The Reckless Collision

Sam.

~~~

Talking with Raymond brought bittersweet memories. After my grandfather Michael passed away, the lawyer gathered our family to reveal his will. They played a video recording of him, just a week after the funeral. I cried the entire time the video played. It wasn't just the grief; it was the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, even in pixels—it was too much.

I didn't even realize at first that I had inherited everything. The house, the art, the possessions—they were all left to me. But of course, there were conditions.

One condition was that I had to ensure my grandmother, Rose, lived comfortably for the remainder of her life. Another was that his final book had to be published with my name on the cover as a co-author, and I had to do at least one book signing event in his honor.

And then there was the last one—no selling any property or artwork for the next ten years.

Not everyone in the family was happy about his decision. I could feel the tension in the room, though no one said it outright. But Michael, being Michael, had explained his reasoning clearly in the video. I knew they couldn't challenge it, but it didn't make the bitterness any less palpable.

I never wanted to talk about that drama with Raymond. There was no need to drag him into the mess. But as I sat there beside him, talking about my grandfather, a strange sense of liberation began to settle in. It was bittersweet—like peeling open a wound to let it breathe.

"Do you want some ice cream?" I asked suddenly, needing a change of subject, needing something light after the heaviness.

"Sure," he said easily, his warmth a comforting contrast to my tangled emotions. "What flavors do you have?"

I moved toward the freezer, pulling out two tubs. "Vanilla and pistachio," I said, holding one in each hand.

"Pistachio," he answered without hesitation, stepping closer to take the green container.

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow at him, amused.

"Yeah, it's my favorite. I'm actually kind of surprised you even have it," he said with a grin, already popping the lid off.

"It's my favorite too," I replied, a playful smile tugging at my lips as I grabbed two spoons from the drawer.

Without much thought, I headed toward my bedroom, spoons in hand. When I glanced back, Raymond hesitated for a long moment before following.

The bedroom was my sanctuary, carefully arranged with everything I needed. On one wall, there was a walk-in closet. Across from it, a bookshelf spanned the entire wall except for a single door in the middle—the bathroom. My bed was king-sized, flanked by matching nightstands, with brown roller blinds framing the window above it. Every detail of the room matched the apartment's white-and-brown theme: white furniture, and brown accents.

Raymond wandered in, his curious gaze sweeping across the space. His eyes landed on the bookshelf. "The famous bookshelf," he said with a grin. "What's behind that door?" He pointed to the bathroom.

"My bathroom," I replied, noticing the condensation dripping from the ice cream tub.

"So, two bathrooms, huh? Interesting," he remarked, nodding as he took in the rest of the room.

I left him there, rushing back to the kitchen to grab a towel. When I returned, he was already sprawled on the right side of the bed, eating ice cream like he owned the place.

"I wiped the water with my shirt," he said, watching me with a cheeky grin as I let out a small sigh and tossed the towel onto the nightstand.

"Why would you do that?" I asked, settling onto the bed beside him, lying on my stomach with a spoon in hand.