Read Online The One & Only: A Novel by Emily Giffin - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Giffin
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floor as we waited for Lucy to emerge with a fresh handful of items, at which point we’d discuss and help Lucy make her designation. It was excruciating, every item unearthing memories, sometimes from three different perspectives. It occurred to me that few things tell the story of a woman’s life like her closet, as we pieced together a whole chronology and biography, a composite of good days and bad, big occasions and quiet moments. In the end, the second pile was by far the largest, Lucy deeming item after item too sacred either to give away or to wear herself.
“Oh, Lucy, you should have this one,” my mom said, picking up one of Connie’s favorite jewel-toned Hermès scarves.
“I could never wear that,” Lucy said, rubbing it between her fingers, her upper lip quivering. “It’s just so …
her.
”
“But sweetie, it’s you,
too
,” my mom said—which really was the truth. As we got older, I could see Lucy dressing more and more like her mother. She had always been chic, but her look was becoming less trendy and more sophisticated, timeless. Even her shop was beginning to shift toward a slightly more mature demographic.
Lucy wrapped the silk scarf around her neck and whispered okay, moving on to a long-sleeved pink poplin blouse.
“Oh, that one brings back good memories,” my mom said.
Lucy frowned and said she didn’t remember ever seeing it.
“I was with your mom when she bought it. At Neiman’s. She woreit to her last garden club meeting. The one at Lynn Odom’s house. That was a good day.”
“Will you take it?” Lucy asked. “I hate the idea of anything going to strangers.”
Blinking back tears, my mother said, “Okay, sweetie. I’ll take it … I can’t promise that I can bring myself to wear it, but I’d love to just have it.” My mother removed a monogrammed handkerchief she kept in her purse, a practice she’d picked up from Connie.
Lucy motioned toward the Goodwill pile. “Anything else? Please?” she said, looking lost, her voice small and pitiful. Everything about her seemed fragile—in such contrast to her usual big personality. “I’d so much rather you have these things. Shea, you, too.”
I hesitated. I really didn’t feel right taking any of Connie’s things, but desperately wanted to comfort Lucy, the way she so often did for me.
My mother responded for us, stroking Lucy’s hair. “Listen, honey. How about I just take this whole Goodwill pile home with me for now? That way you could have some more time to decide … I will keep it safe for you. For now.”
“Thank you, Marie,” Lucy said, giving my mom a long hug. The two had always been close, perhaps closer than I had been to Connie because their personalities were more similar. But it was clear in the past few months that they were becoming even closer—and that my mother was a great source of comfort to Lucy. A maternal figure, but also a real friend.
“One more item and then we’re done for tonight,” Lucy said, pulling a shoe box and receipt out of a black Saks bag adorned with snow-flakes. She checked the date and said, “December of last year. Right before she got the news …”
I held my breath as Lucy lifted the lid, revealing a gorgeous pair of black suede sling-backs. She removed the tissue wedged into one of the pointed toes, then flipped the shoe over, running her fingers across the pristine sole. I felt a lump in my throat. There was just something so tragic about that pretty pair of unworn shoes. I pictured Mrs. Carr tryingthem on, strolling along the plush carpet of the shoe department, debating whether to buy them. My mother must have been thinking the same thing because she said, “Maybe you could still return them?”
Lucy’s face fell. “Oh, I couldn’t.”
My mother realized her mistake immediately. “I know, sweetie. You’re right. Of course you couldn’t.”
“Shea, you take them,” Lucy said. “They’re your size.”
I shook my head, wishing I
“Oh, Lucy, you should have this one,” my mom said, picking up one of Connie’s favorite jewel-toned Hermès scarves.
“I could never wear that,” Lucy said, rubbing it between her fingers, her upper lip quivering. “It’s just so …
her.
”
“But sweetie, it’s you,
too
,” my mom said—which really was the truth. As we got older, I could see Lucy dressing more and more like her mother. She had always been chic, but her look was becoming less trendy and more sophisticated, timeless. Even her shop was beginning to shift toward a slightly more mature demographic.
Lucy wrapped the silk scarf around her neck and whispered okay, moving on to a long-sleeved pink poplin blouse.
“Oh, that one brings back good memories,” my mom said.
Lucy frowned and said she didn’t remember ever seeing it.
“I was with your mom when she bought it. At Neiman’s. She woreit to her last garden club meeting. The one at Lynn Odom’s house. That was a good day.”
“Will you take it?” Lucy asked. “I hate the idea of anything going to strangers.”
Blinking back tears, my mother said, “Okay, sweetie. I’ll take it … I can’t promise that I can bring myself to wear it, but I’d love to just have it.” My mother removed a monogrammed handkerchief she kept in her purse, a practice she’d picked up from Connie.
Lucy motioned toward the Goodwill pile. “Anything else? Please?” she said, looking lost, her voice small and pitiful. Everything about her seemed fragile—in such contrast to her usual big personality. “I’d so much rather you have these things. Shea, you, too.”
I hesitated. I really didn’t feel right taking any of Connie’s things, but desperately wanted to comfort Lucy, the way she so often did for me.
My mother responded for us, stroking Lucy’s hair. “Listen, honey. How about I just take this whole Goodwill pile home with me for now? That way you could have some more time to decide … I will keep it safe for you. For now.”
“Thank you, Marie,” Lucy said, giving my mom a long hug. The two had always been close, perhaps closer than I had been to Connie because their personalities were more similar. But it was clear in the past few months that they were becoming even closer—and that my mother was a great source of comfort to Lucy. A maternal figure, but also a real friend.
“One more item and then we’re done for tonight,” Lucy said, pulling a shoe box and receipt out of a black Saks bag adorned with snow-flakes. She checked the date and said, “December of last year. Right before she got the news …”
I held my breath as Lucy lifted the lid, revealing a gorgeous pair of black suede sling-backs. She removed the tissue wedged into one of the pointed toes, then flipped the shoe over, running her fingers across the pristine sole. I felt a lump in my throat. There was just something so tragic about that pretty pair of unworn shoes. I pictured Mrs. Carr tryingthem on, strolling along the plush carpet of the shoe department, debating whether to buy them. My mother must have been thinking the same thing because she said, “Maybe you could still return them?”
Lucy’s face fell. “Oh, I couldn’t.”
My mother realized her mistake immediately. “I know, sweetie. You’re right. Of course you couldn’t.”
“Shea, you take them,” Lucy said. “They’re your size.”
I shook my head, wishing I
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