still have my boss-lady moments, even down here in Louisiana, but Lulu deserves better than I’ve given her lately. She needs a new voice. Someone young and talented who has her finger on the pulse of the dating world. Someone fresh, but most important, someone who is as excited as I was when I first started the company. The day I chose Mom, I asked Fern to start vetting potential replacements, and since then she’s sent me videos by the dozen. No matches yet, so the guest blogging will have to continue for now.
Five days after the neurologist appointment, I force myself to pull a wardrobe steamer trunk from the attic. The canvas is torn and the locks are broken. The only thing holding it closed is a cracked leather buckle. It isn’t easy, but I drag it downstairs. It thumps each step of the way, and a yellowed lace sleeve escapes through a crack. I fear the whole thing will bust apart before I get to the parlor.
Raphael hangs upside down from the grand chandelier in the entry. It’s been cleaned and rewired, so there is no danger of electrocution. Sometimes I have to remind myself that that’s a good thing. “Shake your tail feathers,” he squawks.
That’s tame compared to some things that come out of him. Since the day Simon made him talk, the bird hasn’t shut up. I’d like to blame Jasper for Raphael’s potty beak, but he’s added a few more words to his lexicon, courtesy of Patricia Jackson.
“Tony’s an asshole.”
Okay, maybe me too.
I’m breathing hard by the time I finally slide the trunk into the front parlor. Lindsey looks up from rubbing her belly. “Are you okay?” she asks while practicing her who-who breathing. She’s been doing that a lot lately, saying she has to practice so she won’t forget to breathe while she’s pushing out Frankie.
“I’m fine,” I grunt while tugging at the trunk.
“What’s going on?” Mom asks as she enters behind me, wringing her hands. She’s remembered her lipstick, a rich cabernet that complements her chartreuse dress. Just below her knees, she’s pulled on her beige support socks and white orthopedic shoes. “Did Tony bring that?”
“Tony’s an asshole,” Raphael chimes in.
Mom gasps like always and lectures Raphael on the evils of curse words. I don’t even bother to point out her hypocrisy because she’d just shrug.
“I thought you might want to look inside this old trunk,” I tell her once she finishes her reprimand.
“What’s in it?” Mom stops beside me and stills her hands.
I have a notion of what’s inside, but I’m not sure. The buckle finally gives way, and I push the two halves apart. Clothes tumble out and fill the air with the smell of musty old fabric, mothballs, and dust.
Mom puts one hand on the trunk as she reaches for an enormous deep blue hat with a broken ostrich feather and smashed rosettes. She puts it on her head, and I tie the wide ribbon into a bow by the side of her face like she’s Scarlett O’Hara. “I love a good hat,” she says, and prances around laughing. I take a picture of her in her very large “good hat” and deep red lipstick. “What’s that?” She points to the yellowed sleeve, and it turns out to belong to a wadded-up dress with streaks of orange discoloration on the lace and satin. She wants to try it on, but I can tell without even holding it up that it’s too small. Instead, Lindsey and I get her into a green-and-yellow-striped skirt and matching jacket with balloon sleeves.
“Put that on, Lou.” Mom points a red parasol at the lacy dress, seemingly unable to let it go.
I really don’t want to. The dress is yellowed and scratchy and smells like mothballs and old trunk, with just a hint of burnt starch. MISS LILLIAN SUTTON ON HER WEDDING DAY is embroidered on a silk tag. “This belonged to Grandmother. It’s her wedding dress.”
Mom looks up from a box of gloves. “It’s not white.”
It used to be. I shake out the mess of a dress, and light from the window picks up tiny glass beads and seed pearls hand-sewn into the lace. This is the dress that Grandmother wore at her first wedding, to my grandfather Louis.
Mom orders me to put it on again, and I reluctantly strip to my underwear and pull the stiff fabric over my head. A row of silk buttons runs halfway down my spine, but the fabric loops