Page 79 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
"More syrup and strawberries, please," Macy said, holding up her plate. She looked better this morning—she had a little pink back in her cheeks, and she seemed more like herself.
"How's your arm feeling?" I asked, adding another pancake to her stack. I placed the bowl of sliced strawberries and the bottle of maple syrup in front of my daughter.
Today, she could have as much as she wanted—we'd all just have to plan for a nap. A carb-and sugar-loaded breakfast like this wasdefinitely going to knock us into a food coma sometime in the next two hours.
"Good. It doesn't hurt at all anymore. Can we still go get my stuff today?"
Felicity and I exchanged glances. We'd planned to retrieve Macy's belongings this morning, but after last night's nightmare, I wasn't sure if it was the right timing.
"We don't have to rush it," Felicity said, gently. "We could wait a few more days if you want."
"No, I want to get my things. Especially my art supplies and my books. I miss them."
"Okay," I said. "Or we could just buy you all new supplies for now."
Macy paused, looked down, and very quietly said, "but I need Lamby too."
"Oooooooh," responded Felicity. Lamby is Macy's stuffed animal. She has loved it and slept with it since she was a baby. I'd thought maybe by now she had outgrown it, but she must still sleep with it. If ever there was a time for your emotional-support-stuffie, now was it. Felicity reached over and placed her hand on Macy's back, smiling softly at her.
"Okay honey, we'll go get your stuff today. Don't worry," I responded.
"Okay. Thanks, Daddy."
"But if you change your mind at any point, we leave. Deal?"
"Deal."
An hour later, we were getting in the car,
~Felicity~
As we arrived, we rang the doorbell and waited for Brad to come to the door.
The door swung open silently with Brad standing there, clearly at a loss. We all just stared at each other, no one really knowing what to say or do first.
Brad broke the silence when he cleared his throat and said, "Ahem, Macy. I—" then he shuffled his feet, hands settling on his hips. "I mean, how are you?" He looked pointedly at Macy's cast.
"I'm okay." Macy didn't seem to know what to say in response. She leaned her head into her dad.
"Yeah, okay." Brad ushered us in. "I'll just hang down here while you guys do what you need to do. I don't want to get in the way.
We walked into the house, the silence was almost deafening. The front door led us to the stairs. Climbing to Macy's room, I looked around, amazed at the gaudiness of the house. There was gold painted trim on columns, a naked African style bust when you reached the top of the steps, ornate pieces all along the hallway. It was like a museum rather than a home.
I felt uncomfortable here. There was definitely something wrong about this place. "Macy, why don't you show us what you want to take," I said, placing my hand lightly on her shoulder.
Macy's bedroom was its own type of museum. Well decorated, almost like a guest room. No pictures on the walls. Everything curated specifically to almost be on display. There were a few toys strategically positioned, not a piece of clothing anywhere in sight. It lacked the lived-in feeling of a child's real space.
"Lamby!" Macy rushed to her bed and grabbed the worn stuffed sheep out from under her pillows, clutching it to her chest. "I missed you so much."
Watching her reunite with this ugly, well-worn-stuffed animal made my throat tight.
"What else do you want, sweetheart?" Caden asked, pulling out the duffel bags we'd brought.
As Macy pointed out the things she wanted to come home with her, I found myself collecting the items from her closet. In my hands was an assortment of items when I looked up and saw myself in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door.
I caught my reflection and, just as suddenly, saw hers in my mind. Macy—standing in this same spot, twirling, maybe modeling that purse the way I never got to. I felt a pang in my chest and my stomach twisted at the thoughts of the purse. I'd never even had the chance to touch it or hold it. I hadn't been able to model it. I don't blame her, but I do have a little resentment sitting there under the surface. I couldn't even make sense of the emotions churning inside of me. I looked away, trying to put the visual out of my head.
It didn't matter anymore—the purse was gone now, donated to provide for women who needed the proceeds more than I did. I was glad it was gone. I was proud that we'd done the right thing, that it had gone to a good purpose. But God help me, I still wanted that fucking purse. Even knowing it had been Macy's, even knowing I wouldn't actually want that specific purse anymore—I still felt that hollow ache of want.
