Page 25 of Ten Christmases Without You
Her dad took in a breath. “Please tell me you support me in this.”
“Of course,” Madison said.
“I totally understand,” Emmy added.
“Thank you, girls.” He wrapped them in a hug, then let them go and took a step back. “It’s hard to move into the next chapter, but after being here for so long, alone, I can promise you, these are just things. Your mom’s no longer here. If she were present in some form, I’d have found her. I definitely looked hard enough.”
Her dad was right, although it didn’t make the idea of parting with the house easy.
“So, what were you girls coming to ask me?”
“Emmy needs a new outfit, and I wondered if you’d mind if we went through Mom’s clothes to see if there’s something that Emmy can wear?” Madison asked.
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Emmy began, but her dad stopped her.
He took off his reading glasses, set them on the side table, and peered at them for a minute. “I haven’t opened the box in years.”
“We don’t have to,” Emmy said quickly.
But her dad stood up. “I’m going to have to go through it eventually. Her clothes are just sitting in there. I’m sure she’d be delighted to think they were getting some use. Maybe you two could divvy up what you’d like to keep before we have to pack it all up.”
Then, he went into the closet and dug around in the back.
A shiver of unease slid down Emmy’s spine.
“Your mom packed this ages ago, and I never did go through it.” His voice was muffled from bending over as he tugged on a box, dragging it out of the closet.
“I still don’t know…” Emmy protested.
Madison faced her. “Why? You’re so much like her, and her clothes are classics. I’m surprised you haven’t gone through them already.”
Emmy couldn’t verbalize exactly why she felt uncomfortable at the thought of wearing her mother’s clothing. Maybe they seemed too good for her in some way, but she doubted she could make her family understand. This was different from trying on a dress that her mother had never worn. These were the clothes she’d hugged Emmy in after school, the shirts with the sleeves she’d rolled up when she cooked dinner…
Her dad moved the box into the middle of the room and shimmied open the flaps.
Emmy hung back while Madison gently picked through them. She could pinpoint the day her mother had packed that box: the day she’d decided she’d be wearing more comfortable attire for the rest of her short life.
Anne had just been through chemotherapy, and she’d told them the night before that she felt as if the nausea was there to stay. Emmy had come home from high school to her mom cleaning out the closet instead of meeting her at the door.
“What are you doing?”she asked.
Her mom didn’t look up. “Just organizing.”
“It doesn’t look like organizing. It looks like you’re moving.”
Her mother sniffled. “I’m just getting rid of stuff I doubt I’ll wear again.”
Emmy didn’t press her mother. At that time, she still believed that her mom, who managed to overcome any challenge with ease and grace, would prevail through this as well. Anne was superhuman in Emmy’s eyes. Surely, she could manage it. But looking back, her mother knew better.
“What about this?” Madison pulled a flowy, light olive-green pullover shirt from the box. “This is timeless.” She ran her hand down the silky sleeve that puckered at the wrist.
“I don’t remember that one,” Emmy said.
“I remember when she wore it,” their father said with a doting look. “Before either of you were born, I took her on a date to a drive-in theater, and I told her she was too pretty in it to be closed up in a dark car. I wanted to show her off.” His eyes misted over. “She told me, ‘I’m only out to get the attention of one man. He’s already seen it, so my work here is done.’”
Emmy and Madison shared a moment of adoration with their father.
Emmy wasn’t sure if it was her sudden need to feel close to her mother or the nostalgia of her dad’s story of their love for one another, but she changed her mind. Emmy wanted to wear the shirt. She took it from Madison and held it out.
