Memory Documentation

chapter twenty | documenting the greatest gift of all

Clear blue skies juxtaposed the mood of the hotel room the next morning. For how bright and vivid the world may have looked, I felt numb on the inside. I gazed blankly at my reflection in the desk's small mirror. I didn't own many black pieces of clothing, so Marissa lent me one of hers, a black mid-length dress with flowy mesh sleeves. My hair, grown nearly to the curve of my waist now, hung loose and straight, and I almost regretted not braiding it into my natural braid. My braid gave me something to fidget with. My fingers found their backup plan: the pearls of Evellyn's necklace. I squeezed them tight and looped my finger around the chain.

From my view in the mirror, I could see Jessica sitting on the floor in front of another mirror, straightening her own hair. Her makeup bag lay a few feet away, some of the products strewn across the floor. She'd tried to put some on earlier but had removed it all again when she fell into a bout of crying and tossed it to the side.

I could barely stand to look at her without my eyes starting to blur with tears. It was so unseeming to see Jessica this way, but it was the reality of the moment. The grief I felt for losing Miss Sylvi paled in complete comparison to what Jessica must be feeling. She was Jessica's mother in every aspect other than blood, and now she was gone.

I went to kneel down beside her and wrapped my arms around her neck. She gave me a weak smile in the mirror and patted my arm. "With your hair down and straight like that, you look a lot like when we were in the orphanage," she said.

"You think so?" I shifted into sitting crossed legged, leaning my head against her shoulder as I observed the both of us in the mirror. My light brown hair to her blonde. My brown eyes to her turquoise ones. "Well, are you sure you're not seventeen still? You look as gorgeous as ever."

"I may not be seventeen anymore, but you almost are. And you're becoming more beautiful every day," Jessica responded, taking my hand. She squeezed it as her eyes went glassy. "I know I've been a weepy mess since we got here, but Reece said to me that we should remember that, even though we'll be mourning, we'll still be celebrating Sylvia's life – and the life she gave to so many of us."

I nodded in response.

Miss Sylvia's legacy is the ripple effect she started for us all when she gave each and every one of us at the orphanage a new life. I thought of my own and all the things that were possible because of her. Because of the wondrous new life that she gave me.

Some aspects of that wondrous life walked through the door, bearing coffee and breakfast. Chris and Reece both were dressed in similar dress shirts and suit jackets. I flushed as Chris greeted me with a kiss on the forehead and handed me a vanilla chocolate muffin. Reece and Jessica shared teasing glances with each other at the sight.

I think Reece might have woken up the guests in the rooms above, below, and beside us with the sheer volume of his celebration-yell when we told them that there may have been a shift in our relationship status. Jessica, on the other hand, had shrieked and hugged me as if we'd just announced our engagement. While the status of our relationship hasn't been officially defined (just officially muddled by a certain pool makeout session), we were definitely beyond the "just best friends" category. But Chris and I agreed that conversations of that were to be saved for a later date.

I was thankful for the extra element of strength given to me by the subtle gestures of affection exchanged between Chris and I. In the bathroom before we left, a wave of nausea hit me, and Chris offered to brush my hair as I leaned over the sink in case I needed to throw up. He kissed me on the way out of the hotel, reminding me that I was safe to cry at any time and that he was there to do whatever I needed him to. And on the car ride there, he held my hand tightly as I looked out the window, tears coming and going like waves, and my heart picking up speed with every passing streetlight.