Black Girl Summer

Chapter 1

Jessica

The aching in my chest as I read the lawyer’s letter only grows stronger with each passing moment. I knew this day would come – my father was sick after all – but I didn’t expect it to come so soon, or so suddenly.

Sitting alone in my little apartment, I try my best to keep it together. I bring the letter closer, scanning my eyes over it again. I feel like I’ve read this a hundred times by now, but my mind still can’t seem to take in the information.

There are too many other thoughts swimming in my head – memories of my father, of speaking with him just a few days ago and everything being fine, then the phone call telling me they’d discovered another tumor, the rush to the hospital and being told it was far more advanced than they thought, and then his sudden death and the funeral that passed in a blur.

But I know I need to get through this, one step at a time – and right now, the next step is dealing with the lawyer. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to concentrate on the words in front of me.

To the attention of Jessica Saunders, it starts, and I scan the legalese that follows, looking for the important information.

Finally, I find what I’m looking for.

The reading of the will, allocation of assets, and discussion of related stipulations and conditions will take place in the deceased’s home on the 19th at 2 p.m.

I can’t help but frown at the paper, even though I’ve read it before. Although everything else has already been handled, the letter seems surprisingly formal. I glance at my watch and it reads 1:26 p.m.

“Oh, shoot,” I mutter to myself, suddenly pulling myself up from the couch.

As I gather my things and make my way through the streets of Woodford Falls and toward my dad’s house, I can’t help but wonder what the letter could possibly mean by ‘related stipulations and conditions.’

It’s only me and my Aunt Sabrina in our family now, and I can’t imagine there’s anything too complicated in my dad’s will. He was a practical man, and given how organized everything else in his life was – including his own unexpected death, apparently – I’m surprised there’s going to be a formal will reading at all.

I make it to my dad’s house, my childhood home, just before two o’clock to find that my aunt is already there. She’s standing on the front porch steps, and the moment she catches sight of me, she suddenly dabs a handkerchief furiously to her eyes, as if she’s been weeping this whole time.

“Oh, Jessica,” she wails, but all I do is greet her politely.

She looks desperately as if she’s about to faint from grief. Or rather, she looks as though she’s desperately trying to appear that way. I know better than that though – a lifetime of her theatrics means I’m immune to her attempts to try to bawl her eyes out on command.

“Ladies,” comes a voice from inside, and I look up to see the lawyer waiting for us at the entrance.

He beckons us in and with a strange look in my direction, Aunt Sabrina makes a beeline for the house, as if jostling to get in first. I just shake my head as I follow behind her. I’m pretty sure the will won’t include the words ‘first come, first served.’

Nevertheless, as we walk through the house, my aunt makes sure she’s right behind the lawyer as he enters my father’s study. I, on the other hand, linger a little, passing my eyes over the photos that line the mantle and feeling that same ache in my chest for my father.

I only hope this will reading is over quickly so I can carry on his work at The Roastery and make him proud, even in death.

Once we’re settled in the study, the lawyer gives us a preface to the will.

“Now, I know what you’re about to hear is a little unorthodox,” he begins. “But I’m afraid these are legal stipulations, so please be understanding.”

Aunt Sabrina and I exchange a glance as we await the reading. The lawyer almost seems uncomfortable, and I wonder what could possibly be going on. I don’t have to wonder for long though.

“Now, Jessica, as the only child of the late Henry Saunders, you were originally to inherit the house and the commercial property in town, including the rights to the coffee shop, The Roastery,” he says, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“However,” he continues, picking up a piece of paper, which I presume to be the will. “Your father did add a last-minute stipulation. I quote, ‘To my daughter, Jessica Saunders, I leave my house and the coffee shop, on one condition: she must be married within six months of my death. If, by the end of those six months, she has not married, they will go to my sister, Sabrina Saunders.’”

I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.

“Wait, what?” I ask, not fully understanding what’s happening.

Never in a million years could I have expected something like this, but the lawyer simply shrugs, as if it’s outside his control.

“I did warn you it was a little unorthodox,” he says, but I’m barely listening. All I can hear is the sound of my blood pounding in my ears.

I turn to my aunt beside me, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that she might offer me some comfort, but the only thing that greets me is her smirk of self-satisfaction.

I can see she’s more than happy at the stipulation and the thought of her taking my father’s cafe – his life’s work, and mine – away from me, makes me feel sick to my stomach.

But to find a husband in the next six months? That seems as good as impossible.

“What am I supposed to do?” I mutter softly, but nobody in this room can answer that. Not even me.