Chapter 11 - NOAH DIDN’T WANT HIS MOTHER TO WIN
Noah opened the April letter early.
Nobody told him not to.
He used one brass token.
Emily had written:
If you’re opening this before April, congratulations. You have already ignored my schedule.
Noah laughed.
Then:
Good. It’s yours.
He read the rest alone.
Richard waited downstairs.
When Noah came into the kitchen, Richard asked:
“How was it?”
Noah shrugged.
Richard almost asked more.
Stopped.
Noah noticed.
“Mom said I should try sushi.”
Richard blinked.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
A pause.
“But that part’s funny.”
Richard smiled.
“Want sushi?”
“Maybe.”
They ordered it that Friday.
No ceremony.
No memorial dinner.
Just bad attempts with chopsticks.
That ordinary night mattered.
But Noah’s anger remained.
One evening he asked:
“Did Mom know about Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Would she hate her?”
Richard considered the question.
“I don’t know.”
Noah frowned.
“You always know what Mom would think.”
Richard flinched.
He had done that constantly.
Mom would want you to study.
Mom would hate this haircut.
Mom would be proud.
Sometimes harmless.
Sometimes control dressed as memory.
“You’re right.”
Noah stared.
“I shouldn’t speak for her.”
“Then stop.”
“I will.”
Two weeks later, Vanessa requested a supervised meeting with Noah through the therapist.
Richard asked him.
Noah said no.
Richard accepted it.
Then Noah changed his mind three days later.
The meeting lasted twenty minutes.
Vanessa apologized for the photograph.
For mocking his grief.
For making him feel that loving Emily threatened her.
Then she said:
“I was angry because I thought your mom was winning.”
Noah looked confused.
“She’s dead.”
Vanessa nodded.
“I know.”
“That’s dumb.”
Vanessa almost laughed.
“Yes.”
Noah stared at her.
Then:
“I don’t want Mom to win.”
Vanessa looked surprised.
“I don’t want you to win either.”
Another pause.
“I don’t want it to be a contest.”
Vanessa began crying.
Noah did not comfort her.
He left.
Later he told Richard:
“I don’t know if I like her.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t hate her either.”
“That’s okay.”
Noah looked toward the locked cabinet containing Emily’s letters.
“I think Mom would say—”
He stopped himself.
Then smiled.
“No.”
Richard waited.
May you like
“I think I get to say.”
That was the change Emily had actually wanted.
