Page 93 - NS 2024

her face on Christmas cards.
We all grew up, and I suppose we were unable to translate our magical kingdoms of
childhood into our real lives.
I never pictured the circumstances of our reunion to be a funeral, especially not our
mother’s. e stories we created as children never involved parents, but as I was sitting in those church pews, I wished we had draed our mother outside with us and forced her to feel the grass beneath her feet as well.
As the funeral came to a close, our father ushered me and Owen over to him. He cleared his throat, looking between the two of us. “Your mother, um... she asked me to give you these letters.” “ere’s three letters there,” Owen pointed out. Even though we were at a funeral, I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Leave it to Owen to point out the obvious.
“Yes,” My father said. “is last one is for Sienna.”
“Sienna?” I asked.
“Sienna?” Owen echoed, though his tone was dierent. He said the name as if he didn’t
recognize it. I suppose I’d never thought much about their connection. Perhaps Owen never looked for Sienna’s face in our Christmas cards.
“Our old neighbor,” Our dad claried.
My brother’s eyebrows folded inward in confusion. “Why would our mom give a letter to some girl who used to play in our backyard?”
“Owen, she was at our house nearly every day,” Our dad said, sounding oended for Sienna’s sake. He looked between the two of us again and then handed Sienna’s letter to me. I supposed I should make sure Sienna got her letter before she le. People were already on their way out, coming up to us, giving us their parting words of remorse.
“Sienna!” I called out. She turned around, almost surprised.
I hadn’t come up to her yet. I suppose it was technically Sienna who didn’t present herself to me, since that’s the code of conduct at a funeral, to oer your presence to those most directly related to the object of grief. I didn’t know how to process everyone’s remorse. ey were all apologizing to me as if it was their fault that my mother had died.
“Everly,” She replied. “I’m sorry about your-” She stopped short, staring at the letter in my hand. “You wrote me a letter?”
“It’s from my mother.”
She seemed even more surprised than me and Owen had been. “Did she write all of her funeral guests a letter?”
“No,” I replied. “I mean, I don’t think so. My dad only gave letters to me, Owen, and you. I haven’t opened mine yet.”
“Should we have a letter-opening party then?” She asked. Owen certainly wouldn’t opt for any parties.