Chapter 26 - THE BOX
At seventeen, Ysella prepared to leave for college the following year.
Her room filled with boxes.
I froze in the doorway.
She noticed immediately.
“Dad.”
“I know.”
“They’re my boxes.”
“I know.”
“I’m packing myself.”
“I know.”
“You look like somebody died.”
“College.”
“Not death.”
“Debatable.”
She laughed.
Then picked up one box.
Placed it beside the door.
Exact movement.
My chest tightened.
She stared.
“Oh.”
There it was.
The old scene without violence.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
She set it down.
“Want me to use bags?”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“Boxes are allowed.”
Good.
We packed.
Books.
Clothes.
Art supplies.
Stuffed rabbit.
Yes.
Still.
“Bunny going college?”
“Obviously.”
“Bunny pays tuition?”
“No.”
“Freeloader.”
She smiled.
Drusilla came later.
Knocked.
Waited.
Ysella invited her in.
She stood among boxes.
The memory hit her too.
I saw it.
No one said anything for a minute.
Then Drusilla asked:
“Can I carry one?”
Ysella looked.
“That one.”
A small box.
Not heavy.
Drusilla picked it up.
Carried it downstairs.
No taking.
Helping.
Different verbs.
At dinner, Drusilla said:
“I used to think if I was not needed, I was not loved.”
Ysella answered:
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Yes.”
I laughed.
Then Drusilla:
“Your father still needs to learn that too.”
I objected.
Mara agreed with Drusilla.
Betrayal.
Family, apparently.
After Drusilla left, Ysella stood in the now half-empty room.
“Will you keep it?”
“No shrine.”
“Guest room?”
“Maybe office.”
“Good.”
“Can I come home?”
“Always.”
She looked at me.
“Even if room office?”
I understood the question beneath the joke.
“Yes.”
May you like
Home is not one bedroom.
That had taken us seventeen years to learn.
