Kitchen Table Memories

Emily sat at her grandmother's kitchen table, her mind wandering back to times long ago. She had sat at this same table, in these same cream-colored chairs, with matching seat cushions on the seat. She remembered how her grandmother used to scold her for spilling food on them, or wiping her hands on the edges. Oh how she hated being scolded, but somehow, in her grandmother's eyes, she was always doing something wrong. "Emily, why don't you want to play with dolls like all of the other girls?" Her grandma would ask, shaking her head. "No boy will ever want to marry you if you're always covered in dirt."

But at the young age of six, Emily was much more interested in playing soccer with her older brother David, than pretending to be a mother to a rag doll. This continued into her teens. When all of her peers decided to try out for theater or cheerleading at the local high school, Emily signed up for science club. By then her grandmother had all but given up on making her into a proper young lady. She had failed with her mother, losing her to alcohol; and was left to raise Emily on her own. Now she had failed with Emily as well. She had continued to love her, and was overjoyed when she was accepted to college. Their relationship had begun to improve, but three days prior to this sunlit morning, Grandma Jane's heart stopped beating.

Now Emily sat at that oak table sipping her coffee. It was black, almost the color of the suit she had on. She looked up at the wall to her left. There hung pictures, and photographs of the life her grandparents had shared for 65 years. Her grandpa Morris had passed away of natural causes two years before, but Emily's sour relationship with her grandmother had made her decide not to attend his funeral. She regretted that now. Near the ceiling, hung a framed collage of her grandfather's medals and awards from the Vietnam War. Emily closed her eyes, remembering how he always tried to tell her about it. After he died, her grandmother tried to continue this, but she never listened. "Grandma, it happened, it will never happen again. What difference does it make?" she would say. Now David was fighting in Iraq.

Next to the collage, hung a huge square picture frame in which her grandmother displayed her children. Her uncle Steven stood tall and handsome, his hand lightly resting on her mother's shoulder. And her mother, she was beautiful, or at least she was when she was a child. Her eyes were the first thing that caught your eye when you looked at the picture. Emily's grandmother had always told her she looked like her mother. As a child, she didn't want anything to do with her. To Emily, her mother was an awful person; leaving her with her grandmother after getting so drunk that she couldn't take care of her and her brother. Seeing her mother's face smiling at her every time she walked into the kitchen made Emily uncomfortable. She asked her grandmother over and over to take the photograph down, but she refused. "You should love your mother, Emily," she would tell her. But how could she love a mother who abandoned her? Emily remembered sitting at this very table, fifteen years ago, tears streaming down her face. Her mother had dropped her off at her grandmother's house after a night of drinking. She had left her with her grandparents often, but this time was the last. Emily never saw her mother alive again. She had hit a tree on the way home that night. For a long time, Emily was angry with her mother for choosing a beer instead of her children, but as she got older she understood that her mother cared enough for them to take them to a safe place, instead of risking their lives on the road.

Taking another sip of her lukewarm coffee, Emily's eyes fell on her grandparents' wedding picture. In three short months she would marry the man of her dreams and would wear the exact same dress her grandmother wore; she only wished she would look as beautiful in it as her grandmother did. Emily grinned, shaking her head. It had taken a while for her grandmother to get used to the idea that she was in love, but just a few weeks before, while Emily was making wedding plans, she had given her blessing. Emily closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. She was getting a headache.

Suddenly, her fiancé, Ryan came into the kitchen and sat down next to her. "You okay?" He asked softly, taking her hand. Emily nodded, a tear escaping from her eye. Ryan wiped it with his finger. "No you're not." He whispered as more tears started flowing down her face. "It's okay, I'm here." he said, taking the half empty coffee cup from her hand.

Ryan embraced her and she cried heavily onto his shoulder, dampening his crisp white dress shirt. "She's gone," Emily sobbed "Why didn't I get to know her better?" She asked, lifting her head. "I loved her, Ryan. Really I did." She pleaded.

Ryan gently cupped her tearful face with both hands. "I know you did, sugar." He whispered, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. "Believe me, she knew that, and she loved you too."

"I'm just so scared." Emily admitted, "She was trying to set me on the right path, to make me into a good person, to make me…different from my mother." She said beginning to cry again. That was her biggest fear in life; that she would turn into an irresponsible alcoholic, with a messed up life.

Ryan took her hand and lifted her to her feet, taking her in his arms. "Emmy, you already are a good person, a wonderful person. Why do you think I want to marry you? I love you, Emily, and I promise you everything is going to be okay." He whispered in her ear.

Emily leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I love you too," she whispered. At that moment she knew that she could get through this, and anything that would come in her life, if she only had him by her side. Emily brushed the back of his hair with her hand. He hadn't had it cut in a while and it was barely touching his collar. She never told him, but she secretly loved it that way.

"The funeral is in an hour, honey. Are you ready to go?" Ryan asked her.

Emily sighed. He had broken her daydream and brought her back to the reality she didn't want to be in. Unwillingly, she got up from his arms. "Let's go," she whispered.

"Wait," Ryan said taking her hand "Are you sure you're up to this?" he asked.

Emily looked into his caring emerald green eyes. She could tell how worried he was. "I have to," she said, with a sigh.