“It’s from my mom,” Mauve said, looking up at Jason.
Jason brought the box into the house and set it near the foyer closet.
“I can’t imagine what she would have sent me,” Mauve said.
Jason used a pocket knife to open the box, pulling back the flaps. An envelope with Mauve’s name on it rested atop some tissue paper. She opened it, reading silently.
Dear Mauve,
I found these in the attic. They’re ornaments your grandmother gave you every year. I set them aside for you to take with you, but then you married Chris and I didn’t think they were fancy enough. Now that you’re on your own, I thought you might want to have them.
Love,
Mom
Mauve gave Jason the note and then knelt to remove the tissue paper. There were dozens of ornaments, each chosen for Mauve by her grandmother, long since passed away. A legacy of sorts, Mauve thought.
Her mother was right. They weren’t crystal or Swarovski or anything Chris would have allowed on their twelve-foot designer tree in the Manhattan apartment. They were ornaments found at craft fairs and small-town antique shops, each one chosen with care and thoughts of the recipient.
Jason knelt beside her but didn’t say anything.
She reached into the box and lifted the first one from its wrapping. A small porcelain ballerina, no more than three inches tall, with a pink tutu and one arm raised above her head. She turned it over. On the bottom, in faded ink:For Mauve, age 4. Don’t forget to dance. Love, Nana.
“My grandmother gave me one every year,” Mauve said. “Starting when I was little. I completely forgot about them.”
“That’s a lot of ornaments,” Jason said.
“She died when I was sixteen, so we know how many there are, I guess.”
Mauve set the ballerina aside and unwrapped a hand-painted wooden cardinal perched on a branch, its red so vivid it almost looked wet. Then a felt mouse in a tiny Santa hat, a glass pinecone with gold flecks, and a ceramic kitten curled inside a stocking.
“I always wanted a cat,” Mauve said. “But my dad was allergic.”
“You could get one now.”
“And seal my crazy cat lady fate?”
He laughed. “You’re hardly a crazy cat lady.”
“Only because I don’t have a cat.” She meant for it to be light and teasing, but somehow sadness had crept into her tone. She wanted a baby, not a cat. But maybe she should get a cat as a consolation prize. After Jason left she would be all alone again.
Jason had taken a seat on the floor, watching her. “Hey, now, what’s the matter?”
She blinked, pulling herself out of her morbid thoughts. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
He scooted closer to her, playing with a lock of her hair. “Just because we’re only having fun doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about real stuff.”
She looked up at him. His eyes were soft and warm, welcoming her to share the most intimate of her thoughts. But the words wouldn’t come. She could not tell him her deepest wish. It was not his to carry or to give to her.
“Let’s open the rest,” she said. “Will you hang them for me?”
“I’d be honored.” He bobbed his head as if she were a queen.
The next was a tiny snow globe, barely bigger than a golf ball, with a miniature cottage inside. When she shook it, silver glitter swirled around the little house. “This one’s so pretty,” she said, handing it to him.
“It is.”
She kept going. A mercury glass star, a wooden sled with her name painted in red, a beaded snowflake, and a delicate bird on a clip. Near the bottom of the box, the ornaments shifted from whimsical to more sophisticated. A small crystal teardrop, a blown-glass hummingbird, a brass compass ornament with a tiny working needle.
