“Don’t stay up too late,” I said, knowing she would anyway.
“I won’t,” she said, knowing I knew.
There was something I didn’t think about until later.
When I went back to bed that night, I passed Lily’s room. The door was open. Her desk lamp was still on, and on the desk was a shoebox I didn’t recognize. The lid was half-off. Inside, I could see what looked like old photos and an envelope.
I didn’t look. I didn’t think about it. I turned off the lamp and went to bed.
I’ve thought about that moment a lot since then.
How close I was.
Wednesday morning, Lily came downstairs at 6:45 with the dress folded in tissue paper inside a big shopping bag. She’d stayed up the rest of the night to finish it. I could tell. Her eyes were red, and she was moving like her whole body was made of wet sand.
But she was smiling. She was smiling so big.
“It’s done,” she said.
“Can I see it?”
She unfolded the tissue paper just enough. The blue fabric caught the light from the kitchen window. The skirt had a soft ruffle at the bottom now, and she’d sewn tiny pearl buttons up the back.
“Lily. That’s… that’s really beautiful.”
“You think she’ll like it?”
“I think she’ll love it.”
Then she went to the hall closet and took something off the hook. She folded it carefully and put it in the bag on top of the dress.
It was the blue cardigan.
Michael bought it for her the Christmas before he died. He’d picked it out himself, which he never did. He usually just gave me money and said, “Get her something nice.” But that year he went to the mall on his own and came home with that cardigan in a gift bag with too much tissue paper. Lily wore it until the elbows got thin. It was the last thing he ever gave her.
She hadn’t worn it in months. But she’d never let me give it away either. Once, when I suggested we donate some old clothes, she pulled the cardigan out of the bag so fast she almost tore it.
I reached for it now.
“Lily, wait. Not that one. That’s from Dad.”
She pulled the bag away from me.
“She can have this, too.”
“But honey…”
“Mom.” She looked at me. There was something in her face I didn’t understand. “It’s okay. I want her to have it. It goes with the dress.”
“It’s your father’s…”
“I know what it is.”
She said it sharply. Then she softened. “Please. I want to.”
I let it go. I told myself she was growing up. That maybe she was finally ready to let some of him go. I told myself that was a good thing.
