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“That was what I gave each of the girls for their first Christmases,” said Grandma, a sad smile unfolding across her face. “Sutton and Laurel. And poor Becky, too, ages ago. I thought . . . I thought you’d like one, too.”
Emma couldn’t speak. She stared down at the ornament in her hand, her lips parted. The star became blurred as her eyes filled with tears. But for the first time in a long time, they weren’t tears of fear, or grief, or frustration. She was crying with happiness.
She suddenly realized that everyone in the room was watching her. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer were both smiling softly, and Laurel hugged her knees to her chest on the sofa, looking pensive. Grandma Mercer gave her a worried, shaky smile. Emma wiped quickly at her eyes, looking around at all of them. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
“We thought this year . . . you could help us hang Sutton’s, too,” said Mr. Mercer, his voice breaking slightly.
Emma nodded, her throat tight with emotion as Mr. Mercer handed her the other star. For a moment it was cold and hard, and then slowly it warmed to her skin. She held them, one in each hand, engraved with the same date. Then she turned to the tree and carefully hung them side by side, so close that their edges touched.
The sister stars, she thought. Finally together.
I watched them all a few minutes more. My mom trying to sing “O Holy Night,” laughing when she got the words wrong. My dad putting his arm around Grandma Mercer, tears glittering in her eyes as she found an ornament I’d made in first grade with my school picture. Laurel holding up her stocking, loudly asking if they all thought it was big enough. Drake, under the piano, slyly opening the crumpled napkin containing Emma’s forgotten cookie. And Emma. Emma, unpacking the ornaments one by one, running her hands lovingly over them. Wondering about the history behind each one—where it had come from, what it meant, who picked it out. But there would be time to learn all that, time to hear her family’s stories and become a part of them.
And then I felt myself drifting, slowly detaching from the world I’d always known. For a split second, panic shot through me. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to leave them. But then my eyes fell on the tree, on our little silver stars. Laurel had hung hers just below Emma’s. I understood then. We were a constellation. We would always be together.
I turned toward Emma, the twin sister I never got to meet in person, who’d lived my life and brought me peace, even though it had nearly cost her everything. “Thank you,” I whispered.
In the reflection of the stars, I saw my form glowing brilliant silver-gold, getting brighter and brighter until I couldn’t even look at myself. I was turning into energy, pure and vibrant. I took a last look at my family, my constellation, beautiful and bright.
“Remember me,” I said, knowing they would. And then, as fast as a shooting star, I was gone.
