"Is that really what you think?"
"That's what I know."
We stared at each other across the dusty attic, both of us sweating and covered in grime, and something hung in the air between us that I couldn't quite name. Wasn't ready to name.
"You're wrong," he said finally. "But I get why you'd think that. I haven't given you much reason to believe otherwise."
"No, you haven't."
"Then I'll work on that."
Before I could respond—before I could figure out what the hell that meant—he turned back to the boxes, effectively ending the conversation.
We worked in silence for another hour, sorting through decades of accumulated memories. I found Nana’s quilting supplies and couldn't bring myself to donate them, even though I’d never learned to quilt. Found old Christmas decorations that made my throat tight. Found a box of my baby clothes that Nana had saved, complete with the hospital bracelet from when I’d been left on their porch.
"Naomie," Beau read, picking up the tiny plastic band. "Right. Sometimes I forget that's your real name."
"Winnie’s just a nickname. Nana started calling me that when I was little—said I 'won' their hearts the moment they saw me."
"That’s really sweet."
"Yeah. She was good at that. Making people feel wanted."
We’d filled the truck bed twice with donation items by the time we finally made it to the last corner of the attic, where a dusty sheet covered something large and rectangular. I pulled the sheet off, and felt my breath catch for the second time that day.
It was Nana’s vanity. The one she’d sat at every morning, braiding her hair and humming old country songs. The one I’d watched her use a thousand times, memorizing the way she’d smile at her reflection, the way her hands would move through the familiar motions.
"I didn't know this was up here," I said quietly.
"It’s beautiful," Beau said, running his hand along the carved wood. "Your Pops must've moved it up here after..."
"Yeah. Probably couldn't stand to see it empty."
The mirror was cloudy with dust, and when I looked into it, I saw a ghost of Nana behind my own reflection. Her smile, her hands on my shoulders, her voice sayingyou're gonna be just fine, Winnie girl.
I’d been twelve when she died. Almost twenty-four now, and I still wasn't sure if I was fine.
"You keeping it?" Beau asked.
"Yeah. I think I'll put it in my room." I wiped the dust off the mirror with my thumb, and the motion cleared enough to see just my reflection now. "She’d want someone to use it. Not just sit up here collecting dust."
"Need help getting it downstairs?"
"Yeah, that’d be nice."
We maneuvered the vanity down the narrow attic stairs with significant effort, several curses, and a few near-death experiences, finally getting it into my room and positioned by the window where it caught the afternoon light perfectly.
"Perfect," I said, stepping back to admire it. "That’s perfect."
"It suits you," Beau said, leaning in the doorway, wiping sweat from his forehead. "The whole vintage cowgirl aesthetic."
"I don't have anaesthetic. I just live here."
"Living somewhere creates an aesthetic."
"That’s the dumbest thing you've said all day, and you've said a lot of dumb things."
He grinned. "It’s a gift."
