My grandmother died on my nineteenth birthday. Right when I rushed in to show her the blueberry pie I had finally managed to bake on my own.
She was sitting by the window like always. Sitting exactly the same way. The blanket still resting across her knees.
“Grandma?” My smile faded as I stepped closer. “Hey… don’t do this.”
I touched her hand.
Cold.
“No. No, no, no… you’re joking, right?”
I don’t remember calling for help. I only remember sitting on the floor, clutching her dress — as if letting go would make her disappear completely.
People arrived. Voices filled the house. Someone kept repeating my name, as though I were somewhere far away.
“SHE’S GONE, SWEETHEART,” A WOMAN SAID GENTLY.
“No, she’s just tired. Sometimes she does this.”
But she didn’t.
A few hours later, I sat in the kitchen with Mrs. Kline, our neighbor, whose purple perfume was so strong it made my head ache. She kept trying to hold my hand, as if she needed reassurance that I was still there.
“Oh, Emma…” she sighed. “I can’t believe Lorna is gone. She was everything to you.”
“She still is,” I said, staring at the pie I never got to show her.
Mrs. Kline nodded and wiped at her eyes. “I remember when she brought you home. You were so tiny. Seven years old, holding onto her coat like you were afraid the world would steal her away.”
“The world had already taken everything from her.”
“BUT SHE NEVER LET YOU FEEL THAT,” MRS. KLINE SAID QUIETLY.
I let out a small laugh. “She didn’t give me a choice.”
Mrs. Kline leaned forward. “And that was true. But things are different now.”
I already knew where she was going before she said it.
“Emma, have you thought about the house?” she asked carefully. “It’s too much for a young girl. Bills, repairs… your whole life is ahead of you. College, work…”
“I’m not selling it,” I cut in.
“I didn’t say you had to sell it…”
“You didn’t have to. People always say it.”
MRS. KLINE SIGHED AND FOLDED HER HANDS. “YOUR GRANDMOTHER DIDN’T LEAVE ANY OTHER INHERITANCE, DID SHE?”
“No. Just the house.”
“Then it’s okay to let it go,” she said softly. “That doesn’t mean you’re letting her go too.”
“Yes, it does,” I snapped. “That house is the only thing left of her.”
“Houses like that don’t keep their value forever, Emma. Give it a few years and no one will want it. It’ll become something you can’t afford.”
“I’d rather stay there than be alone,” I said quietly.
That stopped her for a moment. My eyes drifted toward the hallway. Toward Grandma’s room.
Mrs. Kline followed my gaze. “You need something to wear to the service. Look through her things. Lorna kept beautiful dresses.”
I DIDN’T LIKE THE WAY SHE SAID IT. BUT I STOOD UP ANYWAY.
Grandma’s room felt colder now. As if it had already forgotten she had ever existed.
I slowly opened the closet, breathing in her familiar scent. For a moment, it felt like she was still there, ready to scold me for snooping where I shouldn’t.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered. “Privacy matters.”
I pushed aside a few dresses and stopped. At the very back hung a garment bag I had never seen before.
Carefully, I pulled it out and unzipped it. Inside was a soft blue dress.
“No way…”
I lifted it, the fabric slipping through my hands as though it didn’t belong in this house at all.
“THIS IS THE PROM DRESS…” I WHISPERED. “YOU REALLY KEPT IT ALL THIS TIME.”
I held it against myself in front of the mirror. It fit almost perfectly.
Behind me, Mrs. Kline appeared in the doorway. “Oh, that dress.”
“You’ve seen it before?”
“Once,” she said. “A long time ago. She never let anyone touch it.”
I turned back toward the mirror. “I’m wearing this to the funeral.”
Mrs. Kline noticed immediately. “It’ll need a little tailoring. I know someone wonderful — very skilled with vintage pieces.”
“Okay.”
SHE SMILED, A LITTLE TOO SWEETLY. “I’LL WRITE DOWN THE ADDRESS.”
I didn’t notice the way her fingers tightened around the paper. Or how the scent of her perfume grew stronger when she leaned closer.
All I could think about was the dress — and how, if I wore it, maybe it would feel like my grandmother was still here.
