My Sister Promised My Grandmother’s China to My Niece—Then Asked Why I Needed to Keep It at All
PART 10
Sunday afternoon, Diane arrived carrying a bakery box.
Erin opened the door.
“I thought this was a meeting, not a hostage exchange.”
“It’s coffee cake.”
“Those are often related.”
Diane almost smiled.
Sophie arrived five minutes later with no dish in her hands.
Erin noticed.
“You left it home?”
“Yes. Ben put potato salad in it yesterday.”
Erin stared.
“Already?”
“He said if it’s ours, we should use it.”
Diane’s face tightened.
Sophie saw it.
“Mom.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made a face.”
“I have a face.”
Erin pointed toward the dining room.
“Sit down before we establish a constitutional convention.”
They sat.
The blue-rimmed china was in the hutch behind Erin. She had considered putting the boxes on the table for effect and rejected the idea because she was not conducting a demonstration.
Instead there were three coffee mugs, the bakery box, and a plate from the set holding slices of coffee cake.
Diane looked at the plate.
“You’re using them now.”
“Yes.”
“For coffee cake.”
“That is what the cake requested.”
Sophie coughed into her mug.
Diane looked from one woman to the other.
“Fine. I’m clearly the humorless one today.”
“You’re not humorless,” Erin said. “You’re angry.”
“I am angry.”
“Good. Then we can use the correct noun.”
Diane folded her arms.
“I still think you handled the chest badly.”
Erin nodded.
“I know.”
“And I think there should have been a conversation before something Grandma gave you left the family.”
“Now there’s a conversation.”
“After.”
“Yes.”
“That’s convenient.”
“For me, yes.”
Diane’s eyes flashed.
Sophie said, “Can I say something before this becomes tennis?”
Both sisters looked at her.
She continued.
“I don’t want Mom planning what I inherit from Aunt Erin.”
Diane’s face changed.
“Sophie, I was never—”
“You were.”
“I was talking about family things.”
“I know. I still don’t want it.”
Diane looked hurt.
“You don’t want anything from your family?”
“That’s not what I said.”
Erin stayed quiet.
This was Sophie’s sentence.
Sophie touched the edge of her mug.
“I wanted Grandma’s vegetable dish because I remember it. Aunt Erin gave it to me because she wanted to. That feels good. Being told for ten years that eventually half of Aunt Erin’s house comes to Grace and me feels creepy.”
Diane winced.
“Creepy?”
“A little.”
“I was joking half the time.”
“Maybe. But I never knew which half.”
Diane looked at Erin.
“So now I have traumatized everybody with candlesticks.”
“No,” Erin said. “Do not make yourself ridiculous so we have to reassure you.”
Diane stared at her.
Erin had done exactly that for years.
She had rolled her eyes when Diane became dramatic, then supplied the softer version for both of them.
Not today.
Diane unfolded her arms.
“Fine. What do you want?”
Erin took a breath.
“I want you to stop making a future inventory of my home.”
“I don’t have an inventory.”
“You have categories.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is close enough.”
Diane opened her mouth.
Erin continued.
“I am keeping the china. I may use it until I’m ninety. I may break half of it. I may give Sophie another piece in five years. I may sell the teacups next month if I get tired of storing cups nobody can hold.”
Diane’s eyebrows rose.
“You would sell the teacups?”
“That is not the point.”
“It is a disturbing example.”
Sophie hid a smile.
Erin went on.
“The point is that none of those decisions are already made because I don’t have children.”
Diane looked down at the table.
“I never thought you weren’t allowed to decide.”
“You thought my decision had a correct answer.”
“I thought family things should stay in the family.”
“And if I choose to give something to Sophie, it does.”
“Yes.”
“If I sell something, it doesn’t.”
“Yes.”
“So we disagree.”
Diane looked almost offended by the simplicity.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You’re not going to convince me?”
“No.”
“What are we doing here then?”
“Changing who gets to decide.”
The room went quiet.
Erin disliked how polished the sentence sounded the moment it left her mouth. So she added, “Also eating coffee cake.”
Sophie laughed.
Even Diane smiled.
Erin reached for the box.
Diane did not.
After a moment, she said, “I keep thinking about Mom’s letters.”
“I know.”
“When Paula almost threw them away, it felt like if I didn’t pay attention, pieces of us would just vanish.”
Erin set a slice of cake on her plate.
“You saved the letters because they mattered to you.”
“They mattered to all of us.”
“Maybe. But you were the one who cared enough to save them.”
Diane looked up.
“That’s different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You chose a job because you wanted the result. You didn’t assign the job to somebody else because she had empty shelves.”
Sophie murmured, “That was good.”
Erin pointed her fork at her.
“Do not score us.”
Diane sighed.
“I thought you liked being the safe place.”
“For some things, I do.”
“You have the photo albums.”
“I want the photo albums.”
“The candlesticks?”
“I want the candlesticks.”
“The quilt?”
“It is on my bed, Diane.”
“I know.”
“The walnut desk?”
Erin paused.
“I like the desk.”
Diane looked relieved, which made Erin laugh.
“You really need at least one object to survive this meeting, don’t you?”
“I am trying.”
Erin leaned back.
“Here is what I am not doing. I am not giving you a list of everything I plan to keep so you can relax. I am not assigning Grace a backup category. I am not deciding now what happens to my house twenty or thirty years from now.”
Diane’s mouth tightened again.
“And if something happens to you unexpectedly?”
Erin considered the question.
It was practical, not entirely manipulative.
“Then whatever arrangements I choose to make later will matter. But this is not that conversation, and I’m not having it because you promised my dishes during a bridal shower.”
Diane nodded slowly.
Sophie looked at her mother.
“Can you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Stop telling us what Aunt Erin’s things will be someday.”
Diane took a long breath.
“I can stop saying it.”
Erin heard the distinction.
“That’s enough for now.”
Diane looked surprised.
“You don’t need me to agree?”
“I would prefer it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
Sophie smiled into her coffee.
Diane reached for a piece of cake.
They ate for a while.
No one reconciled beautifully.
Diane asked whether Erin had really sold the cedar chest to strangers.
Erin said yes.
Diane said she still hated that.
Erin said she knew.
Sophie asked if the new reading chair was comfortable.
“It arrives Tuesday.”
“Can I see it?”
“Yes.”
Diane shook her head.
“I cannot believe a chair replaced Grandma’s chest.”
Erin took another bite of cake.
“It didn’t.”
“What do you call it?”
“A chair.”
Sophie laughed so hard she had to put her mug down.
Diane tried not to laugh.
Then she did.
It was not forgiveness.
It was family, which was messier and more useful.
When they stood to leave, Erin opened the hutch.
Diane stiffened.
Erin took out the gravy boat.
“I don’t like this.”
Diane stared.
“Are you giving it to me?”
“No. I’m asking if you want it.”
“That sounds dangerously similar.”
“It is an offer. You may say no.”
Diane touched the handle.
“Why me?”
“Because you make gravy. I make something from a packet and call it efficient.”
Sophie said, “Mom makes terrifyingly serious gravy.”
Diane looked at Erin.
“Do you actually want me to have it?”
“Yes.”
Diane took the gravy boat.
“Then thank you.”
Erin closed the hutch.
One dish had gone to Sophie because of a memory.
One went to Diane because Erin knew she would use it.
The rest stayed.
There was no system.
Erin liked that best.
