Page 13 of Ten Christmases Without You
He stood up.
“Madison, thanks for the invite, and Emmy, it was good to see you.” His gaze lingered on her, and she wished she could turn back time.
“I’ll walk you to the back door.” Emmy ignored Madison’s bobbing eyebrows.
Charlie took his coat from the rack in the corner and shrugged it on. “I’m glad we could catch up.”
“Me too.” She swallowed. “Have a safe flight home.”
He leaned in halfway, giving her a side hug, and she awkwardly embraced him.
He opened the door to the howling wind and freezing rain coming down at a rapid slant, then threw his hand up in goodbye. She shut the door and paced over to the window to be sure he got through the woods okay.
“That went well,” Madison said, coming up behind her and draping an arm around Emmy’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
Emmy chuckled and pulled away from the window. She didn’t want to admit to her sister that Charlie’s visit had been the highlight of her holiday.
“Should we go into the kitchen and see if Aunt Elsie needs any help?” Emmy asked.
“She’s already sent most everyone upstairs to their rooms. I think we’re in the clear. And you must be exhausted. I knew you’d want to have some space, so I doubled up everyone in spare rooms, Jack and I are taking the sofas, and I saved the loft just for you.” Madison nodded toward the hallway leading upstairs.
“Thanks,” Emmy said.
They reached the second floor, their old bedrooms filled with luggage from the family members staying over. The largest of the two rooms—Madison’s old bedroom—now held two double beds. The bag of knitting yarn and familiar flowered suitcases told Emmy that Uncle Brian and Aunt Elsie were sharing that room with Uncle Stephen and Aunt Charlotte.
They stopped at the top of the stairs to the loft.
An air mattress was neatly fitted in a mismatched comforter and sheets, and a small lamp illuminated the space. This was where Emmy and Madison used to play as girls. All their toys were now in boxes in the small storage closet. She knew that they were still there because she could see them behind the closet door that was cracked open due to the hanger looped over the top of it. Emmy took in a steadying breath as she stared at the vintage, beaded cranberry-red gown suspended on the door.
“It arrived from Baudelaire’s a few weeks ago, but I waited to tell you about it until last week.” Madison stepped up to it and wiggled the fabric, making it shimmer in the yellow lamplight. “I’m not sure what made me hold off. Maybe it was knowing how it would affect you to see it.” She turned to her sister. “You okay?”
Emmy bit back tears, her gaze remaining on the garment. Madison put an arm around her, causing Emmy’s already brimming emotions to surge. She cleared her throat to fight the sob that wanted to rise. She missed her mom so much.
With a steadying breath, she went over and ran her finger along the Baudelaire’s tag in the neckline.
Baudelaire’s was a premier fashion house in Paris, located on the famous Avenue Montaigne. Emmy had admired the dress in a magazine article her mother kept. It explained that the dress had been on display in the house’s museum since the late eighties. Emmy’s mother had designed the garment as an apprentice when she was twenty-eight, and the head designer, Benoît Baudelaire, loved it so much, he’d kept it all these years. When he passed away a few months ago, they reimagined the brand, renovated the museum, and parted with the dress, shipping it to the Brewers.
“She gave up everything,” Emmy said. “All her dreams.”
Madison shook her head, her attention on the dress.
A heavy silence fell between them, as if the dress had its own presence and commanded the room.
“You going to be okay up here tonight?” Madison asked.
“Yeah,” Emmy said, even though she wasn’t sure.
“Okay.” Madison patted her arm. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Then her sister left her alone in the room with the essence of her mother staring back at her. Even though her mom had abandoned her dreams of being a designer by the time Emmycame along, her work still seemed to hold more of her presence than anything else. Tears welled up in Emmy’s eyes until the empty garment blurred in front of her. For years, she wondered how she’d ever get along without her mom, but somehow, the days marched on, and now, ten years had slipped by—ten years her mom hadn’t been able to check in on her, to see what she was up to.
Emmy wiped a runaway tear, guilt settling in her stomach. It was probably best that her mom couldn’t see her right now. She’d shown up to Christmas in sweats, barely attentive, wishing to be anywhere else. That wasn’t her mother’s spirit at all. Her mom had given up everything to have a family. Suddenly, Emmy wished she could do the night over again. She’d have gone into the kitchen with Charlie, endured her aunts’ assessments of her, and acted with grace like her mom would’ve done. Right then and there, she decided that she’d do better.
She stepped into the corner, slipped off her sweats, and slowly took the dress off the hanger. The garment was surprisingly heavy, like a lead vest. The beads shushed as she finessed the fabric into a position that would allow her to step into it. Carefully, she shimmied it up her body and slid her arms into the sleeves. With a tug on the zipper, the dress was in place. Emmy noted its weight and elegance. She gazed at herself in the mirror.
It was too tight, and she thought she’d better take it off before she popped a seam. But instead of taking it off, she tried harder to make it fit, adjusting it, sucking in her breath, rearranging her posture, but to no avail. As she caught her reflection, squirming to make the dress fit, she thought that the dress was a lot like her life. She adjusted herself to appear worthy, but her life wasn’t quite fitting her correctly.
