For months, my son’s new wife had treated every trace of his late wife as though it needed to disappear. I stayed silent to preserve the peace – until karma decided to interrupt her housewarming.
On the afternoon of the housewarming, I came in through the side door carrying a tray of my lemon bars and froze in the entryway.
Every bit of color I remembered had vanished.
The drawings that once lined the hallway, the crocheted afghan, the framed picture of Ivy wearing her sunflower dress. Everything was gone. Now the house was white on white on white.
I reminded myself that it was only a house. Chloe, my son’s new wife, had every right to decorate it however she pleased.
Still, there was one part of the house I desperately hoped she hadn’t changed.
Every color I remembered was gone.
Chloe stood in the center of the living room with her shoulder pressed against the arm of a long white couch, inching it across the rug toward the bay window.
“Marlene. You’re early.”
“I said I’d help set up.”
Without stopping, she continued pushing. The couch scraped across the floor before landing with a soft thud against the far wall, directly beneath the window.
