It Had to Be You

Chapter 5 : Love Indy

Wes' POV

“Can you believe those vultures are still here!?" Tia Josefina swirled her wine, only just narrowly missing spillage onto Gigi's prized white Boca do Lobo loveseat. She drew her glass to her lips, drinking with displeasure, eyes glued to the thin crack of the window that the heavy brocade curtains hadn't managed to block. “f*****g parasites, the lot of them."

Every news outlet in the world seemed camped out on the family estate's front lawn. I didn't understand why they were still out there. They'd gotten what they came for, we'd had the funeral yesterday. What more did they want? Blood?

“They think we killed her for the inheritance," Aunt Margot said, clacking her hands away on her laptop, the deadline of her latest tell-all hanging over her head like an invisible guillotine that seemed to lower every time the grandfather clock chimed. Every hour, on the hour. I'd never seen her so tense in my life. “That's what Perez Hilton is saying. I don't know why anyone is taking him seriously."

“It's because he's the only one that DUMBASS over here—" Tio Leonardo sank into his seat next to Fern, his eldest son, as Tio Bruno chewed them out, “—managed to f*****g hit."

“It was a slap! He's such a—fine, I won't say it. Sorry, Eddie." Well, at least Tio was learning. “But no—he deserved it! That little prick said that I wasn't really Papai's kid! f*****g asshole doesn't know about recessive genes. Right, Filho? You got that blond from your old man and your mama!"

“Dad! No! Don't touch the—"

“Well, I don't care who's out there!" Tia Josefina was pouring more vintage Musigny into her cup, short pixie cut hair mussed. Cameron needed to get his mom, but he had his hands full with the twins and his father was too busy chatting with his board in the second office downstairs. “This is unacceptable! We are Mondegos for f**k's sake! That used to mean something to these plebeians! They can't keep us caged like this!"

“How are you holding up?" A cold can of Coke pressed against my forehead as Cameron's older sister Alicia nudged me to scoot over from my vantage point on the main steps.

We used to play here as children, all of us did—Cameron, Manny, Fern, Des, Quinta, the twins Nicole and Laurel, me and her—where had the time gone? Where had it all gone?

I cracked open the tab and wished it had some rum in it. Maybe even Jack.

“That bad, huh?"

“They don't even care that Lacey has been pawing at Gigi's bedroom door for the last half hour because she can't find her." My great-grandmother's borzoi was currently curled around my suede boots. They were ruined, nothing would be able to get all the dog hair out, especially white on blue, but I didn't care. I just scratched at Lacey's ears and…existed.

If I had known that dinner three weeks back would have been my last with her…

The room felt cold—snow and rain, poor visibility, the sound of metal twisting—I drank the Coke. Bubbles, sugar, and enough caffeine to avoid a headache. Enough of a sensation to chase the car crash away from my mind.

“Thanks for that."

“Wes…" Oh no, I knew that look. That pathetic wet-eyed look. Goddammit, what the f**k had Cameron been telling her? She placed her hand over mine, skin darker thanks to her recording her latest album in the Turks and Caicos in some place called Whitby. “Wes, have you been keeping up with your appointments with Dr. Angstrom?"

“Doc?" I hadn't seen him in over six months. Not since the judge cleared me and gave me back my license.

What did I need therapy sessions for if a judge said I was good? Probably should have called in and given the good doctor a heads-up, it wasn't like I hated the man. But, I was sure if I'd told him my intentions, he'd try to…weasel his way back in. Tell me I was doing good with the work. That I was healing.

I was still having nightmares, slipping back to the night at the slightest inconvenience. Didn't sound like recovery to me. I think he was making it worse, however unintentional that was. Or maybe that was a point. If all your patience were cured, you didn't get paid, right? Besides, I'm pretty sure PTSD only happened to soldiers or cops. Not rich kids from Westbrooke.

It was all bullshit. I wasn't crazy.

So I'd save my cash. So what if I hadn't talked to anybody about what happened the day of the crash? Not like anyone would really care or…or get it. It was fine. No one needed to know. That was between me, her, God, and Par—

Fuck, if thinking about her was off-limits, then Parker most definitely was. No, no, stay in the moment, Wes. Drink that Coke and keep yourself together. You're not in Brockport, you're at The Mondego Manor, Gigi's house, on 1217 Sunset Way in Westbrooke. It's like ten in the morning and all I've been able to keep down is some buttered toast. Just keep it together a little while longer. For Gigi's sake.

I finished the Coke, rolling the empty can between my clammy palms so I'd have something to focus on. s**t, I never answered Alicia's question. “Yeah, I check in with Doc Angstrom every Tuesday afternoon like clockwork."

“You wouldn't…" Alicia looked at me hard, like she wasn't sure I was there in the flesh. She pressed down harder on my arm as if to test her little theory and I laughed at her unsteady nature. It only made her seem bleaker. “You wouldn't lie to me, right Wes?"

“I'd never lie to you, dearest," I lied like a liar would, with even inflection and zero looking away.

It shouldn't bother me to do that anymore. I was getting so good at it that the almost compulsive tell I had—rubbing my nose with the back of my hand—didn't crop up. So why, when Alicia looked so relieved and gave me a peck on the cheek, did I feel like scum s**t? Why, when she walked away with our empty Coke cans in a room full of family, did I feel even more alone?

Lacey gave another whine, her wet nose tickling my right palm, eyes an echo of mine.

“I'm sorry Lacey, Gigi isn't coming back." The tears shouldn't have surprised me but they did. At least I had the grace to be quiet about it. I leaned down to hug Lacey so no one could see the state I was in. “I'm so sorry."

***

“If you're hearing this," Gigi Indy said, back straight, steel gray hair in her iconic beehive and million-dollar Tiffany original hairpin, “that means that cancer has won."

“Jesus Christ." My father wasn't an emotional man despite what his movies would have you believe, but today was the only time I'd seen my father moved to tears. He'd loved Gigi like she was his mother. And, why shouldn't he? She raised all her grandkids after the accident that had taken her only child, husband, and dear daughter-in-law. “I can't—I can't do this."

“We'll go outside then." My mother had never liked Gigi, it wasn't a family secret. Still, I figured she'd have some emotion here. My mother was the type to cry over Christmas commercials. Seeing her this dry-eyed next to my weeping father was enough to give me a shell shock. “Wes, you stay here with the family to see how the inheritance goes."

“Yeah, oh…okay."

“Should I restart the tape?" Mr. Ferris, the family attorney asked. He was a little man with shaky hands and a balding head that harbored a port wine stain that looked like a smiley face. “I don't—"

“It's fine." Tia Josefina waved her hand, wine finally sloshing over the edge to land on the floor. Luckily it was tile. “Just hurry up with it. We already know Armond is going to get everything."

The eldest of seven kids, my father—Armond Mondego—was the perfect mix of both his parents and, as such, had become my great-grandmother's de facto favorite of all her grandkids.

My father got his stalwart beliefs from his father George Mondego, a famous war hero from Vietnam, but the love of his family from his mother Isabella Silva, who hadn't done anything noteworthy, but contribute a lot of their fortune to charity. Gigi had liked this quality in her above all others, as Isabella was—as Gigi liked to claim— “the last honest Mondego to grace these halls and she wasn't even blood."

I wonder if my aunts and uncles were right and if Dad was going to get all the money as expected.

Mr. Ferris nodded and the tape resumed, Gigi Indy alive once more.

“I know I have a lot of family—and assets—to get through, so I'll make this short. You know how much I liked efficiency. I have decided, with the help of Mr. Edwin Ferris and the rest of the Ferris & Frye firm, I have decided it would behoove me to leave my fortune in the hands of one sole heir—"

“—Vai mamar na quinta pata do cavalo! I knew this was going to happen! This is BULLSHIT—"

“—quiet, Fina! So what does this mean for the family—"

“—it means we're broke, stupid!—"

“—Armond would never—"

“—maybe for you, but he's never liked me—"

“—Quiet! She's still talking—"

“—I know you are all losing your minds over who the possible sole heir may be. Armond because he is the favorite and the eldest? Josefina as the oldest girl? Bruno because he has the most kids?" Gigi lifted her teacup to her lips—a little cheap piece of Corningware mug Isabella had gotten her before the car crash—and drank her tea. She liked Kenyan Black Tea with a little coconut milk in it and two lumps of sugar.

My heart sank the moment I thought about it. I wasn't a fan of it myself, too sweet for my bitter tastes, and I'd have no reason to make it. But the smell would be missed, making me remember simpler times. Better times. Before everything had gotten f****d.

On the tape, there was a polite knock on the door. Gigi cackled, as a Disney witch might, and said, “Maybe it would be better to show you? Come in, love."

I walked in, hair a mess, a ratty band t-shirt that I liked to wear around her house on my chest. I knew without seeing my legs that I was in my hospital sweats. I was younger here, with stitches in my brow before it became the scar it was today. Months after the accident.

“Okay, so I asked Chauncey to take me around to that tiny hole-in-the-wall you like so much in Hell's Kitchen." I heard myself say as my grandma looked up at me with all the love she could muster. “I'm so glad I'm not on house arrest otherwise I would not be able to do this for you. All right, choose your poison." I held up three DVDs. “We got 'Hedwig and the Angry Inch', 'Valley of the Dolls', or—"

“Is that the 'Bride of Frankenstein?' From 1935? The movie that inspired me to join showbiz!?"

I remembered her smile that day. Dazzling. I'd been feeling so shitty. Parker wasn't answering my calls, and the paparazzi wouldn't leave me alone. My mistakes were on every newsstand and feed. I was the shameful “Mondego Monster". The “Drug-addled Boy Blunder". To myself, I was a murderer, plain and simple. No puns were necessary. Gigi thought better of me though.

“Oh, Wes! You're such a good kid, you know that. You all are. I'll be down in a minute, let me do this recording first, okay?"

“All right, Gigi. I'll get everything set up."

I couldn't believe I'd ever been that happy after the accident. Where was that ever-present guilt I was so accustomed to? I watched the younger me of two years ago walk away, Lacey at my heels. Lacey who was still at my heels.

Grandma sighed, looking tired.

“I just got the news today. Don't come for Westley, he didn't know. He knew the moment you all did, already at stage three and showing no signs of improving after six months of treatment in secret. Likely to be stage four by the end of next year."

“I've had cancer two times before, in '87 and 2002. Both times I beat it, but this time…this time I'm tired. So very tired. I don't want you all to fight—though I know one of you more stubborn kids will. I'm not picking Wes because he is Armond's son, but because he is the only one I know who will distribute my affairs fairly. And you all know I'm right."

The silence made my pulse race, and I tried to tell myself to calm down, patting Lacey's head to help hasten the process. God, what was Gigi thinking!? Mom and Dad would be thrilled, but what about me?

“I know this is a lot to ask of you Wes, so I want to make a couple of things clear, you won't do this alone—"

“Oh thank God," Tia Margot said, fanning herself. “She's naming an executor!"

“—I know you have a good head on your shoulders, but you need help, Westley. Female help. Maybe I'm just an old-fashioned fuddy-duddy, but I can't shake the feeling that this is the right decision. Like its destiny. That's why I'm giving you this caveat to being my heir—"

“What the f**k is she doing?" Tia Wendy asked. “What the f**k does that mean?"

“—Westley, I am giving you one year to find a wife, the yin to your yang. I am giving you a year to find balance, love—"

“What the ACTUAL f**k!?"

“Wendy! Shut up!"

“—If you can meet those terms, the inheritance is yours. If you can't, then all my assets will be liquidated and given over to various charities of my choosing—"

A…year to get married? A year to find a wife or my family goes into the poor house? The Mondego legacy rested on…me? My mind ground to a halt. No thoughts, no feelings, no—

“Oh, my God! He fainted!"

"Oh my God…we're f****d," Cameron said, dropping his phone, and this time it shattered on the floor.