Taz is leaning against my truck when her parents and I walk out of the funeral home forty minutes later.
“Did you get it worked out?” she asks, looking at her mother.
“Friday. I need to find her something to wear and drop it off tomorrow.” Sarah seems a little at a loss.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Taz’s eyes dart to me. “I mean, if it’s is okay with you, of course. I was going to suggest it might be nice to let Sofie pick clothes for her mom. Perhaps Spencer could pick some jewelry for her to wear.”
I swallow hard, moved she thought of something that hadn’t even occurred to me: giving the kids a chance to do one last special thing for their mother.
“Nicky would like that,” I confirm before turning to her parents. “Mom? Dad?”
Ed nods, managing only the barest of smiles at his daughter as he battles his emotions.
“She would,” Sarah says softly, glancing at Taz before she puts an arm around her husband and flashes a sad smile at me. “I should take Dad home. It’s been a long morning.”
It’s silent in the truck when we head out to pick up the children. I occasionally glance over at Taz to gauge her mood, but she seems miles away. When I pull up alongside the curb in front of Kathleen and Brent’s place, I reach over and put a hand on her arm.
“You okay?”
She blinks her eyes a few times before focusing them on me. “I’m not sure,” she answers surprising me with her honesty. “I feel…hollow. Numb. I keep waiting for the moment it’ll all hit me. It’s like holding my breath in anticipation of a huge wave I know will crash over me, and there’s nothing for me to hold onto. I’m afraid it’ll drown me.”
Before I can react, she’s pulled away from me, has the door open, gets out of the truck, and starts walking toward the house. I scramble to catch up.
Kathleen, who must’ve seen us pull up, has the door open before we climb up her steps. She immediately pulls Taz into a hug.
“And?” she asks over Taz’s shoulder, her red-rimmed eyes pinning me.
“Friday noon at the United Methodist. Interment immediately after, and since there won’t be visitation, Sarah suggested we do coffee and sandwiches in the church hall after to give people a chance to pay their respects.”
“I can help with that,” Kathleen offers, letting go of her friend before turning to me for a kiss on the cheek.
“Give Sarah a call,” I suggest, noting Taz is quiet again.
“I will. Come in, the kids are watching cartoons.”
Spencer is curled up in a corner of the couch, Kathleen’s husky beside him with her big head on my son’s leg. Sofie is on the other side, but jumps up when she sees us come in.
“Hey, Pipsqueak.”
She wraps her arms around my hips and I lean down to kiss the top of her head. “Did you see her?”
“Not today. We get to say goodbye on Friday.”
“Us too?” she asks, looking up at me.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and cup her cheek. She’s the spitting image of her mother and my heart breaks to see her hurting.
“If you want.”
Taz
Spencer is done in two seconds.
He picked a necklace that was hanging off the dressing table in the master bedroom. It looks like hand-painted pasta, enhanced with copious amounts of glitter. He proudly confirms he made it for his mom last Christmas.
I half expect Sofie to say something derogatory—if her expression was anything to go by—but she bites her tongue. She does however roll her eyes when her brother disappears downstairs to play.
“Now you,” I encourage her. “Anything you want.”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, suddenly demure. “What if I get it wrong?”
I grab her hand and pull her down to sit beside me on the edge of the bed. “You couldn’t even if you tried. There is no wrong choice. There are no wrong reasons. The only thing that matters is you pick something you feel would be right.”
“Does it have to be a dress?” she asks.
“Nope. It can be anything. Something that reminds you of a fun time you guys had, something that looked really pretty on her, maybe something that still smells like her.”
She gets up and hesitantly opens the door to the walk-in closet. A heavy weigh settles on my chest as she steps in, running her fingers along my sister’s impressive collection.
She always liked pretty things, followed the latest fashion trends. Unlike me. My main criteria still is clothes have to be clean, comfortable, and durable. My entire wardrobe fits in my duffel bag, which still sits on the floor in the corner of the spare bedroom. In the morning I just grab in there blindly for something clean to wear.
I never give much thought to what I put on, something that used to drive my mother crazy. It probably still does.
Sofie comes out of the closet, carrying a pile of clothes in her arms and dumps them on the bed.
“It’s hard,” she announces, biting her lip.
“Do you want help?” Instead of answering, she nods. I spread the clothes out over the bed and step back, pointing at a navy, formfitted dress with three-quarter sleeves. The tag still attached. “What made you pick that?”
The girl shrugs. “Because she never had a chance to wear it and blue was her favorite color.”
“Fair enough. How about that?” I point out the pale pink, floral summer dress.
“She looks pretty in that dress.”
I note how my niece talks about her mother both in past and present tense. Something I’ve caught myself doing as well. “I can see that. It’s a very pretty dress.”
During our conversation, Sofie hasn’t stopped stroking the last outfit on the bed. A pair of dark gray lounge pants, a black ribbed tank, and a matching gray, fuzzy hoodie.
“Can you tell me about that outfit?”
She picks up the sleeve of the hoodie and puts it to her nose, tears filling her eyes. “It smells like her. She’d wear it around the house, and I’d like to snuggle with her: the hoodie is really soft.”
I reach over and pick up the sweater, rubbing the material against my cheek before giving it a good sniff. “You’re right. It smells and feels like her.” I try to smile at her through my own tears. “In which one do you think your mom would be happiest?”
“That one.”
As I expected, she points at the hoodie I’m holding and I pull her into a hug. Nicky’s sweater is caught in the middle, her scent drifting up around us.
“Perfect choice.”
Rafe is at the bottom of the stairs when we come down and takes the garment bag for Nicky from my hands.
“I see you found something.” He smiles at his daughter. “Good. Check in with your brother, he wanted to draw a picture for Mom. He’s at the kitchen table. Maybe you’d like to do one too?” She doesn’t answer but takes off for the kitchen. “I thought maybe they’d like to leave something with her,” he says, his eyes on Sofie’s retreating back.
“Good idea.” His eyes come to me and I suddenly feel awkward, a little unsure. “I hope you don’t mind, Sofie asked what she should wear for Friday, and I helped her pick something out.”