Sadie shoved her feelings down into a quiet, dark place in her heart. A space that was getting far too full for her liking. But Gigi’s memorial dinner was not the time to let it all out.
“Hello?” Jake called from the front door. “I didn’t even knock,” he said as he came in the kitchen. “The door swung open on its own.” His face was adorably puzzled, and Sadie inwardly decided she’d go six months without greasing that dastardly door’s hinges.
He came bearing flowers and six bottles of wine and two of whisky. Once he’d set everything on the counter, he pulled Sadie into a hug that had her cheeks burning before she shooed him out of the kitchen and into the backyard with the kids.
Raquel hummed as she set the table, stopping every so often to squeeze Seth’s arm or give Sadie an apologetic look. She’d been banned from anything to do with fire and was relegated to stirring or pulling down ingredients. Seth and Uncle Steven set up extra tables, end to end, until they stretched into the living room, and the whole house was full to bursting with life and food and raucous laughter punctuated with fits of tears.
The kitchen grew warmer with people and heat from the oven and all burners going at once with steamed broccoli and creamed corn and a pot of noodles boiling away for marjoram and white pepper macaroni and cheese.
The fried chicken they saved for last, so it would be fresh and piping hot. The cornflakes crisping up in the grease was a sound that heralded empty stomachs to prepare for the feast. Sadie placed the last dish on the table and called everyone to eat.
A warm, heavy silence fell around the table, cocooning them in their memories and sorrow and gratitude for the woman who had brought them all together. She’d been their strength. And now they had to be hers. Her legacy etched into their souls. Sadie thought of how her dinners always fixed a bad day. The way she’d hang a new shirt in Sadie’s bedroom just because she thought she’d like it. And now, life was moving on in a strange new cadence.
It would take days and months and years yet for Gigi’s absence to feel normal. But as she looked around the dinner table, she realized that without Gigi’s love, none of them would be here. Her whole life had been about building a legacy. Not of magic. But of family. Because magic without family was nothing, but family with love was everything.
Without wanting to, Sadie tapped her glass with a knife, and everyone fell silent. She thought about standing but wasn’t sure her legs would support her.
“I won’t make a whole speech, because Gigi would have hated it.” Everyone laughed. “But I will say this. Gigi had a lot of rules about life.” She had to stop as her throat clogged up. She found Seth’s eyes amid the sea of people. He nodded slightly and somehow it filled her with courage. She cleared her throat. “But here’s to my favorite. Rule number five.” She raised her glass. “‘A legacy without love ain’t worth a damn, sugar.’”
All around the table, glasses of wine and pomegranate juice and lemon water went up as everyone echoed, “To rule number five.”
That was the kind of legacy she wanted to pass down. And as her curse pressed in on her, it seemed further away than the sun from the moon.
As the evening wore on, Gail and her children all left, trailing curiosity and the scent of cherry cheese pie.
Suzy tried to help with dishes, but Sadie shooed her off, demanding she relax for once. Brian, Jake, and John were playing freeze tag with kids, chasing them from the garden to the front yard and back again. And when Florence silently started loading the dishwasher, Sadie didn’t stop her. They worked in a comfortable silence, listening to the children shriek and giggle through the open window over the sink.
“They’re all crazy about you, you know,” Florence said as she wiped down the counters. “I see the way everyone looks at you. You’ve got that something special the way mom did. The ability to pull everyone together and keep them there.”
“Thanks.” Sadie smiled, feeling for the first time in a long while that maybe her future wouldn’t be filled with an empty house and occasional holiday gatherings. Sure, there’d be a neighbor through the woods that held her heart, even though she could never hold his, but she had the town, her café, her family.
“Listen, I know you don’t really want me here. I know it feels like I abandoned you. It was my own dumbass choices that got us here. I hope one day you’ll understand how hard it was for me to leave you.” Her voice grew thicker as she spoke, until she stopped altogether.