Page 50 of My One

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“Okay?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t be mad.”

I tilted my head slightly and glared. “Nic …”

“It’s not bad, but I didn’t want to tell you last night.”

I sighed. “Nic …”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

How could I promise her that?“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“When you were sleeping yesterday”—she grabbed what looked like a key out of her purse—“I found this in your mom’s closet. I think it’s a key for a safety deposit box at Chase because there was a slip of paper with the box number.”

I grabbed it from her. “Chase?”

“You know, the bank.”

I stared at the silver key for another moment. “Should we go see if it opens one?”

“We can do that after we figure out the funeral situation. That should be our priority today.”

“Right,” I agreed. “So, do you think we should do a double funeral?”

“As opposed to what?” Nic took a bite of omelet.

“Well, I’ve been thinking …”

“You have?” She arched a brow.

I took a sip of my coffee. “Kinda hard not to.”

“True.”

“So anyway, I was thinking that we get them cremated and have a viewing of the urns at their house. Edna can tell her book club or something.”

“If that’s what you want to do, I fully support you.” We ate more of our breakfast and then Nic asked, “What are you going to do with their ashes?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged around a mouthful of bacon.

“We have time to think about that.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

But whatwasI going to do with their ashes? What the hell did people do with their families ashes? Spread them? Keep them? Bury them? What did Iwantto do with them? I knew I wanted to throw my father over a cliff, but my luck he had a will that stated to spread his ashes at Angels Stadium.

Hell. No.

I would never grant him the satisfaction of beinglaid to restat one of his favorite places. But my mother? I wanted to take her to New York and spread her in a garden in my backyard. I didn’t have a garden, but I’d make one just so I could have her close.

Sliding out of the booth, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing that it was a Beverly Hills number. “Hello?”

“Mr. Scott?”

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