Chapter 21
twenty-one
Rosalie
When I’m done unpacking the last of our clothing, most of it going into the laundry, my eyes slide to the box my dad packed for me.
He handed it to me as we were leaving, so thoroughly taped up I didn’t have a prayer of opening it before boarding the plane.
Not that I would have anyway. I knew I’d want to be alone when I finally opened it.
Instead, I lugged the heavy thing onto the plane with me, careful not to damage my mom’s belongings.
Carefully, I peel back the tape and open the box. There isn’t a whole lot inside, if the amount of tissue paper stuffing the top is any indication, and I briefly wonder why my dad was so adamant I take it. But then the contents of the box start to appear, and the tears come.
Inside is the green and white striped apron my mom wore every night in the kitchen while cooking dinner. I have no idea where she got it, but it always made me giggle since it says Whatever Happens, We’re Eating It—an ironic statement since my mom was an excellent cook.
Underneath the apron is a smaller box, which I carefully open to find a few pieces of my mom’s jewelry.
My mom was a minimalist, but she never failed to wear her birthstone necklace.
I pick it up, letting the chain glide through my fingers as the pendant hangs from the end, spinning in the bedroom light.
On the front are mine and my brothers’ birthstones, but as it spins, I catch sight of an engraving on the back.
Taking the pendant in my palm, I angle it toward the light, and when it hits just right, I see the dainty script. Remember, I believe in you.
I pause because my mom used to write the same expression at the bottom of every lunch note, birthday card, email, and occasional text when she was sending something sentimental. It was basically her signature, and I didn’t know it had been engraved on this necklace the whole time.
My mom never missed an opportunity to say “I love you.” When I was younger, she used to annoy the hell out of me by walking into a room and saying “Hey! Guess what?” Obviously, I would answer with “What?” thinking I was going to get some juicy piece of information, but she would simply say “I love you” and walk out.
I don’t think there is anything else in my childhood that elicited more eye rolls than that exchange right there.
Her “I love yous” were so abundant I think she felt they were a given. So, instead of ending any written correspondence with a simple “I love you,” she ended it with “Remember, I believe in you.”
I carefully lay the necklace back down with the rest of the jewelry and set it aside. There aren’t many things left in the box: a picture of my mom and me, and a small stuffed horse Paige gave my mom for Christmas.
It was a present from one of the years Paige felt like everyone loved horses just as much as she did. I’m pretty sure we all got some variation of this same stuffed horse in different colors, although I’m unsure where mine is now.
At the very bottom of the box is a bound journal. The spine is creased so many times from being held open the journal itself doesn’t even stay closed without the weight of the other items from the box sitting on top of it.
I didn’t know my mom kept a journal. She never talked about writing in one, and I never saw her do so in all the time I lived at home.
But when I open it, I recognize her handwriting immediately.
Only it’s not journal entries inside, it’s letters.
Tears prick my eyes as the familiar script runs across the page.
I stare, trying to figure out what I’m looking at. It almost looks like my mom passed this journal back and forth between her and another person, keeping a running record of their conversations inside rather than sending individual letters to each other by mail.
I’m so emotionally raw right now that logic tells me it isn’t the best time to dive into whatever is in these pages. But I’m also so desperate for any piece of my mom remaining on this earth. I want to cling to it, sink my claws into it, and never let go. So, I read.
Dear Mom,
When I was younger, I clearly remember ignoring your wisdom.
I’d let your words float in and out of my ears, even laughing with friends that so much of your “advice” was simply to look at the brighter side of things.
Ugh, I hated when you did that! Sometimes, I just wanted to be told I was right!
Honestly, I wasn’t always ready to hear much of the wisdom you imparted back then, but now, I want every piece of it.
As I sit here, pregnant with my first child, I’m terrified I missed the important lessons in life.
I’m worried I don’t have the skills to be the best mom to this little girl, like you were to me.
I’m grateful you agreed to this crazy scheme because I want to be able to look back on your advice as Rosalie grows up.
Good Lord, if she’s anything like me, I’ll be ravenous for your sage advice!