Kristy reads the inscription on my grandfather’s ring. “Let’s spend every minute—”
“—Loving each other,” I repeat the words in Gram’s ring, which are etched in my brain since childhood.
When her wrinkled hands press the box in my hand, I throw my arms around her. “I… I don’t know what to say, Gram. Thank you so much.”
When we pull apart, she gives me another box.
“Gram, it’s too much! You should save something for your great-grandkids.” I smile but I’m not joking. I know all the kids in our family, and someday Keith’s and mine too, would love to have something of her.
“This is from your mother.”
My hands shake as Gram places the ruby velvet jewelry box in my hands. It feels heavier than it should.
“Your mother is tough because she knows no other way, Cookie,” Gram restates the sentence she has been telling me all my life before she stands gingerly and treads toward the garment rack. “Now, can we alter the neckline of this dress?” she asks the boutique lady, holding the beige dress hanger.
* * *
Keith and I are sitting in the backyard, wood burning in the firepit, while Merida is on a video call with her friends working on her school project.
“How did the shopping go?” Keith hands me a glass of wine.
“I found a dress. After alterations, it should be ready in two days.” The rich, sweet but tart wine doesn’t help much in lessening the weight resting heavy on my chest.
“Why aren’t you squealing, then? Isn’t this one of the biggest tasks on your to-do list?” He raises an eyebrow, but his smile disappears when I don’t share it. “Hey, what’s the matter?” He squeezes my arm gently, urging me to speak.
I push forward the square jewelry case. “Gram gave this to me today. It’s from Mom.”
His hand bringing the wineglass closer to his mouth halts. Instead, he places his drink back on the table. “What’s inside?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t opened it yet.”
“I don’t think it’s a bomb,” he jokes, but when I don’t smile back, he sits straight. “Holy shit! You think there can be a bomb inside?”
Keith’s all ready to jump up and call a bomb squad. His reaction elicits a giggle out of me. “No! My mom won’t send me a bomb.” When he settles back in his seat with a smug smile, I whisper a soft thanks.
“Making you smile is my most favorite thing, angel.” He tugs me closer and as always, his words, his touch, gather all the bad feelings, roll them in a ball, and throw them away.
I place a kiss on his bearded chin, silently thanking him for being here with me.
“What are you afraid of?” His fingers skim over my arms, up and down.
“That my mother will ruin my day, my happy day, once again,” I whisper into his warm chest.
Why does this still affect me so much?
“You can’t change someone or their actions, Clem. Setting wrong expectations brings nothing but heartbreak.”
I turn slightly, peering at his soft smile.
“Here—” He waves around our backyard lit with fairy lights. “—your mother has no control.” He cups my face and places a gentle kiss on my lips. “Maybe it’s time to let go of the anger.”
“I…want to do that,” I whisper. “But I don’t know how.”
“Open it.” Keith places the box on my lap.
My hands quiver when I lift the small, golden latch and flip it open. Inside sits a blue necklace with a card.
I pick up the white paper inscribed with the Hawthorne monogram.