Before I knew it, two men from a moving company walked into the house.
“I’m taking the furniture. And those expensive plates and vases.
I’m going to sell them.”
“Gran will never forgive you for this,” I said simply, sitting down on the couch.
“Gran is long gone, Teresa. It’s time to move on. And don’t try to contest the will,” he said.
“Gran would have given everything to me. I can’t wait to give Rose her watch. My mother would absolutely want her first-born granddaughter to have it.”
I pulled my sleeve down, hoping that Craig wouldn’t see the watch.
I wasn’t going to hand it over. No way. But at the same time, I didn’t want to entertain Craig.
He could take everything else.
A few months had passed since I left my grandmother’s house for the last time. Life had resumed its usual rhythm, or at least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.
The watch stayed on my wrist, its weight a constant reminder of her. Some days, I caught myself holding it, brushing my thumb over the inscription as if I could summon her voice.
One evening, I made myself a cup of tea, Gran’s favorite chamomile blend, and curled up on the sofa with a blanket.
The unfinished sock from her house now sat on my coffee table, neatly placed in a small knitting basket.
I picked up the knitting needles, my fingers still clumsy and awkward with the motions. She’d tried to teach me once, years ago, but I’d been too impatient to sit still.
“One day you’ll see,” she’d said with a knowing smile. “That knitting is like life.
You just keep going, one stitch at a time.”
One stitch at a time.
Source: amomama
