No Love Allowed

Twenty-Six

Bringing in the mail after coming home from her new job at the art store two weeks later, Suzy kicked the front door closed with her heel. "Eomma!" she called as she looked through the bills and junk mail. She headed straight to the kitchen, then stopped. "Are you really cooking?"

"What?" Her mom waved a wooden spoon coated with sauce as she spoke, cheeky smile on her face. "Can't a mother do something nice for her daughter for a change?"

A genuine smile pulled on Suzy's lips. Ever since she had come home from the airport a mess, her mom had cut back on her work hours. She could be found at home more often. With Suzy's job at the art store, they would be able to make ends meet. Her boss knew some gallery owners who might be interested in looking at her paintings. Everything seemed to be looking up in her life - expect for one part.

She must have frowned, because her mother lowered the flame on the stove with a flick of her wrist and wrapped Suzy in her arms in seconds. She sank into the hug.

"Thanks, Eomma," she said.

"For what?"

"For everything."

"Oh, Suzy . . ." Her mom loved saying her name like a sigh. "You are the best thing that's ever happened in my life. Always remember that."

Heart warm, she hugged her mom tighter. Cutting back at work looked good on her. "You better get back to your cooking before you burn the house down."

Leaving the mail on the kitchen table, she moved toward her mom and froze at the doorway. A white box and a note on top of it lay on the bed. Her heart punched the wall of her chest. Her throat tightened. It couldn't be what she thought it was. It just couldn't.

Swallowing, she asked, "Eomma? What's that on my bed?"

"Oh! I completely forgot. That came for you today."

Slowly, like she was approaching something wild and dangerous, Suzy moved closer. She was afraid to blink; if she did, the package might disappear. Once she reached it, she ran a shaking hand over the edge of the box. The smooth texture of the lid seemed real enough under her fingers. She refused to smile. To hope. For all she knew, this was someone's idea of a sick joke.

Drawing a squiggly line over the lid toward the note with her fingertip, she picked up the paper and set it aside. Not yet. She couldn't bring herself to read what was written on the high-quality paper. Placing a hand on each side, she took a deep breath and lifted the lid. Delicate white tissue covered the contents. But under the translucent paper something pink stood out. Her heartbeat reached her ears, and she couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs.

With just her thumb and index finger, she lifted the tissue - first the one on top to the right then to the one under to the left. Her breath paused as she placed a hand against the frantic beating in her chest.

A dress of the colors blush pink and silver greeted her. She ran her fingers over the silk - so soft, so smooth. When she lifted it out of the box, the dress straps around the neck, reveals the back, and hugs at the hips with a flare skirt.

Her mom gasped, causing her to turn around.

"Suzy, that's beautiful. Who would send you . . ." She trailed off when she realized the answer to her question.

Hugging the dress against her, Suzy picked up the note. The familiar handwriting simply said: Be ready by six.

She practically jumped out of her skin. "Eomma!"

"Suzy, no." Her mom shook her head. "Don't do this to yourself again. Please."

Placing the note with the dress neatly on the bed, she went to her trembling mother and hugged her. "I don't know what this means, but I think I owe it to myself to see this through, like you said that day we drove to the airport." She moved back and looked into her mother's eyes. Worry was etched in the lines of the older woman's face. "You just have to trust me, Eomma."