Arden laughs. “I like both your gifts equally,” she insists. “Thank you so much.”
I give an exaggerated sigh and straighten her tiara. “Who would take a car over a crown anyway,” I mumble. “Oh! I almost forgot.” Grabbing my bag, I dig out the brown-paper-wrapped box from River and the small jewelry box from Seven. I hand her the one from River first.
“River made sure I had that this morning before everything happened. He wanted me to tell you congratulations.”
The mood in the room sobers, but she tears into it. It’s a framed photo of her and a bunch of kids her age in their Bailiwick’s uniforms, in front of River’s Tavern. All the teens have their arms around each other, but the handsome dark-haired boy who might be a leprechaun next to Arden is kissing her temple. She’s beaming, her eyes shifted in his direction. Three dark-skinned girls, one with gorgeous bright red hair that matches her wings, are on her other side. All pixies. A satyr stands behind them all, hands on Arden’s and the redhead’s shoulders. It’s a fun memory of what must have been a memorable moment.
“This is so sweet,” Arden said. “I forgot about this day.”
“When was that taken?” I ask.
“About a month ago. We had a half day at school and went there for lunch.” She sets it on the table. “This is the only picture I have with my new friends. It’s gone by so fast. I never thought to take more.” Another tear slides down her face, and I rub her back.
“We’ll make sure to thank him for it when he’s back among us,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into the words. I follow it up by handing her the jewelry box. “One more gift, from Seven.”
Grandmother’s brows shoot up. “How thoughtful of him.”
“He’s a friend of the family, Grandma. Friends of the family give gifts.”
“Sure they do,” she says through a tight smile.
Arden tears into the paper and lifts the lid.
My dad leans forward a little to see and gives a quirky smile. “A gold acorn? Hmm.” He shrugs.
Beside him, Mom is squinting at the charm. “You just never know with leprechauns.”
Grandma scratches her neck. “I’m sure it’s valuable, and the folklore says they’re lucky.”
Arden takes it from the box by the chain and stares at the charm. “Well, I love it. Put it on, Mom.” She hands me the chain. Our gazes lock. I can sense the power in the tiny object from a half foot away. This is no ordinary acorn.
As I hook the chain around her neck, I whisper in her ear. “He said not to use it until he has a chance to talk to you about what it does.”
She nods once to indicate she understands.
“Thanks, everyone,” Arden says. “This is the best graduation day I’ve ever had.”
Grandma laughs. “It’s the only graduation day you’ve ever had.”
“Not true. I graduated from eighth grade,” Arden says. “Mom watched as I walked across the stage and shook my principal’s hand. No robes though, and Rudy Fenton kept nudging the back of my chair. Also, the gym smelled like Fritos.”
“It was a moment.” I fold my hands on the table.
A buzzer goes off in the kitchen, and Mom pops out of her chair. “That would be dinner. Arden’s favorite lasagna.”
“I’ve got to change before we eat. I’m supposed to return this robe to the school, and I don’t want to get sauce on it.” Arden heads for her room.
I glare across the table at my father. “I can’t believe you bought her a car without talking to me first.”
The dad stare slides right down his nose at me. “You’re surprised we splurged on our one and only granddaughter when this might be our last time to be a family with her? When she goes away to school, we want her to have something to remind her of us.”
The sound of Arden jogging down the steps from her room meets my ears and it hits me. Dad’s right. This is it. This might be the last time we’re all together in this house, living under the same roof. Even if Arden decides to stay, she’ll go to Elderflame and sleep in the dorms at the university there. Since the day she was born, we haven’t spent more than a night or two away from each other, only for the occasional sleepover or camp. Now only a month or two separates us from her crossing the abyss into adulthood.
I swallow down a seed of anxiety that rises in my throat and cough into my hand. My face feels cold, like all the blood has drained from it.
“Ah, it’s just caught up to you.” Dad reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. His eyes fill with tears. “It’ll be all right. We’re all under the same moon after all.”
Grandma blots the corners of her eyes with her napkin and taps the table. “You people are a barrel of laughs tonight. Stars above. Should I knit us some Kleenex? I haven’t cried this much since Antoine left Juanita on my favorite telenovela.”
