Sixteen Hearts

Standing there in my mom’s office on the second floor of my childhood home, my hands shook. Hovering my fingers over the red box on the shelf behind her desk as she’d instructed, I half expected it to shoot confetti or blow a horn, a last reminder from her that life can surprise you at any moment. I waited several minutes for something to happen, but as inanimate objects do, it remained still and unfazed. No funny games, yet. Running my finger over the dust on the top, I inspected the shiny streak trailing behind the path of my touch. Even though my mom’s final goodbye was only two weeks prior, it looked as if the box hadn’t been moved in years.  

My fingers zoomed into the screen on my phone, illuminating the dusk-filled office with blinding brightness. The words LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT stared back at me. No matter how many times in the last fourteen days I’d read them, they still felt sharp. The pain like a metal rod being pushed into an open ulcer. But unlike a physical wound, there was nothing to dull the sting of loss. Mentally, it felt too soon to be home, to face what was left behind, but I wanted to honor her wishes. That meant I had to be strong. Stronger than I thought possible, even at 30 years old. Because although I was an adult by all other accounts, in terms of her, I would always be a child.

The scent of her, honeysuckle and gardenia, was both faint and overwhelming as I scrolled to the bottom of the document to find the article that included the instructions.

“IMPORTANT: Janie, exactly 2 weeks to the day from the date of my passing, please find the red leather box on my office shelf. There will only be one. Once you have it in your possession - place both of your hands above it and cast your energy toward it. The magic of the box will reveal itself to you.”

Leave it to my mom to try and perform a magic trick from the grave. 

Rereading the instructions for the tenth time didn’t offer any more clarity, and nothing about the situation felt magical, so I stood wrapped in a wave of nostalgia staring blankly at my phone until I felt a brush of fur on my leg. Winston’s way of politely reminding me he would be expecting dinner. Picking him up, I pushed my tear stained cheeks into his coat and let the lulls of his vibrations calm me.

“C’mon let’s get you something to eat,” I whispered, planting a gentle kiss on top of his fluffy, gray head.

The wooden stairs creaked as we descended down and into the kitchen. Setting him on the ground, I popped open a can of cat food I’d brought with me and searched the peeling lilac cabinets for a plate to put it on. I plopped a healthy amount of gravy on top as his treat for accompanying me - I couldn’t bear the thought of being without him.

As he licked the plate clean, I opened the fridge to see if there was anything salvageable. There probably wasn’t, as I’d asked my mom’s housekeeper, Beth, to empty anything perishable on her last day of work. That was just two days after we found out my mom’s cancer wasn’t going to let her leave the hospital. To my surprise, the fridge wasn’t completely empty. I immediately pulled out and uncorked the half-drunk bottle of Cabernet from the vineyard down the road. Beth must’ve assumed this was the one thing I’d find useful and she was right. It wasn’t fresh, but it didn’t taste like vinegar so I counted myself lucky as I took down a few gulps.

Making my way back up the stairs and into the office, wine bottle in hand, I approached the box with a buzz of determination. I grabbed it and sat down on the plush chaise across from her desk, Winston settling at my feet. Regardless of my frustration towards what I didn’t understand, staring at the red leather was a reminder of her penchant for the odd and the wonderful. She was open and free, even if a little batty. My complete opposite. Her world was painted with miracles while mine was defined by facts. She was the enchanting yang to my scientific yin, even in her absence.

Cast your energy, I repeated to myself while lingering my hands over the box, willing it to move or do anything. My eyes shut as I tried meditating on what she meant, trying to summon the magic in the world that she so often saw, but my practicality blinded me from.

After thirty minutes of casting unsuccessfully, my eyes shot open with a realization. The one thing I hadn’t done was the only logical solution. Try to open it - the regular way. Casting your energy isn’t real Janie and you can’t make a dumb box come to life, I chastised myself. But in my completely deflated state, I refrained from hurling the most offensive words I normally reserved for myself after doing something stupid.

As my hands undid the clasp, my breath hitched in anticipation. I slowly lifted the lid as if there was an animal somehow living inside. Looking at the bottom of the box, I let out a snort. Sixteen paper hearts laid in front of me. Each one wasn’t any bigger than my fingernail, which certainly wasn’t enough room for anything meaningful to be written. Even though they looked blank, they were curled around the edges from their age. Maybe the ink had faded, I thought. Picking one up, I waved it back and forth under the light of my phone trying to get a better look - but there was nothing. Inspecting them further, I wracked my brain for the significance of the number sixteen and the shape of the cutouts, but just like the pieces of paper, my mind was blank. Staring at them without an explanation, I pushed down my annoyance. I wasn’t in the mood for a jigsaw puzzle.

Feeling duped and too exhausted to piece together the meaning of the hearts at hand, I returned the box to its spot on the shelf and clicked off the brass floor lamp, closing her office door behind me. 

The last swig of wine went down easy as I laid on the living room sofa - a montage of every memory looping through my mind. It was still the same sofa I watched cartoons on, had my first kiss and ate dinner with my mom too many times to count, but it was different. It still sagged in all the same places, but that familiarity wasn’t comfortable anymore, it was just a reminder that life would never feel the same again. I pulled the blanket over my shoulders and closed my eyes, trying to let sleep carry me somewhere less painful.

My eyes opened to the sun peeking through the floral linen curtains several hours later. I reached out my hand expecting to feel Winston’s head buried in the blanket, but he wasn’t there. I popped up quickly, hoping he wasn’t trapped under a fallen bookcase or piece of furniture. I liked to call the time between 4- 6 AM his witching hours, as that’s when cups would end up broken, banisters would be scaled and his otherwise calm demeanor would be swapped for something out of a horror movie. 

“Winston,” I called, but no sound of him.

I paced the hall back to my mom’s bedroom on the first floor, but all the doors were closed including the one to the half bath and the coat closet. 

“Winston,” I said again, quickening my pace as I rounded the corner to the kitchen to find it completely empty.

I swung around the wood column next to the stairs and bounded upward, stopping in my tracks as I reached the top of the steps. Her office door was ajar. I walked cautiously to the entrance to find Winston licking his paws while laying next to the red leather box on the floor. 

“How’d you get in here buddy?” I asked.

“Meow,” he responded, and I nodded my head in understanding. The witching hours had gotten the best of him. 

I knelt down, picking up the box and opened the lid that miraculously stayed shut during the fall. 

With the top open, my heart pounded in my chest as a bead of sweat slid down the center of my back. A folded note laid on top of the hearts - my mom’s handwriting scrawled on top.

“To my sweetest Janie.”

My fingers felt stiff as I reached in to pick up the letter that was not there the night before, but as they made contact with the paper, the sound of creaking wood broke my concentration. 

“Mom?” I said, without looking behind me. 

No reply. The house went silent save for the methodical ticks of the clock on the wall.

My brain, firing on all cylinders to try and figure out what was going on, prepared me to turn around and face whatever monster thought it was a good idea to play a practical joke on someone in the throes of grief. Or worse, the spirit of my resurrected mom.

Not seeing anyone on the landing of the stairs, I tore down the steps, swinging open every door, yelling for them to reveal themselves. I looked under the beds, behind the clothes in each closet and checked every window, only to be met with disappointment. There was no one.

Sitting back on the couch, my bones almost jumped out of my skin as my phone rang out from the back of my jean’s pocket.

It was Aja.

“Hello,” I answered, relieved to hear a familiar voice. 

“Just checking in on you J,” she said.

“I’m glad you called, I think I’m losing my mind here.”

Aja was always my rock, we’d floated in and out of closeness over the years, but I knew from the day I met her at 10 years old that we’d never lose touch. We didn’t always agree, but she always had my best interest at heart. 

“Want me to come up there and help you sort out the will?”

I smiled, it’d been hard to remember that even though I felt completely alone, I still had a support system of people ready to show up for me. And that more often than not, it was my own self-isolation that made me feel like an outsider. 

“I appreciate it, but I think this is something I need to do on my own right now.”

“I understand, well just say the word and I’ll be there,” she waited a moment before continuing, “You know you have a lot of people here that care about you.”

I didn’t respond, acknowledging any form of sentimentality was not my strong suit, especially not when the potential spirit of my dead mom was following me around her empty home. 

“I know you don’t want me to get all sappy, so I’ll leave you to it - call if you need anything J.”

“Thanks, I will.”

Walking back up the stairs, I breathed deeply, trying to regain my composure.

Maybe my mom’s view of life wasn’t so unimaginable after all. This certainly didn’t fit into my black and white view of the world.

I unfolded the note, nervous to see what was inside. 

“Dear Janie, if you’re reading this - that means I’ve transcended to the next stage in my soul’s evolution. Although I wish I could’ve stayed with you forever, life has other plans. 

Hopefully it didn’t take you too long to find this note to figure out the meaning of the box. If I know anything about you, it hardly took any time at all.

Before reading this, the box’s significance was only what you imagined. And those possibilities were endless. The magic of the box is the meaning you ascribed to it. 

Life shifts when you change your perspective. Whatever interpretation you had of casting your energy altered what you believed possible in this situation. For better or for worse. I hope there was a moment that you felt powerful enough to affect the outcome. To cause something wonderful. And I hope that conviction stays with you even after reading this. 

At this point, I don’t want you to be upset that I lured you here under slightly false pretenses. I knew if I wasn’t intentionally urgent yet vague in my request, you would avoid coming back and facing the hard moments ahead here. The sooner you grieve the loss, the sooner you can find solace in moving forward. This will always be your home.

Just a reminder - don’t be too hard on yourself. At the end of the day life’s not that serious Janie - try to find a little joy.

P.S. I hope you appreciate the heart confetti I hand cut. I was only patient enough to make 16.”  

Looking at the box again, I flipped over the lid to find a piece of velvet hanging loosely from the corner, revealing a hidden compartment underneath the lining. It must’ve fallen loose when Winston knocked it over. The thought that there could’ve been any other explanation for the sudden appearance of the note made me shake my head. At least I could imagine it brought her some joy, wherever she’s at, that I ran around the house believing I’d somehow brought her back from the dead. But even with Winston on my lap and my cynicism back in tact, I couldn’t overlook that despite myself, I’d believed in the impossible, for once.