“I am. I miss you, actually.”
“I miss you too. If I didn’t have to help my dad this weekend, I’d be lying in bed with you, instead of lying in the bathtub thinking about you.”
“You’re thinking about me?” I ask, feeling both shocked and happy to hear so.
“I’m thinking how I may never have sex without a fur coat again.”
“Does that mean I succeeding in making you love it?”
“You did. Just thinking about it gets me all hot and bothered.”
“When can I see you again?”
“When will you be back?”
“Sunday night.”
“Hmmm,” she says. “Okay, well, I could probably pencil you in for Thursday of next week.”
“Oh, uh, okay,” I say, trying not to sound as dejected as I feel.
“I’m teasing you, Dawson. Why don’t you come to my house when you get back. I’ll text you the address.”
“I think I should take you out on a date.”
“I’ll have my chef make us dinner here, although it’s highly doubtful I’ll let you leave my bed.”
Saturday, October 4th
Vanessa’s dad’s house - Beverly Hills
VANESSA
My dad is downsizing. Moving from the big house I grew up in to a condo near his office. I can see why he wants to move. The upkeep on a house this size and age has been a pain for him and all he really wants to do is work and golf. Mostly, golf.
I’m helping him declutter the house to get it ready to go on the market. Apparently, a lot of the stuff he has is stuff from my youth. High school yearbooks. Prom favors. Clothes I didn’t think I could live without but have been without for the past ten years. He probably has my old stuffed animals. I’d bet he even has some of my mom’s stuff too.
My mom passed away when I was in kindergarten, so I don’t really remember her much. Since then, my dad’s always treated me like a grown up, teaching me to be self- sufficient and confident. We had a live-in housekeeper who cooked for us and picked me up from school, but he was home for dinner and to tuck me into bed almost every night.
Even though I don’t really want to waste a beautiful Saturday mucking through the attic, I want to help him.
When I show up at the door, I’m shocked that he’s already accomplished a lot.
“All I have left is this pile of your stuff.” He points toward the empty dining room.
“That’s it? What did you do with everything else?”
“I donated a lot. And I have a few things I’ve been meaning to give you.”
“Like what?”
He holds out a burled wood jewelry box. “This was your mother’s jewelry. I was going to give it to you when you got older, but then Bam bought you such amazing jewelry . . .”
I slowly open the box. Dad takes a ring out and holds it in front of me. This was her engagement ring. Just a chip, really, but we didn’t have much money back then. I always told her I’d buy her a bigger one someday.” I hold up a locket. It’s oval and scrolled, the silver tarnished. “That was her grandmother’s. There’s a picture of you inside from when you were a baby.”
I open it up and see my mother’s face next to my chubby baby one.
“You look a lot like her, Vanessa. She was beautiful.”
“You always said that all I got from you was your brains.”
Dad laughs. “Your mother was a lot prettier than I was, but she was smart as a whip too.”
I pick through other small jewelry items. A class ring. A sorority pin. A small diamond pendant. A pretty ruby ringed in diamonds.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, feeling overwhelmed.
“And, now for the boxes,” he says, pointing. “I have to run and drop off this paperwork, but I’ll be right back. Have fun!”
I quickly go through the boxes of clothes, laughing at how fashion has changed so much in a decade. So far, there isn’t anything I want to keep.
I open a box full of bikinis and shorts. I hold up a pair of cut-offs that I only wore to the beach with Keatyn. I wouldn’t have been caught wearing something so unrefined at school. I laugh at myself. I thought I was so cool. I slip my linen capris off and slide the shorts on. They are ratty, a little ripped, and fringed. I don’t know why I decide to keep them, but I take them off and set them next to the jewelry box. Next, I go through boxes of old stuffed animals, childhood gymnastics and piano recital ribbons, and am planning on getting rid of it all.
Buried in the bottom of a box of stuffed animals, I find a plain, wooden box. One I don’t recognize.
I open it and read a letter on the top.
My dearest Vanessa-
This letter is for when you get married.
I pull the rest of the papers out and open them, quickly realizing there are letters to me from my mother for all the big events in a girl’s life. For when you get your period. For when you have your first date. For when you lose your virginity. For when you graduate. For when you fall in love. For when you get married.