Page 34 of Dibs
Beck’s eyes shine with unshed tears as she whispers, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Take the rest of the rings, too. Oh, and I just found the turquoise earrings that go with your ring. Let me?” I walk around her and stand behind her, looking into my mother’s full-length mirror. I struggle at first to find the hole in her right earlobe, but eventually I’m able to push the jewelry through and secure it.
“Holy shit.” Beck touches her earlobes as I set my hands on her shoulders and peer into the mirror, meeting her eyes. A little flush makes its way to her freckled cheekbones, and I tilt my head over her shoulder and kiss her cheek.
We somehow manage to go through the entire jewelry collection in the next couple of hours. We leave many pieces for each sister-in-law, except for the rings and some wrist watches that Beck adores.
Beck goes through some of my mother’s party dresses, too, and she kicks off her jeans and sweater to pull on a sparkly dress that nearly matches the turquoise ring and earring set perfectly. I don’t remember ever seeing my mother wear it, but it fits Beck like a glove, and she twirls around in it with a little giggle.
“This one’s cute too,” I say, grabbing a navy dress that’s tight to the hips and flares out. It looks like it would be fun to twirl in, and that’s exactly what Beck does when she puts it on. Most of these dresses haven’t even been worn yet, and I think Mom would be so happy to see Beck twirling in them.
“I feel underdressed,” I chuckle.
I grab her hand and then spin her around, showing off all my best moves before I pull her to my chest, and we slow dance rightthere in Mom’s closet. My hand on her back drifts south a bit as we dance to the music playing in our heads.
Beck laughs against my chest, burying her face in it as I prepare to dip her again. “Here we go,” I whisper, extending my arm and bending her over it until her hair brushes the floor. Then, I pull her back up and into my arms.
“This is a pretty solid dance effort for no music.” Beck giggles. She steps out of my arms and finds a rainbow dress with tassels, and I watch too closely as she removes the blue dress and pulls on the sequined number I don’t remember my mother ever wearing. It still has tags attached.
Beck reaches for her phone and turns on her favorite Taylor Swift song.
So, I do what any self-respecting man in love would do. I spin her around, the scent of her perfume in my nose, as I sing along to the rhythm. Beck shakes her hips, the tassels on her dress a shimmering blur as she jiggles. Taylor’s music vibrates through the floor as we’re shaking it off. This is what Beck does for me. She takes one of the most challenging nights I can remember and fills it with vibrant warmth, music, dancing, and joy. Of course, I still miss my mother, but she’d want me to shake my ass alongside Beck in her warmly lit closet, beneath a sparkling crystal chandelier. If heaven is a thing and Mom’s looking down, she’s applauding.
As much as I want to kiss Beck in this moment, she pulls away laughing and clapping her hands. “That was amazing,” she gushes, reaching for my hand and squeezing. “Okay if I take this dress?”
I grab one of the plastic bins and pull it over, then I work on the zipper at the back of the dress. When she steps out of it, I carefully fold it and place it in the “keep” bin, followed by the turquoise and blue ones. Beck goes through all of Mom’s formal dresses and grabs about a dozen to keep, and then she finds mymother’s stockpile of leggings, which are also Beck’s size, and she flings handfuls of them into the keep pile.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing your mom’s clothes? What if I look like her and it freaks you out?” Beck worries as she adds a couple of zippered sweatshirts to her haul.
“Mom would want her things to be loved and used. When you wear her clothes, all I’ll think is how happy Mom would be to see you in them. So, it’s fine, Beck. Really.” I lean forward and stroke her cheekbone with my thumb. “It is getting late, though. How about we go through some sunglasses before we go?”
Thankfully, Dad’s not home yet by the time we leave around nine. I’m unsure what to say to him now. I call and check up on him from time to time, and he talks at length about his construction company and the jobs he’s raking in, but he never mentions Mom, and it’s become the elephant in the room.
Just as we climb into my truck with the heavy keep bin in the backseat, Dad pulls his Tahoe in the driveway, gets out, and walks over to my open driver's window.
“Hey, son. I just wanted to be the one to tell you that I met with a realtor today. I plan on selling the house.”
I scoff. “What the hell, Dad, why? This is a dream house! You and Mom built everything in there, down to arguing over the lighting and the paint colors.”
Dad shakes his head sadly. “Well, it’s a big place for just me, and memories of your mom are everywhere. It’s time to downsize. I’ll be selling most of the furniture, but if there’s anything you're interested in, please let me know soon. I won’t touch the closet as she willed everything in it to you and Steele, but I will have to get everything cleaned up for the listing photos.”
“How much time do I have?” I ask, fighting tears that spring to my eyes.
“Two weeks before the listing agent takes photos, but you’ll need to hurry and claim what you’d like so everyone else can pick from what’s left.”
I nod. “Got it. Okay, Dad. If this is what you need, I’ll back your play.”
“Hi, Aspyn,” Dad greets her with a smile.
“Hey, Mr. Ambrose. Good to see you. You’ve been in my thoughts.”
“Thanks, doll. I’m glad you’re going to make use of Lillian’s jewelry and clothes. That’s what she would want.”
“I miss her so much,” Beck tells Dad. “But I want you to know her things will be well-loved.”
“That’s good to hear.” Dad’s face brightens a bit as his hand drifts up and down the side of his beard. A nervous habit, perhaps. “I’ve got to get inside and eat something, but you two have a good rest of your night. Deacon, feel free to text me about anything you’d like to keep for yourself, or better yet, bring over some boxes.”
“I will, Dad.” We shake hands through the window, and Dad walks back up the driveway to the garage.
