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The woman nods. “Her estate is fully in order. One bank account with everything in it, and the house she owned. It’s all yours.”
“But my dad…”
“Not mentioned.”
“Wow,” Effie breathes, shaking her head in disbelief.
I wonder if she had any inkling this was likely to happen—she must have known. But thinking it and hearing it are two very different things.
The lawyer begins explaining the probate process and how everything works, but I don’t hear most of it. I’m too focused on Effie.
Her tiny body trembles in the seat beside mine, and her eyes are full of unshed tears.
She doesn’t need any of this money from Grams. She has more than enough from her parents, and from her own income, but something tells me that this means so much more to her any cent that’s come from them.
Only a few minutes later, we say our goodbyes to the lawyer, who promises to contact us soon, and make our way out of the office.
Effie is in a daze as I guide her back to the car, and we sit there in silence for long minutes. But as much as I want to give her time and space to process all this, we can’t sit here all day.
“Did you want to just go home?” I offer.
We’d made plans for this afternoon, but I understand if she no longer feels up for it.
She considers for a moment before tucking her loose hair behind her ear.
“No. We’re going out for lunch, remember?”
“We don’t have?—”
“We do,” she argues. “You’ve done so much for me recently. You deserve that steak.”
“It’s not important,” I argue. I mean the words, but my stomach grumbles in complaint.
“Kieran...we’re going for lunch, and then we’re going shopping,” she reminds me.
Grams explained in her funeral plan that she didn’t want anyone wearing dark and drab colors. She wants bright and colorful. She wants it to be a celebration, not a dreary occasion.
It didn’t surprise me. Grams lived her whole life in color, and it’s only fitting that we say goodbye in a similar way.
I found Effie standing at her closet not long after she got confirmation about Grams wishes for her send off. When I asked her what she was doing, she tearfully told me that she didn’t have anything suitable to wear, so we’re rectifying that this afternoon.
I smile at her. Most guys would probably hate the prospect of a shopping trip with a woman, but I’m not most guys. I enjoy trailing Effie and giving her my opinion on the things she picks up and tries on.
Only with Effie, though. I don’t have the patience to do it with anyone else.
“Okay then,” I say, starting the engine and backing out of the space.
I make my way across town toward the best steak house in St. Louis. It’s my second-favorite place to eat.
“Good to see their portions haven’t gotten smaller,” Effie mocks when one of the biggest ribeyes I’ve ever seen is placed before me.
My stomach growls appreciatively as her slightly more modest filet is lowered to the table.
I watch her stare at it in horror. It’s barely a quarter the size of mine, but it’s probably more than she’s eaten all week.
After checking if we need anything, our server leaves us to our food.
We both dive in, but only one of us eats like they’ve been starved.