selling or transferring—then the house is yours, free and clear, and you can do whatever you want with it. You can knock it down and build a new one, and no one can stop you.”
I exhaled. “Whoa.”
“Like I said, let me take a look at the will just to be sure. But yeah, it sounds like you’re good.”
“Okay. Okay, cool. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Will and Aaron wrapped up the call, and as he pocketed his phone, I exhaled and leaned against the wall. “So I’m not stuck with it.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“Except my siblings would have my head.” My shoulders sank along with my heart. “We all know Dad didn’t want it sold.”
Will put his hand on my arm. “It’s your life, Kelly. And as of the execution of the will, it’s your house too. Staying or leaving, it’s your call. But at least you know you most likely have the legal right to do that.”
I thought about it, and he had a point. From the moment I’d found out Dad had left the house to me, I’d felt shackled to it. Like it was a way for him to control and belittle me from the grave.
If Aaron and Will were right, though, there was nothing legally stopping me from selling it. My siblings might be pissed at me, but assuming I hadn’t misread the will, they couldn’t stop me.
I was pretty sure Aaron and Will were right, too. That once Aaron looked over the will, he’d confirm that, yes, the house was mine to do with what I wished.
And somehow, that knowledge wasn’t as freeing as I’d hoped. Suddenly there was pressure and baggage. There was a decision to make, and there were people who wouldn’t think my decision was the right one—either my siblings would hate me or I would hate myself. God, how it was it more frustrating to know I could unload this place if I wanted to?
“Kelly?”
I cleared my throat. “I’ll, um… I’ll think about it.” I gestured at the boxes. “But whether I move or stay, the sooner I get rid of all this shit, the better.”
“Good idea.”
I looked over the boxes, and the lump in my throat tried to rise higher. “First, though, I think I could use some water. How about you?”
He met my eyes, and he must have seen my need to get the hell out of this attic for a while, because he nodded. We both got up, my joints popping almost as loudly as his.
“Jesus.” I groaned, twisting to get one more crick out of my spine. “I sound like you. Does this mean I’m old?”
He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
We brushed some of the dust off our clothes, and Will wiped off his glasses. Then we went downstairs. In the kitchen, with some ice water in hand, we leaned against the counter and drank in silence.
After a while, he put his drink aside. “How are you doing?”
“I’m…” I rubbed my stiffening neck. I really, really wanted to say I was fine and that our talk upstairs had shaken everything off, but I wasn’t and it hadn’t. “I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t know what to do about the house. I don’t know how I feel about my dad. Or about him being gone. I mean, how the fuck do you grieve someone who didn’t even like you?” I laughed bitterly. “Especially when he willed you a house and a bunch of money, so everyone thinks you’re a spoiled brat for not talking about him like the saint he was.”
“Obviously he wasn’t one, if he made you feel the way he did.”
I swallowed hard, avoiding Will’s gaze. “He was still my dad, though.”
“Yeah. And he should have been a better father.”
“He should’ve been.” I put my empty glass aside and kneaded my neck with both hands. “It just pisses me off how much everyone acts like it’s my fault. Or like it’s on me to be the bigger person just because I’m the one who’s still alive. I mean, I didn’t know he was going to fucking die when he did, and all these assholes who say I needed to make amends—I mean, what about him? Is he just retroactively off the hook for not accepting me because I bailed on medical school and didn’t—like, how the fuck am I supposed to grieve someone like that? How the hell do I deal with every goddamned person acting like my father was the most amazing thing on the planet