“Oh, that’s so generous, but I’m not much of a couture girl these days,” Gwen said, glancing at Nina and Emilia.
“And I don’t feel right about taking anything,” Nina demurred.
A small reminder that our relationship had a deadline.
“I’d love to consider a few keepsake pieces, but I’ve seen how extensive her collection is. I could take a hundred items, and there’d still be plenty more,” Emilia added. “Givenchy, Halston, Chanel, Dior…what if we cataloged everything and then did some sort of charity auction? Maybe for a women’s shelter?”
“Oh, that would belovely,” Dad said as he broke into a smile. “Exactly the sort of thing she’d appreciate. But are you up for the challenge? That adds a layer of difficulty to the process.”
Emilia flapped her hand at him. “I’m all over it, no worries.”
It was a generous offer because my mom’s closet was more of a fancy warehouse. It featured light-up glass-front doors that stretched on and on, and there was a chandelier hanging in the center. Going through all the contents was going to be a big job. Still, I loved the idea of my mom’s legacy helping women in need.
“Wonderful, thank you, Emilia!” My dad turned to the three of us. “While the ladies get started on that, I thought you boys could go through her office. Sort through the paperwork that’sthere. And the safe. I want you to pick through what’s inside and take what you want.”
The safe where she kept her jewelry. Another part of her legacy that needed special attention.
“Of course,” Harrison said. “We can handle that for you, Dad.”
We finished up our lunch and headed for my parents’ suite. I hadn’t been in my mom’s wing in ages, so I prepared myself for the memories to hit me as we pushed into the beautiful space.
Harrison walked in first.
“Wow,” he sighed as he flipped on the lights. “I feel like I’m fifteen again.”
We all paused in the doorway and looked around the room. Every inch of it reflected my mom’s vision, specifically her love of the color pink. But it wasn’t garish. She and her decorator had included touches of the color in the room, opting to paint the ceiling a light blush pink and using a subtle pink toile for the curtains flanking the tall windows. I could feel her in every choice, like her desk in front of a circular window that looked out to the gardens, and the small table with comfy chairs around it for meetings.
“I’ll take the desk,” Drew said. “I’m assuming her assistant probably did an initial cleaning and left the personal stuff for us.”
Harrison turned to me. “Let’s tackle the safe. Do you know the combination?”
I frowned at him. “I know it’s a birthday, but whose?”
We walked to the mirror that hid the safe, gently swung it open, and stared at the touch pad.
“Guys, you have to check this out,” Drew interrupted before we could try to open it. “Old pictures.” He held up a stack of photos.
“I’m not sure I want to see them,” Harrison mused. “I think we should stay focused, you know?”
We all understood his implication—that reminiscing over our mom’s special photos might drag us down and keep us from being able to get through the task.
“No, it’s worth it. Two words: Ocean Pacific.”
I groaned. “Oh no. Old surf stuff?”
“Yep,” Drew laughed. “Vintage style, bad hair, and awkward growth spurts, all in glorious Technicolor.”
We walked over to him, and he doled out photos to us, laughing over each one.
“Oof,” Harrison reacted like someone had punched him in the gut. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I looked ridiculous?”
I looked at the photo in his hand and burst out laughing. “You’re like a cross between a surfer and a wannabe 80s action hero. That bandanna is fucking priceless, Karate Kid.”
“And look atyou, Logan,” Drew said as he handed me another one. “Big-time 007 vibes.”
I knew exactly what era he was referring to without seeing the photo. I’d spent about six months during my freshman year in high school wearing blazers because I thought it made me look grown up and distinguished. Being the youngest son had clearly impacted me.
“Where’s your blunder years photos, Drew?” I demanded. “Don’t pretend like the long hair era didn’t exist.”
