“The terms are very clear,” says one of the men from across the table. I can’t remember what is name is, at the moment.
“Yes?” I respond lamely.
“Your father’s estate, his entire fortune, is left to you. There are, however, a few terms that you will be required to meet. If you cannot, it will all be turned over to your cousins.”
“Terms?” What is wrong with me? Am I honestly incapable of multi word responses?
“Yes. You will only inherit everything if you can prove that you will be able to carry on the family name, regardless of your…sexuality.” He clears his throat as if embarrassed, and I wonder how much he’s getting out of all this to be the one to read off my father’s stipulations.
“As you know, your family has an annual Easter celebration. You are to arrive at the party this year with a stable relationship and a plan to have children. If you do not, you will lose your inheritance to your cousins.”
“Is that even legal? To force me into a relationship, into a family?” I wonder aloud.
“If you want the money, then yes. If the money isn’t important to you, then you’re free to walk away.”
I’m tempted to do just that. Especially, after he tells me that it will be my crazy Aunt Adelaide who will decree whether or not my relationship is acceptable. What kind of farce have I walked into?
I bet my father is rolling over in his grave with laughter at this very moment. It feels like even in death, he’s trying to force me into the kind of life he thinks I should have.
I could walk away now. Put this entire thing behind me. Mourn the loss of a man who was never willing to accept me, love me. It should be easy.
The money would make a huge difference, though. Not just in my life, but it would also allow me to pursue my dream of giving back to the LGBT community.
There are so many people, especially young ones, who are going through the same thing that I did. They come from families who refuse to accept them, who give them ultimatums, or purposely hurt them by turning their backs.
This much money, even a fraction of it, would go a long way to helping those who truly need it. I’ve always regretted that I couldn’t do more. Now, I have the opportunity.
I’m at a complete loss. On the one hand, I don’t want to give my father that kind of power over me, even if he’s no longer alive. On the other hand, it might only be a small price to pay to be able to do so much good.
What am I supposed to do?
Three
Sara
B y the time I reach the bookshop after my shift at the diner, my eyes are burning with fiery tears. I inhale several shaky breaths in a vain attempt to ebb the flow, but they continue to scorch an agonizing trail down my cheeks.
They splatter across my blouse, leaving dark stains on the soft fabric. Get it together! I mentally scold myself. How am I supposed to read to a room full of children if I can’t keep my composure for five lousy minutes?
The weight of the day, of my situation these past few weeks, crushes down on me. It feels as if the universe itself has turned against me, and I’m helpless to do anything about it.
My shift at the diner was horrendous. Patrons kept screaming at me. I barely made any tips. To top it off, my boss said that if I’m late one more time, I’ll be fired.
This was the only job I found with a flexible enough schedule that I could work around the boys’ school schedule and the kids’ corner shift at the bookshop. If I lose it, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Without a job, I won’t be able to support Lucas and Liam. If that happens, they’ll be taken away and put into foster care. I won’t let that happen. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t.
Wiping my face with a ragged tissue I find in the glovebox, I force myself to calm down. I don’t want to give Rachel a reason to question if I’m capable of continuing on as the story time reader. I refuse to screw things up here, as well.
Stepping out of the car, I steel my shoulders, plaster a pained smile across my face, and walk into the shop. Heather looks up from her place behind the register and smiles warmly when she sees me.
My smile clearly isn’t fooling her, as her features morph into a look of concern. “Is everything alright?” She asks.
“Great. Everything is great.” I lie.
She opens her mouth to say more, but I beat her to it, not wanting to spread my problems around the shop. “How’s everything going here? Any new gossip I should know about?”
“Well, since you mention it.” She leans across the counter, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial manner. Her eyes dart around the room before meeting my gaze. “Lucille got some really big news earlier. She left in a rush a few days ago and hasn’t been back since. No one’s sure what’s going on.”