Chapter Three
W hy are you wearing pink?” My mother asked when I walked into the front door of my grandma’s house for the first time in almost twenty years.
The familiar smell of cinnamon and clove was gone, replaced by the cloying chemical scent of hospitals and death.
“Did you not have something better to wear? I could have taken you shopping to find something that would work. This is really just too much. Did Bill not see you before you left? Oh, here he is now. Now he knows how to dress for a funeral. You really should take his lead.” She hadn’t stopped for a breath or an answer in all that.
“Hello, mother,” I said. My shoulder inched towards my ears with every word she said as I moved to stand next to her at the base of the grand staircase, accepting my role in the family and preparing to greet people as they came in.
“Well, no matter. Good thing I thought to bring you something. It’s in the green room. Go change real quick.” She pushed me up the stairs before turning back to Bill.
I climbed up to the room I always stayed in when I would visit Grandma, though I don’t think my mother even knew that, clinging to the handrail as I ascended the stairs. I could barely see through the blackness that creeped in on the edges of my vision.
I drug air into my lungs when my head throbbed, blur replacing blackness as tears formed in my eyes.
I forced myself to keep breathing, in and out, as I climbed the stairs, keeping myself together until I got to the green room before crumpling against the door just inside the room.
Tight bands wrapped around my chest. Years of regret and loneliness snaked around me, coiling tight and stealing all the air from my lungs.
Longing for a simpler time, with cookies and crafts, and the cinnamon and cloves smell that always lingered around my grandma.
I made my way to the bathroom and sank to the cool marble floor, pressing my cheek to it. The effect was soothing and my breathing slowed, so did my thoughts as I focused on the cold, hard floor. The temperature was a shock to my system and something other than panic for my brain to focus on.
Slowly, I sat up, the spinning in my head downgraded from nauseating to mildly annoying, and I leaned up against the wall. I closed my eyes and just focused on the cool marble, the solid wall.
My imagination conjured her smell, that cinnamon and cloves I loved so much as I sat there and for just a moment, Grandma was right there with me, resurrected from her grave just to comfort me.
“There you go, sweetheart. Just breathe,” I imagined her saying to me. “That mother of yours is a fool.” She was never afraid to say what she was thinking.
“I miss you so much,” I said to the empty room. My voice echoed off all the marble and porcelain. It was all I could say to the memory of her. It was all I could think.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, just trying to breathe, imagining her sitting next to me, drawing comfort from her memory, and feeling more at peace than I had in a long time.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” I said to her. “It’s like nothing I do is right. Nothing is good enough. It was silly of me to wear this dress and not something black. I don’t know what I was thinking.” The fear and anxiety I always carried around eased the more I talked to her.
A glittering light on the counter caught my attention and drew me in, reminding of where I was and what I needed to do.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. I stood to take stock of the mess I had become.
My eyes were red and puffy. My head hurt and despite my lack of makeup, I could see faint traces of tear tracks running down my pale cheeks. God, I was a mess.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there before a knock sounded at the bedroom door, pulling me back to reality. I quickly cleared my throat and wiped my cheeks. I didn’t even get to open my mouth to ask who it was before Bill pushed into the room.
“Just checking to see what’s taking so long,” he said as he entered uninvited, oblivious as always to my pain.
“Oh, you still aren’t dressed. Really, Grace, everyone is waiting for you.
Does the dress not fit? I’d noticed your clothing was—” he looked me up and down “— tight and let your mother know to bring a bigger size.” He went to seat himself on the bed, where he had a view of the entire room.
His eyes tracked me, pricking my senses even when I turned my back to him.
“Oh, I… I was just about to change,” I said, my words sticky in my throat. I turned back to the sink to pat some cool water on my cheeks and wash away the tear tracks that marred my face.
I wanted to close the door and regain some of the privacy I had before. Tingles ran down my back and settled at the base of my spine from his presence.
“Your mother gave me the information about meeting with the estate lawyer,” he said as I finished drying my face. “I’ll just go ahead and do the meeting. I know how hard it must be for you.”
“Oh. No, I definitely want to go to that,” I responded, my words letting loose at the worst time. I froze.
“There’s no need to push yourself, Grace. I will go and take care of everything. You don’t need to worry about anything.” Bill stood and the space suddenly seemed too small. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was afraid of this man.
“I would like to go, but if you insist on taking care of it, I guess that would be ok,” I responded with a small smile to appease him. Thankfully, it worked.
“Don’t be long,” he said, just before leaving me alone.
When he was gone, I turned back to face the mirror. I gripped the counter with my shaking hands, needing the stability before I vibrated apart.
An old silver picture frame sat in one corner of the counter catching my eye.
It was one that my grandma and I had worked on together, something she had found in her attic collecting dust. Being seven, I loved it but declared that it didn’t have enough colors, and that was how we spent an afternoon gluing colorful glass beads to the edge of what was likely an expensive antique.
Tears blurred my vision again, remembering how she laughed and said I had a good eye. These tears didn’t hurt, though. These uncaged my pain and let it escape, freeing me from its constant presence.
In the frame was a picture of the two of us.
Grandma and me. She always insisted on taking pictures of us together whenever I came over.
I was gap-toothed and smiling widely. We wore our matching pink aprons.
My grandma’s rosy and slightly plump cheeks stretched into a wide smile that reached her glittering eyes.
She looked so beautiful. I never realized how much I looked like her. It was the eyes. They were the same green hue.
I stared at the girl in the photo, wondering how my life got so off track. That little girl loved everything to fiercely. Unicorns, pink, cookies, her grandmother. She had dreams, hopes, freedom. God, I wished I could be her again.
All the little things that buried that little girl crowded in, weighing me down, and reminding me that happy endings don’t exist. Bill’s automatic assumption that I wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to talk to the estate lawyer and executor of my grandma’s will.
My mom and Bill’s assumption that I would screw up my clothing for the funeral.
Their insistence that I didn’t have enough in me to bake for a competition or plan a church function or do anything useful at all.
A thousand stones piled on top of each other.
A grave as sure as the one grandma would be in soon.
All of it had pressed in on me for so long that the little girl in this picture had been dying, crushed under their expectations, their criticism, their cruelty.
I noticed something else about the picture, though. I got the color perfect. My dress and those aprons were a match. This was the color of grandma. This was the color I was going to wear to honor her.
“That’s my girl,” I could hear her say. Encouraging me.
Yes. I was her girl. I was still that girl in the photo. She was still here. Inside me. Part of me. She wanted me to grieve how I needed to grieve. In this pink dress. With the memory of her. The only woman who ever truly cared for my happiness.
I straightened my shoulders and wiped my tears one last time. I didn’t put the picture back down. It was mine now. I slipped it into my purse as I took a few bracing breaths before opening the door and marching down the stairs, my head held high and a new resolve in my step.
“Grace,” my mother whipped out sharply as I walked into the foyer again. “I thought you were going to change. What happened?” She whispered those words, though the sharpness in her tone rang loud and clear.
“I’m wearing this. It’s what grandma would want,” I said. I hoped my words sounded firm and not desperate.
“How would you know what that woman would want? You haven’t even seen her since you were a small girl. She wasn’t the woman you thought she was. She would be so ashamed of who you are now.”
Her words washed over me as I walked outside. She still tried to whisper condemnation in my ear with every step I took, but I kept walking. I didn’t care to listen to what she said. None of it matter now.
I approached the coffin. My flowing pink dress stood out, a stark contrast to the sea of black.
It was a closed casket. I didn’t even get to see her now, in death.
I placed my hand against the lid of it and thought of all the times I spent with this woman.
The one person who loved me unconditionally.
Probably the only person who ever will. I bowed my head and let new tears drip onto the casket.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there thinking of her, but when I was done, I gathered myself and turned to march right up the aisle, through the house, and out the front door.
I didn’t want to be here with these liars.
They didn’t love her like I did, and no amount of mourning with them would ever make this right.
I faintly heard my cousin, Jessica, calling out to me, but I couldn’t stop to talk to her. I had to go. I would never have my grandma back and I couldn’t help but think of all those years wasted with her just on the other side of town.
“Grace! Where are you going?” Bill’s voice carried over the crunching gravel of the front drive.
“Home.” I didn’t stop to look back at him, but he grabbed my arm, gripping it tight, halting my progress, keeping me trapped here when I needed to run.
“How are you getting home? We drove together.” I could hear this sneer in his tone knew as well as I knew my face just how his lips twisted in an ugly sneer when he used it. How many times had I heard that exact tone and seen that exact face?
“Can you find a ride home after the funeral? I’m not feeling well and just can’t be here anymore.” I turned to him then, not bothering to hide my exhaustion.
“Find a ride? Are you crazy? I can’t be seen getting a ride. No, you are just going to have to stay.” He stepped towards me when he said this and I couldn’t help but flinch. I didn’t know why I was so scared of him.
“No. I’m not staying.” I couldn’t. It was all just too much.
“Well then, you need to find a different way home. Walk or something because I’m not leaving yet, and you can’t take the car.
” Bill folded his arms and settled his feet like he was literally digging his heels in.
My arm ached where he had gripped it, and I knew a purple bruise would form soon.
At least, he gripped me high enough up that I could cover it with sleeves.
I swallowed back more tears. I couldn’t fight him anymore. Not today. I turned and started walking. What was ten miles in heels, anyway?