Chapter 2 - What I Wrapped That Morning in Beige Paper
My name is Emma and I was seven that night, and I can still feel the tape sticking to my fingers.
That morning the kitchen was bright and too quiet. Mom had already left for the church parking lot to help set up tables, and Dad was on the phone in the hallway in his work voice. I sat at our apartment table with the good scissors I wasn't supposed to use without asking. I had taken a small box from my closet, the one my birthday watch had come in, and I was trying to make it look right.
I didn't have real wrapping paper. I found a sheet of beige packing paper in the drawer by the stove, the kind Mom saved from packages. I cut it too big twice and had to start over. My braids kept falling forward over my shoulders and getting in the way. I kept pushing them back. The white satin ribbon was from my Easter dress sash. I tied it three times before the bow sat flat on top.
Caleb stood across from me in his white button-down shirt, watching me mess with the corner. His dark pants were already on for the gala that night, and Mom had told him not to get them dirty. He leaned his elbows on the table.
"You gonna give it to him tonight?" he asked.
I nodded. I pressed my thumb hard on a fold so the paper wouldn't lift. "I want it to be just us. Not when people are looking."
He was quiet for a second. Then he said, "I'll help. We'll find him before the pictures."
That was our plan. It felt simple then. Dad had to stand on a stage and talk about the foundation and shake hands with donors. Caleb had heard Mom say there would be a foyer where guests waited. He told me we could catch Dad there, before he went into the ballroom, and I could hand him the box myself.
We rode downtown with the windows down. I held the box on my lap the whole way on the highway so it wouldn't slide. Caleb sat next to me and kept his hand near the edge of the seat so my elbow wouldn't bump the door. At the venue, a lady with a clipboard showed us where to stand and told us not to wander past the gold-trim chairs.
The foyer was colder than I expected. The marble floor clicked under my shoes. The chandelier threw warm light down over the cream walls, and to my left there was a big arrangement of blue hydrangeas, taller than me. I backed up beside that chair and held the box tight against my chest with both arms. I could hear music and voices coming from behind the closed ballroom doors.
Caleb stayed close. He kept looking toward the back doorway where the men in suits kept coming through. "When you see him, go fast," he whispered. "I'll be right here."
I nodded and swallowed. My throat felt tight. I wasn't crying yet. I was just trying to breathe slow so the bow wouldn't shake.
Then heels sounded on the marble from the right.
I saw the dark green dress first, three-quarter sleeves, then the red hair pulled back in a low bun and the small pearl earring catching the light. She wasn't looking at the flowers or the chairs. She was looking straight at me and the box in my hands.
She stopped a few feet away. Her mouth was a thin line. She glanced from my face down to the paper, to the ribbon I had retied that morning, and back up again.
May you like
Caleb shifted a half step forward, between us, without even thinking about it.
I tightened my arms around the box. It was supposed to be private. That was the whole point. And standing there in that bright foyer, I understood all at once that she had seen it before Dad ever could.
