My grandma died on my nineteenth birthday. Right when I ran in to show her the blueberry pie I finally baked without her help.
She was sitting in her chair by the window, just like always. Same posture. Same blanket over her knees.
“Grandma?” I stepped closer, my smile fading. “Hey… don’t do that.”
I touched her hand.
My grandma died on my nineteenth birthday.
Cold.
“No. No, no, no… you’re kidding, right?”
I don’t remember calling for help. I remember sitting on the floor, holding onto her sleeve, as if I let go, she’d disappear completely.
People came, voices filled the house, and someone kept saying my name like I was far away.
“She’s gone, honey,” a woman said gently.
“No, she’s just tired. She does this sometimes.”
But she didn’t.
I don’t remember calling for help.
***
A few hours later, I sat at the kitchen table with Mrs. Kline, our neighbor, who smelled like lilac perfume so strong it made my head ache. She kept reaching for my hand, like she needed to make sure I was still there.
“Oh, Emma…” she sighed. “I can’t believe Lorna’s gone. She was everything to you.”
“She still is,” I said, staring at the pie I never got to show her.
Mrs. Kline nodded, dabbing her eyes. “I remember when she brought you home. You were so small. Seven years old, holding onto her coat like you were afraid the world would take her too.”
“I remember when she brought you home.”
“It already took everything else.”
“She never let you feel that,” Mrs. Kline said softly.
I let out a short laugh. “She didn’t give me a choice.”
Mrs. Kline leaned closer. “And it was true. But now… things are different.”
I knew where that was going before she even said it.
“Emma, have you thought about the house?” Mrs. Kline asked carefully. “That place is a lot for one girl. Bills, repairs… you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. College, work—”
“She didn’t give me a choice.”
“I’m not selling it,” I cut in.
“I didn’t say you had to—”
“You didn’t have to. Everyone always means it.”
Mrs. Kline sighed, folding her hands. “Your grandma didn’t leave you anything else, did she?”
“No. Just the house.”
“Then it’s okay to let it go,” she said gently. “That doesn’t mean you’re letting her go.”
“Yes, it does,” I snapped. “That house is all I have left of her.”
“I’m not selling it.”
“Homes like that don’t stay valuable forever, Emma. Give it a few years, and no one will even want it. You’ll be stuck with something you can’t afford.”
“I’d rather be stuck than alone,” I said quietly.
That shut her up for a second. My eyes drifted toward the hallway. Toward Grandma Lorna’s room.
Mrs. Kline followed my gaze. “You’ll need something to wear for the service. Formal, right? That’s coming up.”
“I don’t care about the formal.”
“Grandma would,” Mrs. Kline said softly. “Go look through her things. Lorna had beautiful clothes.”
I didn’t like the way she said that, but I stood up anyway.
“Go look through her things.”
***
Grandma’s room felt colder now. Like it already forgot she existed.
I opened the closet slowly, breathing in her familiar scent. For a second, it almost felt like she was still there, about to tell me I was snooping where I shouldn’t.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered. “Privacy is important.”
I pushed aside a few dresses, then stopped. At the back was a garment bag I’d never seen before.
“That’s new,” I said quietly.
“Privacy is important.”
I pulled it out and unzipped it carefully. Inside was a soft blue dress.
“No way…”
I lifted it, the fabric light in my hands, like it didn’t belong to that house at all.
“This is your prom dress…” I whispered. “You really kept it all this time.”
I held it up against myself in the mirror. It fit. Almost perfectly.
Behind me, Mrs. Kline stepped into the doorway. “Oh, that dress.”
“You really kept it all this time.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Once,” she said. “A long time ago. She never let anyone touch it.”
I turned back to the mirror. “I’m wearing this to the funeral.”
Mrs. Kline nodded immediately. “It’ll need a little fixing, but I know the perfect man. Careful hands. Works with vintage pieces all the time.”
I shrugged. “Fine.”
“I’m wearing this to the funeral.”
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