Chapter 15 - The Opening by the Hydrangeas
We walked back to the chair by the hydrangeas because Dad said we needed to finish where we started. His hand stayed light on my back, not pushing, just there. The marble felt cold through my shoes again and the chandelier buzzed low over everything. The blue flowers looked too big up close, the way they had at the start of the night when Caleb and I had picked that spot to wait.
Mom followed a few steps behind us. She didn't try to get in front. Her heels clicked slower than before. I could hear her breathing even out.
Dad sat down on the edge of the gold-trim chair and set the box on his knee. The beige paper was dented on one corner where my thumb had pressed it all night, and the white bow had loosened. He didn't pull at it. He looked at me.
"Can I open it now?" he asked. "Only if you say yes."
I nodded before he finished. My throat was dry from crying. "Yes."
Caleb moved closer to me, shoulder to shoulder. He wasn't standing in front of me anymore. He was just next to me. Mom stopped on my other side and folded her hands. Nobody from the ballroom was watching us now. The servers had gone the other way with their trays, and the music sounded far off behind the doors.
Dad undid the bow slowly. He slid one finger under the tape instead of tearing it. The paper came back clean. Inside, the tissue I'd folded that afternoon at the kitchen table was still tucked the way I'd left it. He lifted it.
Underneath was the rock I'd painted for him.
It wasn't smooth or store-perfect. It was the gray one I'd found by the school parking lot, washed in the bathroom sink. I'd painted one side dark blue like his suit jacket and written DAD in white craft paint with a thin brush. The letters leaned. On the back I'd glued a little cut-out star from Caleb's old spelling sheet because I didn't have gold paint. The glue had dried in a ridge.
Dad held it in his palm like it weighed something. He turned it over once, then again. He didn't laugh. His beard moved when he swallowed.
"You made this for the gala?" he asked.
I picked at the tissue in the box. "You said you had to give a speech and you were nervous. I wanted you to put it in your pocket. For luck."
Caleb added, quiet, "She wouldn't let me carry it. She said she'd mess it up if she didn't hold it."
That was true. I'd held that box through the whole foyer fight because if I set it down someone would step on it or take it to the coat table and I'd lose the one job I'd given myself.
Dad closed his fingers around the rock. Then he opened his jacket and slipped it into his inside chest pocket and patted it flat. "There," he said. "Right where I need it."
My eyes burned again, but not the same way. No tears came. My breathing finally slowed down without me having to think about it.
Mom knelt down then. Her green dress pulled tight at the knee. She didn't reach for the box or for me right away. She looked at the empty paper in Dad's hands.
"I'm sorry I told you to stop crying like that," she said. Her voice was low. "I was scared those donors would see you upset and think I couldn't handle my own kids at my own event. That's not your fault."
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. Caleb nodded too, smaller.
Dad stood up and handed me the empty box and the bow. "Want to keep the wrapping?" he asked. "You did a good job on it."
I took it and held it to my chest again, but lighter this time. It didn't feel like armor anymore.
May you like
He put one hand on Caleb's shoulder and one back on mine. "Let's get out of this foyer," he said. "Speech is in twenty minutes, and I want water and my two good-luck kids near the stage."
We started toward the side hallway together. Caleb matched my steps. Mom walked with us, a half-step behind at first, then even with us by the time we passed the hydrangeas. The flowers brushed my sleeve and dropped a tiny blue petal on the marble. I didn't pick it up. I just kept walking out with them, the box empty, my dad's pocket full.
