Je Ne Sais Quoi

I fuckin' hate funerals.

I have ever since I was twelve, and nothing I've experienced since has changed my mind any.

I was very near seventeen when my grandmother died, the grandmother that attempted to pass me on those baguette diamond earrings and whose wedding dress I desperately wish was still around. It was a work of art in its own right, made with a French off-white lace and white satin chiffon, meaning it wouldn't show its delicate age. It was cut beautifully, tailored to fit her body perfectly with a lavish bubble train and body-hugging torso with a sweetheart neckline. I had found a folder of old documents a while back, including the one that planned out the original design for the dress and a fabric swatch of the intricate, lightly beaded lace. Her measurements were included, her waist just as tiny as mine and her hips a quarter-inch smaller. It would've been perfect…

But I needn't worry about marriage when she died, not when I was just beginning to scratch the surface of the reckless, lusty life I loved already.

My little black book held over a hundred names halfway through my junior year, and the number grew almost religiously every weekend. I was out partying and came home to news of her heart attack, something so cliché' I wondered if it was a personal punishment for being so… so sinful, I suppose.

I went to visit her with low expectations, the depression of recent developments clouding my sense, but not clouded enough for me to ignore the pull that had kept itching at my brain until I was nearly forced to throw Zeke's car into reverse (with Zack riding shotgun) and follow the familiar road to her tiny ranch house.

I ascended the stairs and realized I was underdressed; everyone had gathered around her deathbed in dark colors of suits and skirts while I rushed straight over after softball practice, hair a mess and my grungy sweatpants embarrassingly casual. Zack had at least worn black jeans, but his sneakers were in stark contrast to the pressed cuffs of his grey button-down.

"Where is she?" I demanded of my uncle as soon as I entered, who shushed me and glared. The rest of my family was gathered in the living room in various states of grieving and anger.

"She's in her bedroom, but she won't let anyone in but you and your… Zack," he whispered, malice obvious in his voice.

"My Zack?" I challenged with narrowed eyes.

"Maybe I'll only let them in because the only thing the rest of you want is my inheritance, Atticus," she scolded her only son from inside her bedroom.

"Not even a heart attack could slow down the feisty in that woman," Zack mused softly with a smile. "I'll wait outside?"

I could only manage a nod before I closed the door behind me, sitting down next to my grandmother on her bed, slipping the single long-stemmed red rose under her fingers.

"Raven, Raven, Raven," she had murmured without hoarseness, the other heavily wrinkled, fragile hand stroking my cheek with enough tenderness to make me blink back tears. "Don't cry for me too much, dolcezza. You have your life to live, and I had mine! I have no regrets now, I am happy. You should be, too!"

"I hate seeing you suffer," I whispered, knowing my voice wouldn't support the words I needed to get out.

"The only one that's suffering is you," she insisted, almost sternly so. "I want you to think before you act, though. Your lifestyle is hectic and almost irrational, quite a jump for you…"

"What's wrong with it?" I was surprised.

"What's right with it?' she shot back, not unkindly, but more curiously. When I didn't answer, she shook her head. "You think I don't know, Raven. I never forget, and I always know."

"Why must everyone in my family possess the ability to know every express detail regarding my personal life?"

"No one else knows about your life, Raven," she had stopped my rant sharply. "Rose is exquisite at expressing her emotions, innately so, for she was never exactly a wordsmith. Zeke's affinity is with nature and animals. You know that. Your mother was never selfless enough to even be considered for a gift from my gene pool," her laugh was contagious, even though I was still brushing away tears.

"She hates me," I remember saying. "And she hates my abilities."

"She is merely jealous and angry. You, my dear… never in all of my years have I seen a girl so attuned to people. I think that's why your precognition is also so finely tuned; you are not so much predicting, but more so coming up with an extremely realistic guess based on what you managed to almost accidentally gather from those you encounter. It's extraordinary."

"Thank you," I nodded graciously. "But I don't think it's all that special. You can damn near read minds, and you actually do predict the future, Stella."

"Maybe I am mistaken," she raised her eyebrows. "Maybe being stubbornly modest is instead your talent."

"Funny," I cracked a smile. "But what exactly do you know… about my life?"

"Your blush tells all," she laughed again, the sound a touch weaker this time. "You're a bit of a pleasure seeker as of late, no?"

"I don't know if I'd put it that way, but…"

"I would put it exactly that way," she chuckled. "You're going to get yourself in trouble next weekend with a man of grey-blue eyes. Tread with caution in matters involving nature, as well."

I was so used to her being right that I catalogued her words of wisdom without second thought. Too bad I forgot them that very same weekend when I met… him, anyway.

"But that's not all I wanted to say," she pulled me from my thoughts with that gently Italian-accented voice. "Raven, I want you to make sure everything I didn't mention in my will goes to those that deserve it. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course," I blinked, having not expected quite that. "But what didn't you address?"

"This," she replied simply, handing me an envelope that had previously sat on her nightstand. "I think you know what to do with it." I slid one finger under the flap, expecting a letter or a note, instead finding a bank statement addressing thousands of C-notes.

My jaw dropped. "How much money do you have in your account, Stella?"

"A lot," she yawned. "I knew stocks and horses and football game outcomes and blackjack a little too well, something you are quite well versed with, dearie."

I laughed, "But why are you giving this to me?"

"Because you need it, too. But you're not the one that needs it the most."

"How does that make sens--?"

"How's Zachary doing? He's such a sweet boy, Raven. It's a shame you don't understand how much you love each other--"

"Stella!" I blanched, shocked. "I don't love him. Love's for fools who don’t know what they're getting themselves into and quite frankly don’t care."

"I fell in love with your grandfather, Raven, and that doesn't make me a fool. That makes me human."

"I don't like that part of being human, which is why I choose not to associate myself with it."

She simply heaved a sigh at the talk of love, her nearly translucent eyelids closing to cover her bright green eyes, another inherited trait I could thank her for.

"Please tell me you're not thick enough to forget the fact that you’re holding exactly three million, seven hundred sixty-nine thousand, nine hundred fifty-eight dollars and one cent, purely for the penny's luck, in your hand, dolcezza. I hope that headstrong mother of yours at least raised you with smarts. Either that, or I might have to disown you and write you out of my will," the sparkle in those barely dulled eyes was enough for me to smile again.

"What on earth am I about to do with an amount of money like that?" I gasped.

"I did ask you about Zachary, didn't I? He's in that rock band, right? Time For Low, or something of that nature…?"

"All Time Low," I corrected in a murmur. "They can't afford a van for touring, or amps, or even a new set of sticks for Rian, at the moment…"

"Like I said, use your head. Where it goes is up to you. I do recommend a nice hot shower and a Coca-Cola. The caffeine and steam is perfect for ideas, especially ones about decisions. But the effect is ruined if you share a shower, honey."

I flushed a deep red, dropping my gaze and fighting back a giggle at her smirk. "Yes, caro. I'll use it well, I promise."

"Raven, can you promise me something else?" She grew serious with another small sigh.

"Anything, Stella," I agreed as she took my hand between both of hers.

"Promise me that when you and Za-- ack, ack--!" a coughing fit cut her off, violent enough for me to jump up and glance to the door.

"You okay?" my eyes widened as if I expected my angry relatives to accuse me of poisoning her or letting her hack herself and her lungs to death so I could steal her fortune.

"I'm fine, principessa," she insisted, waiving me off and sinking back down on her pillows with a smile. "Now, what was I saying?"

"Promise me that when you and…"

"Oh, right! Promise me that when you fall in love, you won't fight it. It'll make everything so much easier; I promise that to you, my beautiful granddaughter."

"I love you," I whispered, pressing my lips gently to her cheek where tears had pooled to mirror mine.

"I love you, too, Raven. Never forget that, alright?"

"You say that like it's the last tie I'm ever going to--" something in her eyes cut me off, the glance so sorrow-filled I let out a gasp.

"My time is up," was her simple explanation. "Tonight it my last night; I can feel it in my bones and in my brain."

"Will I know, too? I mean, before I… go?"

"Yes," she answered almost immediately, but looked regretful after she saw my expression. "That is the curse of this genetic gift we possess, Raven. I do apologize for that aspect. But you have your entire life to live! Be able to return to your home and say 'veni vidi vici!' Do me a favor, Raven. Get a nice bottle of champagne or that 1969 blush wine in my cabinet and toast me under the stars with Zachary. I know he loves me as family, too."

"Will do," Zack murmured from the door, stepping in with a smile and wrapping his arms around her gently. "I'm going to miss you, Ms. Vincenzo."

"Take good care of Raven, Zachary," She murmured when he pulled away and blinked away a tear that lingered in his bright green eyes.

"Only if she lets me," he whispered, making her laugh again.

"I love you both more than you know. Remember your promises, both of you," she glared at each of us in turn, surprisingly intimidating for an eighty-nine year old woman on her deathbed. "You two are the last two people on this earth I wanted to see. Now I can die happily."

Now I couldn't control the silent, painstaking tears. "What do you want your last words to be, Stella Saffron Vincenzo?" I murmured, voice surprisingly strong considering my duress.

"I love you both. Live well, live happily, live with no regrets… and veni vidi vici."

The final kiss to her cheek was soft and lingering, her skin fragile under my lips, but still warm. "I love you."

She just nodded and closed her eyes, her breathing still consistent and steady. I knew she would want to spend the next few hours pondering about the future, dying happily at the thought of her family living successfully.

"Uncle Atticus, don't speak." I warned as I descended the stairs. "Same to you, Aunt Camille, Violet, Priscilla. I am not in the mood for your selfish crap."

"Saffron Raven Mason," my mother gasped from the couch. I hadn't seen her previously, but I didn't care.

"Felicity Belle Vincenzo-Mason," I matched her tone and intensity perfectly. "I am leaving and there's nothing you can say that will make me tell you anything about the only thing you care about."

"That money is rightfully mine," she bristled, sitting up a little straighter in her seat. I managed to resist the urge to slide the envelope down lower in my pocket, knowing that would simply give me away.

"You know something," she accused, eyes wide as she stood and pointed to my heart.

"I don't know anything," I insisted calmly, turning to Zack. "We're leaving. Start the car, please?"

"Sure thing," he gave a mock hat-tip to my relatives before ducking out.

My aunt turned around in her seat and cupped her sister's ear. "He's a sexy little thing…"

"Priscilla, you cougar," I spat, disgusted.

"What?" she shrugged. "I could be much worse. I could be holding out on the money the old bag gave me like someone I'm talkin' to right now."

"Oh, get over yourself," I hissed back. "And keep those wrinkly old hands off of Zack."

"Only because you asked so, so nicely," her sarcasm made her high voice drop a little. "He needs a real woman, Saffron. He has needs a young little girl like you just can't satisfy." She shrugged. "I'm sorry."

I could almost hear Stella in my head, whispering the demand to keep my knuckles out of her cheekbone. So I turned on a heel and left.

Things were shaky in my household before we heard the news. I returned home that night as late as I could possibly manage before risking consequences, staying out on Zack's roof with him.

"Save the blush wine for something good," he had insisted. "There'll be a time where we'll wish we did sometime in the future." He was crying silently like I was, both of us nursing a fluke of champagne and watching the sky for shooting stars.

***

"Raven," my mother's glasses slid down her nose when she glanced up from her book to look at me. I snarled out curses under my breath as I pulled the door closed behind me, taking extra time to slip my keys in my pocket to keep the envelope company; I refused to do anything but keep it on my person.

"Felicity," I returned curtly. "Can I help you? It's late, and I would really like to get to sleep, if you don’t mind."

"Don't you dare leave this living room," the nice façade dropped and she stood abruptly, the novel in her lap falling to the carpet with a muted thud.

"May I help you?" I repeated with a measured tone, standing my ground as she advanced.

"You can give me the money my dead mother left you," she replied with a falsely agreeable tone. "That’s the least you can do after I gave birth to your sorry ass."

"It's not yours, nor is it mine," I shook my head, pausing when she brought her face inches from mine.

"You ungrateful little cretin," she sneered, eyes wild. "Doubting my intelligence, when I know she left you that money. You’re a minor, and she couldn't leave it to you without it going through me first. That's why you have it on you right now, isn’t it?"

I was still taller than she was, and I managed to make her recoil slightly with a venomous glare. "Get away from me."

"Then get out of my house," she threw her glasses down to the coffee table, where they landed on the glass surface and rang out in a crack. "Take your pick, you little whore. All you do every weekend is sleep with men; why not live with one of them instead of your own mother, hmm?"

"How dare you tell me to leave because of money," I was so shell-shocked, that was all I managed to retort.

"Your suitcase is in the closet upstairs," was all she said, shrugging. "Just hand me the money and we can forget all about this."

"Maybe you can," I whispered as I ran upstairs. I learned later that they were empty words, for the shock that showed on her face when I pulled my suitcase to the doorway was genuine.

"Raven, we can talk about this," she pleaded, having obviously chosen a new approach.

"Goodbye; that's about the only thing I want to say to you right now."

"I'll be waiting here when you come crawling back to me," she shook her head slowly, sinking down in the recliner with a sigh. "Good luck, Saffron. You’re going to need it."