grew up poor. And didn't we just talk about what she did at Sally's funeral?" I ask, not wanting to imagine any possible scenarios that could come out of this hot mess that is the Monroe dynasty. I'm not expecting a dime.

I'd had enough of those people in the few minutes that I had to endure at Sally's service to last me a lifetime. I have no intention of dealing with their kind ever again. While I may find excuses for Callie, and while I do wish I had her as a sister, as a part of our family—even if only for a rare weekend or occasional holiday—I cannot have that kind of vitriol in my life.

I'm not going to let Katherine hurt me again. The woman may be dead, but she still has power from the grave. Her lawyer showing up at my door with this letter proves as much.