Page 43 of Fall
“What?” My gaze snaps up to his face, and I’m brimming over with questions. And so many confusing, overwhelming emotions. “This is from Mother? How did… how could she have… I don’t understand.”
“Your mother made me promise to hold on to this. She wanted you to have it after you turn eighteen.” He lets out a soft chuckle, but I hear the sadnessand pain it holds. “She also made me promise not to look inside, so I have no idea what's in it. But trust me, I was curious. Do you know what it's like holding onto something for such a long time, not knowing what it is? Mind you, I did shake it around a little, and figured it was mostly letters and pictures. I really don't know. But she wanted you to have this.” He kisses my forehead. “I wishI had time to be here while you go through it, to talk about any questions you might have about your mother. If you come up with anything, we’ll discuss it when I join you and Nonna in a few days. All right?”
“Yes, Father,” I say shakily, my eyes glued to the box sitting in front of me. “Thank you for this.”
“Of course. I’ll miss you.”
“I will miss you too,” I whisper, andclear my throat as I hear the unfamiliar quiver in my voice that only happens when I’m about to cry.
“I'll be heading out in a few minutes,” he says, and I rest my head on his shoulder one last time before he moves off. “See you soon, Princess. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I watch Father as he walks toward the hallway again, and for a brief moment, I question whether it’s the lasttime I’ll ever see him.
After he disappears around a corner, I look down at the gift from my mother. I’m engulfed by another wave of emotions. I have to see what’s inside, but at the same time, I’m nervous to open it. It’s a beautifully aged box. I’m sure it’s custom made, with Mother’s family crest and the brass hinges at the back. It’s no larger than the wooden cigar box that my fatherbuys in volume and keeps stocked in his smoking room.
As I sit there, trying to wrap my mind around opening the box, my phone repeatedly buzzes with a slew of text messages. Ignoring them all, I slip the phone in my pocket and return to my room with Mother's gift. It's hard to fathom. This thing in my hands is from her. Taking a breath, I sit at the bench seat of my dressing table, studyingit again.
It’s the one place I feel closest to her.
I can do this.
Right here.
Before I pack up and leave everything behind.
