“Since you started snooping,” she winked.
I let it go. I let everything go those days.
Later, I heard her on the phone in her bedroom, voice low through the thin wall.
“…I know it’s a lot to ask… she won’t say it, but she’s drowning… if there’s any way, any way…”
I pressed my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes.
“Who are you talking to?” I asked when she came out.
“Wrong number, sweetheart. Just a wrong number.”
“Nana.”
“Go to bed, Emily. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
I went to my room and stared at the cap and gown hanging on my closet door. The tassel swung gently in the draft, gold and useless.
In the kitchen, I heard the cookie tin open one more time. Then her voice, barely a whisper, meant for nobody but God and the envelope in her hands.
“Please. Just come home for her. Just once.”
I pulled the blanket over my head and pretended I hadn’t heard a thing.
The next morning, the kitchen smelled like burnt toast and old coffee. I pushed the plate away.
“I’m not going, Nana.”
She set down her cup slowly, as if her wrists hurt. They probably did.
“Emily…”
“There’s no point. Walking across a stage so an empty chair can stare back at me? No thanks.”
“Sweetheart.”
“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me. Please.”
She reached across the table and took my hand. Her skin felt like tissue paper.
“You worked four years for that diploma.”
“I worked four years for Mom and Dad to see it. They won’t.”
“I know.”
