It is very frustrating for me, as you know, to have… things… going on here—important things—of which I cannot keep you informed.
But every time I reach for my phone or laptop in a blind rage about The Thing I’m just about tackled by Husband and a full legal team.
Suffice it to say I spend a lot of my alone hours having quiet conversations with the absence of my father. Specifically, I talk about his final wishes and his anxiety over the thought that his family would be torn apart by “fighting.” I did caution him, back when he was alive, that the best way to prevent any such outcome was by handing things over to an attorney but he was sure he’d made all the right choices. Or at least that he couldn’t go back on the choices he’d made together with his wife.
So here we are. And yep, there’s a fight.
Do I want the money? No. It’s gross and for all I care the lawyers can swallow it up. But I’ll be damned if I let them get away with what they’re trying to do—after what they’ve already done.
I can’t report to you every time I get an upsetting email or text, or every time there’s an encouraging development. I can’t even relay the Conversations where Husband and I strategize and crack wise, because all of it falls under the heading of “ongoing legal matter” and if they’re going to continue to go on the record as the Official Villains of this saga then I must always, always be the Good One. The one who is Correct. The one who does what you are supposed to do when these things get complicated: throw money at a suit with sharp teeth and scream “HELP!”
I can’t write about all of that, which is a daily thing around here, but…
Since I’m being suitably vague, I can tell you that my (now ex) stepbrother and I are still not getting on, right? I mean, that’s pretty common, isn’t it? Nothing to do with anything, that.
PHONE: (rings, in defiance of ungodly hour)
ME: (paws at phone, glares at caller ID)
HIM: (sleepily) Mmfftz?
ME: Oh, FUCK YOU!
HIM: (sits up quickly, frowns) Oh, Kenny.
ME: (rejects call)
HIM: What’s he want?
ME: Dunno, but he can tell it to my voicemail. He knows he’s not supposed to call.
HIM: He thinks there’s no record that way.
ME: I told him I record my calls.
HIM: Yeah, but he’s stupid.
And, since that’s no secret… and neither is the fact that I’ve retained legal assistance (lawyers are tools of the devil, but I’ll still pay top dollar to make sure mine is the sharpest tool in hell) I can mention that I’m utterly fucking baffled at some of the choices idiots make without saying which idiots or what they’ve done, yeah?
ME: (relays recent dumassery)
AUDREY: Aww… he didn’t like your surprise?
ME: I TOLD HIM I WAS GETTING A LAWYER!
ME: I literally said, “I’ve spoken to several lawyers, and this is what they all advised; you need to Do The Thing.” How was it then a surprise when he got a call from my lawyer?
AUDREY: Because he’s an idiot?
ME: IT’S NOT A SURPRISE PARTY IF I SEND OUT SAVE-THE-DATE CARDS!
AUDREY: And you’re a liar.
ME: Shit, I forgot.
AUDREY: And forgetful!
ME: A forgetful liar.
AUDREY: Such a terrible combination.
 So vague, I know. I’m sorry; I can’t do better. Someday I will—I promise.