Chapter 23 - Lorraine’s Chair
After Lorraine died, Corey gave Grace one piece of furniture.
The dining chair Lorraine always used.
Grace stared.
“Why would I want that?”
Corey laughed.
“Exactly.”
Then:
“Grandma left it to nobody. I thought you might.”
Grace asked me.
I hated that chair.
She sat there the night of kitchen assault.
Pointed.
Encouraged.
Not same kitchen table? Yes.
The chair had been in Lorraine’s home originally? Wait kitchen scene in upscale family kitchen likely our home, Lorraine maybe her chair? Could be ours. But after house sale, Corey took some furniture. Let's say it was Lorraine's high-backed chair she insisted on bringing to our house, later she kept. Fine.
Grace said:
“I kind of want it.”
“Why?”
“To reupholster.”
I laughed.
She chose bright yellow fabric.
The chair became reading chair.
No ritual.
No label.
One day I sat.
Nothing happened.
Good.
Then Grace became nurse practitioner in maternal health.
She did not choose because of me alone.
She liked women’s health.
Corey attended graduation.
I did.
Denise.
Tasha.
One group photo.
No Lorraine.
Her pearls on Grace.
Then Grace got engaged to Jordan Ellis, a physical therapist.
She told him trust history.
Prenup.
Independent lawyers.
No drama.
Corey said:
“Good.”
Then stopped himself.
“What?”
Grace smiled.
“You were about to give advice.”
He laughed.
“I’m learning.”
At wedding, Corey walked Grace halfway? She had decision. She asked both parents? Maya and Corey? Could be. Grace chose to walk herself with both parents meeting at front? Let's make she walked with me and Corey on either side for first part, then alone last steps. Symbolic but not too cheesy.
She told us:
“I want both of you. Then I want to walk the last part myself.”
Perfect.
Corey cried.
I cried.
We did.
No one gave her away.
At reception, Jordan’s mother asked if she could help plan holiday.
Grace said:
“We’ll decide.”
I smiled.
No inherited obligation.
Then Corey approached.
“Maya.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for letting me be there.”
I shook head.
“Grace invited you.”
He smiled.
“Right.”
Good.
Even gratitude redirected to right person.
Then we danced separately.
No romance.
No nostalgia pulling.
I looked at man I once loved.
He had aged.
Changed.
Still responsible.
No desire to rewrite.
Then Tasha whispered:
“You okay?”
May you like
“Yes.”
Actually yes.
