Page 142 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Doesn’t matter. I should have known better. And now, for a nominal fee, Princess Kitty Fanboy at MikeBenedickTXCA can be the voice of your YouTube channel, your TikToks, your everything.” Mike stretches his hands out wide. “So here I am. Becoming better acquainted with my future. Because unless I want to pursue more Princess Kitty videos, which I don’t, the only Shakespeare I’ll ever get to perform is in this cell.”
He laughs. “Now comes the pièce de résistance. The part where we part ways and I lose you too.” His tone becomes sober. “Your cottage is on the same parcel of land as the beach house. That means uncle’s ex-wifey is entitled to half of it too. If I could subdivide the lot and save your cottage, I would. But I can’t. I have to sell it along with everything else, which means you have to vacate. I’m so sorry.”
“Mike…”
He grabs my hands. “I can’t give you the life you deserve. I saw it that day when you tried the boyfriend label on me for size. I knew I’d be a lucky son of a gun to make it work then. But that was before my life imploded to the size of this cell. I’m a sinking ship, Bea. I can’t take you down with me.”
“Give me thirty-six hours.” I hold Mike by the shoulders. “Can you do that? Thirty-six hours before we decide how any of this is going to end. Thirty-six hours where you don’t forecast, tempt fate, or catastrophize.”
“There’s nothing that can be done.”
“Maybe. But at least let me try.” I pull out my phone and start jotting some notes. “I need the emails, contracts, whatever yougot for the voice-acting gig as soon as possible. I’ll stop by your place Saturday morning, and we’ll talk then.” I kiss Mike’s cheek and hold him close, savoring the smell of eucalyptus and thyme.
“Sure, why don’t I just give you my email and password, and you can dive headfirst into the dumpster fire.”
“Do it. I like dumpster fires.” I rise and grab my bag. “Need a ride home?”
“Nah, I drove.”
“Good, because I have work to do.”
Mike looks at me. “Sometimes I love you.”
“I’ve always loved you.” I wink at him and head out.
I dial my dad as I’m walking to my car. “Who do we know who practices estate planning?”
“In La Jolla? Lorraine Sharp. Harry Masterson, too, but he’s more of a probate guy.”
“Why do those names sound familiar?”
“What’s going on Bea?”
I explain the situation with Mike. Dad whistles. “That’s a rough Thursday. I take it you have some reading to do tonight. Reviewing cases for precedent?”
My phone pings with a text from Mike containing his email and password. “Among other things.”
“I’ll call Lorraine in the morning, see if she can make time for some old friends. In the meantime, send me a copy of any trusts or wills you come across. I’m happy to look over any of his contracts, too, but you have a sharper eye than I do for those.” Dad pauses. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know it is. I’m going to make sure of it.”
Dad laughs. “I’ll text in the morning. Night, kiddo.”
I go through an entire case of ginger ale that night. Happily, Mike keeps a tidy inbox. Around two a.m., I see a message go out to his faculty adviser and thesis committee, apologizing for missing the appointment, citing a personal emergency, andrequesting to reschedule. He must be awake and emailing from his phone.
If I didn’t have more work to do, I’d walk over and hug him, because I know what it takes to put out a dumpster fire, but I have a pile of cases to review for precedent, and I want to get at least a few hours of sleep before any potential meetings tomorrow.
I’m up at six a.m., reviewing more relevant cases that Mom sent my way an hour ago, along with the note,Who’s glad her mom insisted she keep her license active now?
When Dad texts me at eight asking if I can meet at Lorraine’s home office in a half hour, I’m ready to go.
I drive to a familiar address off of Cardeno Street. Dad isn’t here yet, and for a moment, I think I’ve got it wrong.
Lorraine answers the door. “Beatrice! Dog walker and attorney extraordinaire. Come on in. Your dad texted and said he was running late. Morning traffic on the 5 is terrible.”
“I’m sorry. You are Heraldo the golden doodle pitsky's grandma, and you know my dad?”
“George, Molly, and I go way back. Congratulations, by the by. I hear we have you to thank for finally getting her back to law school.”
