I hold up the framed picture of Gramma holding a bouquet of tulips on the dock that I keep on an end table, hoping I’ve done her proud in every way I can.
My fingers trace the outline of her gray hair and soft features. Her eyes are as familiar as my own.
God, I miss her.
I breathe in the scent and feeling of memories and I stare out the back windows, lending a view of the back porch and lake.
“It still feels the exact same here,” Emily remarks.
“Yeah, I’m glad Mom never updated anything,” I respond, drifting through the dining area and kitchen.
“Are you glad you came home, Julia?” she asks.
I nod, thinking of the last year back in Washington. So much of my life has changed. I set up my new practice, I’ve mostly made amends with my mother, and now I get to see Emily and my nieces whenever I want to.
“I am.”
“Do you miss Chicago?” she presses gently.
“I do,” I admit. “But it’s okay to leave pieces of your heart in different cities.”
Before Emily can respond, Mom prances in wearing Chanel No. 5 and a velour tracksuit and holding a bottle of Dom Perignon. “To me!”
“Hi, Mom, good to see you too,” I respond, drenched in sarcasm. Emily laughs.
“Oh hush. This can be for you too. Your new practice hitting its one year anniversary, and my nomination for a Universal Literature Award!”
“Ahh,” I muse, happy to be partly acknowledged.
We’re getting better bits and pieces at a time.
She shoos me with her hand toward the cupboard. “Grab Gramma’s crystal, will you? Top left.”
I cringe inwardly. She forgets I live here. The glasses are placed on the counter and I unwrap the cork. “Should I make a wish?” I ask boisterously as I unravel the wire.
Mom touches my wrist. “You can, but I’d also like to make a promise.”
Emily and I turn to her.
“Well, open it first.”
The cork flies and we laugh and scream and my heart feels a little happier in an instant.
“To all the memories we’ve had and will still have here,” I declare, pouring champagne until the bubbles fizz over the edge of Gramma’s turquoise champagne glasses.
We cheers and sip, but then Mom holds hers up again.
She sniffs and straightens her spine, steeling herself for what she’s about to say. “To every memory I should have made with you, and the promise of making it all up to you now.”
There’s a long beat that sounds like blood rushing through my ears. Despite the progress we’ve made, I never imagined such a simple yet profound, unprompted gesture from my mother.
“Here, here,” Emily cheers, because she feels awkward.
A tear drips from my lash line and crashes down my cheek. Mom watches the line of water drift past my chin.
“I love you, Julia,” she mouths.
I nod, the broken little girl in me rising to the surface.
