Page 11 of Ten Christmases Without You
“How about you?” Charlie asked Madison.
She shook her head. “I’m fine right now, thank you.”
When he’d followed the others into the kitchen, Emmy said, her voice low, “I feel awful. I lied to him about my job.”
“What did you say?” Madison asked.
“I just painted it as more successful than it is. It doesn’t really matter; it’s the principle of the thing. Not being honest is stressing me out.”
“It shouldn’t. He doesn’t even know. If you talk to him again, tell him the job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”
“He’s a good guy. And I feel like a jerk.”
She wanted to run upstairs and hide again. But if she had to remain a part of things, she’d stay in the living room with Madison and Charlie and decompress. Maybe they could put on a Christmas movie to relax—something funny that would distract her.
Madison put her arm around Emmy. “This isn’t about Charlie, is it?”
Her sister didn’t have to say anything more. Tears pricked Emmy’s eyes instantaneously, as if they’d been waiting there for the cue. She wasn’t going to think about the call from her father last week; the real reason she’d procrastinated on getting a gift or preparing for the trip. Vivienne hadn’t kept her from wanting to come: her own grief had. And now she faced taking home a tangible reminder of that grief: her mother’s gown.
Charlie came through the doors with two glasses of punch and handed one to her.
Emmy stepped out of her sister’s embrace and took the glass, tipping it up and drinking nearly all of it in one go. “Thank you.”
“I think I’m going to get some cake before it’s gone,” Madison said.
Emmy nodded gratefully. If Madison stayed, she and Emmy would’ve both probably blubbered uncontrollably, so best they split up now. There were more opportune times to delve into the subject of their mother and the task Emmy faced this holiday.
Charlie sat on the sofa and offered for Emmy to join him.
“You okay?” he asked as she sat down.
She pressed a smile across her face. “Fine.”
He squinted at her. “You sure?”
The sincerity in his emerald eyes made her cave. Her shoulders fell in surrender. “My sister just made me think of something that hit me harder than I expected.”
Concern flooded his features. “What is it?”
She felt stronger without Madison there. During those first months after their mother’s death, Madison had been the one to make the Sunday muffins every week, like their mother used to do. They didn’t say anything when they sat across from one another, picking at the edges; the two of them just cried. Over the years, they’d continued to make Sunday muffins until they both moved out of the house. They got more skilled at conversations, but the emptiness without their mom was stillthere. So Emmy couldn’t have managed to answer his question if Madison had been in the room. By herself, however, she could put up the guard she’d gotten great at raising.
“It’s been ten years since Mom died. This is my tenth Christmas without her.” She dared not say it, but she’d been struggling this year more than any other. Ten years was a long time to be without her mom, the one person she’d spent the most time with growing up, the one person who got her.
He frowned. “I’m sorry.” He set his drink down and leaned against the back of the sofa. “I remember her.”
“What do you remember most?” she asked.
“She seemed to float through life.”
Emmy grinned. “That’s deep. I thought you’d say she used to make good cookies or something.”
He chuckled. “I never saw her with a hair out of place, but she seemed so calm all the time. If you forgot your lunchbox, she’d show up at school with a fashionable outfit on. When she called you home from my house, standing on the back deck, she’d wave her arm happily. She always looked perfect.”
“A polished appearance came easily to her. She spent years as a student at a design firm in Paris. She only left because she married my dad, who was from Tennessee. He proposed and they moved home to his family’s farm for a few years before they bought this house and raised our little family in the country. But, growing up, it always seemed to me that she left the creative, independent part of herself back in the city. I could see it whenever she and I sewed together.”
“How?”
“She’d only just started designing when she gave it all up to move to Tennessee. My dad was studying architecture in Paris. He’d already decided that city life wasn’t for him. So when my mom wanted to get out of the city too, he could hardly contain himself. It wasn’t as easy to keep up with the fashion scene fromhere, I guess, and she abruptly stopped designing. She said she hadn’t had a choice in the matter; her heart chose for her. She met my dad, and her life was never the same.”
