Page 2 of Ten Christmases Without You
Vivienne had asked Emmy to work on the contact list for Hawthorne & Co., a small designer client, and told her that she ought to do some of her drawings to show them. While Emmy was adamant that she wasn’t her mom, Vivienne continued to encourage her. So Emmy had treated herself to the cream-and-dusty-pink flowered pad on her way home from work a few weeks ago, although she hadn’t had time to do any drawings until now.
“I was drawing during the flight, for something to do,” she said.
Madison opened the notebook and then looked up at her sister. “You’re so good at these.” She tapped the drawing of the 1950s-inspired gown that Emmy had sketched. It had clean lines and elegant pleats in the skirt. Emmy had imagined it in a deep blue.
“Thanks.”
“It’s my dream that you’ll use your talents,” her father said. “I knew you had the chops from the minute you picked up a pencil.”
She’d drawn a lot when she was a girl, but the first to-scale clothing sketch Emmy had ever done was five days after her mom died. She’d been struggling without her, praying for some way to feel closer to her. As the two artists in the family, she and her mom used to doodle together. Her mom would draw outfits that wowed Emmy, and they’d giggle for hours as they planned out designs for Emmy’s prom and wedding gowns—dresses her mom never got to make for her.
Over the years, her father had attempted to convince Emmy to take art or design classes. At times, she wondered if he was trying to reach something missing within himself, bridging the loss of her mom with the birthright talent she’d left in Emmy.
“Have you ever thought about bringing one of the sketches to life—actually sewing it, like Mom did?” her sister asked.
Emmy shook her head. “No, I just draw them for fun.”
Dressmaking was her and her mom’s thing together. Emmy didn’t feel comfortable sewing by herself. Not wanting to exist in her mother’s large shadow, Emmy had worked hard to find her own path in life, using her artistic abilities by pursuing a marketing degree. But while she’d taken a job in public relations at a prominent firm in New York, she worked incredibly long hours and didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.
Madison closed the notebook and tucked it under her arm. “You should definitely look into selling them somewhere.”
Emmy shrugged.
Madison blew air through her lips. “Or just keep running your boss’s errands and wasting your talent.”
“Don’t start,” Emmy said. “She gets me to run her errands because I’m trustworthy. And I still get all my work done.”
Their father offered a stern look. “Okay, you two.” He turned to Madison. “Give her a break. It’s Christmas.”
Madison shook her head. “All right.”
Her sister was elegant, with deep-set blue eyes like their mother, and while she gave Emmy a hard time, she was nurturing beyond her years. She was the younger sister, but Madison often assumed the role of a first born. She’d soothed Emmy during those difficult nights alone when they were younger.
“Go enjoy yourselves,” their father said. “I’ll take all this up to the loft for you.”
Emmy put on a smile for his benefit. “I can help you.” Then she thought better of it: her sister’s call earlier in the week floated back into her mind, but she quickly pushed it away.
“I’ve got it,” James said.
Her dad started up the stairs, and she and Madison went back into the kitchen. Aunt Charlotte beckoned her over to the table. Not only did Aunt Charlotte favor Emmy’s mother, she was sitting in the seat by the window that her mom used to sit in, making Emmy uncomfortable. If she squinted just right, with her aunt’s soft features and angled jawline, she could almost bet it was her mom.
Elsie pulled out two chairs and brought the plate of cookies over from the counter, setting them in the center of the table. Aunt Elsie had taken after Emmy’s grandfather. She was taller, with pointier features.
“We’ve heard all about Madison’s year,” Charlotte said. “What about you, Miss Emmy? Tell us all the wonderful things you’ve done since we saw you last.”
“I haven’t had a lot of time to do much more than work,” she replied. “I’ve been underwater, updating the databases for my job. It’s really a job for a whole team, but The Moreau Agency is small, so I do it all.”
Elsie’s eyebrows rose. “So... Data entry?”
Her family’s well-intentioned questions just reminded Emmy of how she was failing to find the successful career that her mom seemed to have managed so easily.
“I also take notes at meetings and get those into the system, draft the agendas and the recap memos that go out to everyone, I manage the RSVP lists for all the guest events, I send out press materials…” She trailed off at the sight of her aunts’ eyes glazing over.
Madison drummed her fingers on the sketchbook and gave Emmy the look she’d had in the hallway. The your-talent-is-wasted look.
What kind of fantasy world was her sister living in? Emmy worked herself to the bone. She didn’t have time to fluff around, drawing dresses and sewing them. What would that get her? She had to work for a living. And if she was going to get anywhere at the agency, she had to keep going full speed ahead.
Her uncles, Brian and Stephen, came in with Jack.
