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Authors: Emily Giffin
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could come up with an excuse.
“Why not?” Lucy said, still looking hurt. “Don’t you like them?”
It was a no-win question, as I couldn’t very well insult her mother’s taste. “I do—but … they’re not really
me.
”
“What do you mean they’re not you? They’re beautiful, classic heels. How could they not be you? And why won’t you take anything of my mom’s?” Lucy said right as Coach Carr appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.
“How’s it going, ladies?” he asked.
“Fine,” Lucy said, blowing her nose and looking anything but fine. “Do you need your room? We’re finished … for now.”
“Take your time,” Coach said, glancing at the silk scarf still around Lucy’s neck.
Lucy took it off and swirled it in the air, then watched it flutter to the floor. “Do you remember this one, Daddy?” she asked, looking forlorn.
“Of course. Mom wore it a lot.” His voice was sad and very far away.
“Daddy?” Lucy said. “Are you sure you’re ready … for this? Is this too soon?”
Coach swallowed and said, “It was too soon for her to leave us … but she did. So we gotta keep going.” His gaze shifted from the scarf to the box of shoes splayed open between us.
“Daddy, shouldn’t Shea take these?” Lucy lifted both shoes out of the box, hooking the heels over her pinkies. “They’re her size. Don’t you think Mom would want her to have them?”
I watched him process the question before slowly nodding. “Yes, Lucy. I do believe she would.”
“So. Here,” Lucy said, dropping the shoes onto my lap, the matter settled.
“Thank you,” I said, looking down at them, then carefully putting them back in the box. I still couldn’t imagine ever wearing them, but I would keep them in my closet, tucked neatly away.
Six
A fter the closet cleanout, the next big hurdle was Lucy’s birthday. Her grief surfaced at unexpected moments, whether at the grocery store or in church or playing with Caroline in the park, but I knew that special occasions were going to be especially difficult, given that Mrs. Carr had always been so over-the-top about holidays and birthdays. She had thrown lavish parties for milestone birthdays, and, for all others, there had been extravagant presents, fancy dinners out in Dallas, homemade cakes (Mrs. Carr had taken both a pastry class
and
a cake decorating class over the years), floral arrangements sent to Lucy’s shop, and balloons tied to her mailbox first thing in the morning. Because of Mrs. Carr’s diligence and enthusiasm, Coach had always been able to mentally check out of birthday prep, as he did with so much else, knowing that his wife would make things perfect for their children. Even Neil let his mother-in-law take charge; his only duties includedbuying Lucy a piece of jewelry and bringing her breakfast in bed (a tradition that Mrs. Carr had begun years ago).
But obviously this year—and every year that stretched ahead of us—was going to be different, and a mild panic set in among Lucy’s inner circle the week before she turned thirty-three. We all knew we couldn’t begin to fill her mother’s shoes, but we wanted to at least try to get things right.
Lucy, however, was adamant that she didn’t want to celebrate this birthday. When I pushed back, she pointed out that I hadn’t wanted a fuss this year either. I refrained from enumerating some key differences, including the fact that I had
never
been big on birthdays, and that she had about five times more close friends than I did, including all the girls at her shop, her sorority sisters from UT, the wives of Neil’s friends, and her fellow mommy friends. Instead I said, “We at least went to lunch for my birthday. And you gave me beautiful gifts—even though I told you not to get me anything this year.”
“Gifts from my shop. Unwrapped. That hardly counts.”
“Of course it
counts.
I
love
that wrap dress—and the chandelier earrings are gorgeous.” Buying clothes
“Why not?” Lucy said, still looking hurt. “Don’t you like them?”
It was a no-win question, as I couldn’t very well insult her mother’s taste. “I do—but … they’re not really
me.
”
“What do you mean they’re not you? They’re beautiful, classic heels. How could they not be you? And why won’t you take anything of my mom’s?” Lucy said right as Coach Carr appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.
“How’s it going, ladies?” he asked.
“Fine,” Lucy said, blowing her nose and looking anything but fine. “Do you need your room? We’re finished … for now.”
“Take your time,” Coach said, glancing at the silk scarf still around Lucy’s neck.
Lucy took it off and swirled it in the air, then watched it flutter to the floor. “Do you remember this one, Daddy?” she asked, looking forlorn.
“Of course. Mom wore it a lot.” His voice was sad and very far away.
“Daddy?” Lucy said. “Are you sure you’re ready … for this? Is this too soon?”
Coach swallowed and said, “It was too soon for her to leave us … but she did. So we gotta keep going.” His gaze shifted from the scarf to the box of shoes splayed open between us.
“Daddy, shouldn’t Shea take these?” Lucy lifted both shoes out of the box, hooking the heels over her pinkies. “They’re her size. Don’t you think Mom would want her to have them?”
I watched him process the question before slowly nodding. “Yes, Lucy. I do believe she would.”
“So. Here,” Lucy said, dropping the shoes onto my lap, the matter settled.
“Thank you,” I said, looking down at them, then carefully putting them back in the box. I still couldn’t imagine ever wearing them, but I would keep them in my closet, tucked neatly away.
Six
A fter the closet cleanout, the next big hurdle was Lucy’s birthday. Her grief surfaced at unexpected moments, whether at the grocery store or in church or playing with Caroline in the park, but I knew that special occasions were going to be especially difficult, given that Mrs. Carr had always been so over-the-top about holidays and birthdays. She had thrown lavish parties for milestone birthdays, and, for all others, there had been extravagant presents, fancy dinners out in Dallas, homemade cakes (Mrs. Carr had taken both a pastry class
and
a cake decorating class over the years), floral arrangements sent to Lucy’s shop, and balloons tied to her mailbox first thing in the morning. Because of Mrs. Carr’s diligence and enthusiasm, Coach had always been able to mentally check out of birthday prep, as he did with so much else, knowing that his wife would make things perfect for their children. Even Neil let his mother-in-law take charge; his only duties includedbuying Lucy a piece of jewelry and bringing her breakfast in bed (a tradition that Mrs. Carr had begun years ago).
But obviously this year—and every year that stretched ahead of us—was going to be different, and a mild panic set in among Lucy’s inner circle the week before she turned thirty-three. We all knew we couldn’t begin to fill her mother’s shoes, but we wanted to at least try to get things right.
Lucy, however, was adamant that she didn’t want to celebrate this birthday. When I pushed back, she pointed out that I hadn’t wanted a fuss this year either. I refrained from enumerating some key differences, including the fact that I had
never
been big on birthdays, and that she had about five times more close friends than I did, including all the girls at her shop, her sorority sisters from UT, the wives of Neil’s friends, and her fellow mommy friends. Instead I said, “We at least went to lunch for my birthday. And you gave me beautiful gifts—even though I told you not to get me anything this year.”
“Gifts from my shop. Unwrapped. That hardly counts.”
“Of course it
counts.
I
love
that wrap dress—and the chandelier earrings are gorgeous.” Buying clothes
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