Chapter 6 - The Bow That Would Not Stay
I hadn't realized how hard I was holding the box until my fingers started to ache.
We were in the alcove by then, tucked just off the main foyer where the chandelier light didn't reach all the way. The wall was cool against my back. The hydrangeas were still visible past the woman's shoulder, too blue and too big, and the gold chair sat empty where I'd left it. My breathing sounded loud to me, short in and short out through my nose because I didn't want to make a sound.
The woman in green stood too close. I could see the pearl in her ear catch the light when she turned her head. She wasn't looking at my face anymore. She was looking down.
"You're crushing it," she said, low.
I looked down too. The white satin bow on top had slipped. One loop had pulled half-flat and the tails were crooked from where my thumbs had pressed into them all evening. A corner of the beige paper was dented in from my grip. I tried to fix it without letting go, shifting my fingers one at a time, and that only made the loose loop slide more.
My name is Emma. I was seven that night, and that box was the only reason I'd asked to come downstairs.
Dad had told us to stay up in the side hallway until the speeches started. I'd carried the box down myself because I didn't want to leave it in the coat room. I'd wrapped it at the kitchen table that afternoon with the paper from the craft drawer, folding the edges twice so they'd line up. Caleb had held the tape while I cut. It wasn't store paper. You could see the crease lines where I'd refolded it three times to get it straight.
The woman reached out.
It wasn't fast. She just lifted her hand like she was going to smooth the bow back into place, her fingers aimed at the top knot. I flinched before I could stop myself and pulled the box in tighter against my pink dress.
"Don't," Caleb said.
He was still in front of me, half a step to the side so his shoulder blocked her hand. His white shirt was wrinkled at the back from where he'd been leaning against the wall. He didn't look up at her face. He looked at her hand, and then he moved his arm out a little wider.
"You'll make it worse," he said. His voice shook at the end.
The woman stopped with her hand in the air. For a second nobody moved. I could hear music coming from the ballroom doors, muffled, and somebody laughing too loud. The man in the dark suit was standing just behind her to the right, close enough now that I could see his beard and the knot of his tie. He hadn't said anything since he'd walked up. He just watched.
I tried to breathe slower and tuck the loose loop back with one finger. The satin was slippery. It wouldn't stay. Every time I let go to press the other side, the first side lifted again. A hot feeling climbed up my neck because she was watching me fail at it.
"Let me just—" she started.
"No," Caleb said. He didn't raise his voice. He stepped in another inch, so his elbow was right over the top of the box without touching it, making a little roof. "Don't touch her."
He'd said it before, out in the open foyer. This time it came out quieter, tired. He glanced back at me for half a second, checking, and I nodded without looking up.
The man shifted his weight. His shoes made a soft sound on the marble. He bent down a little, not all the way to our level, but enough that his eyes were on the box and not on us.
I thought he was going to tell Caleb to move. Instead he tilted his head.
"Where'd you get that paper?" he asked.
It took me a moment to understand he was talking to me. His voice wasn't sharp like hers. It was even, like he was actually asking.
I swallowed. My throat felt tight from crying and trying not to cry.
"At home," I said. My voice came out small. "From the drawer."
He looked at the uneven edge along the bottom where the tape showed through, at the dent my thumb had left, at the bow I'd tied myself that kept coming loose. Something in his face changed. Not a smile. Just a pause, his eyes staying a beat too long on the wrapping.
The woman turned toward him. "It's falling apart," she said. "If a donor sees—"
May you like
He lifted one hand, just slightly, and she stopped.
The bow slipped again and one tail draped over my wrist. I caught it against my chest and held still, afraid if I moved it would come undone completely. The box was still closed. The paper was still whole. But I could feel how close it was to looking ruined, and I kept my hands locked around it so nobody else could try to fix it.
