Meeting in the Living Room

The air in the room was heavy with the scent of lilies and the collective weight of things left unsaid. Most of the guests wore black, a uniform of mourning that felt as hollow as the speeches being given and the space left empty at the end of the table.

Among them sat a young girl who cared very little for tradition; she was currently waging a private war with a collar of itchy lace. The dress was stiff and drab. Everyone wore black, she had been told, but she hated the dark hue and wanted to wear purple, her favorite colour. It was her father’s favorite as well, and she wondered if this whole affair was truly for his honour.

Her eyes followed his hazed, incomplete form as he crossed the living room. He was still new here and didn’t understand the etiquette. As he brushed past his sister standing by the grand fireplace, she turned and looked in the direction he had come, goosebumps rising on her arms as he passed through the space, brushing against her.

He moved to stand directly in front of his brother by the window. The young man, only twenty-four, fiddled with his tie to distract himself from the emotions of the day. Benjamin asked for a drink then, but no sound came from his hazy lips. He touched the spot where his throat should be, but his fingers brushed through it like a mist.

Turning quickly, he left trails of light behind as he rushed toward the door, his panic rising. Benjamin’s rush to the door had caused a cold draft to pass over his wife, the black hat pinning back her long blonde tresses. The breeze feeling so cold, yet smelling like his cedar-toned aftershave, caused her to startle.

Standing abruptly, she bumped the sidetable, causing the large vase filled with lilacs to nearly topple. Reaching to catch the vase, her brother-in-law stopped fiddling with his tie and set the vase back to its position.

Rebecca turned toward the entrance with a strange look on her face and suddenly burst into tears. “I swear, it feels like he is just about to open the door and return home,” she said. “I can still smell him.”

“There, there, Bec,” her sister-in-law said, sitting beside her on the parlor bench. “It might feel like that for a while. It did for me with Roger.” Roger, hearing his name, crossed the room and stood beside his widow. The draft of him caused her to look up, and she smiled. “See there,” she whispered, “I feel him now.”

Benjamin, still confused, tugged on the doorknob and tried to twist it, but his fingers found no purchase on the brass. In frustration, he rushed to the side door in a desperate quest for fresh air. A row of toddlers in clip-on ties tracked his movement across the rug, their gazes synchronized like a row of flowers leaning their faces to the sun.

One toddler pointed a chubby finger at the empty air by the side door and let out a delighted childhood giggle that no one noticed. The children did not stir or look toward the grieving widow, the mahogany side table, or the wobbling vase of lilacs. They remained fixed on the man who was no longer there.

The girl with the itching lace dress, finding it too much to bear, stood from the overstuffed arm-chair and slipped away unnoticed. Her small shoes clicked softly against the stairs of the curved oak staircase. Along the wall was a row of familiar faces staring out through the oil paint that froze their smiles in time—Grandfather, Great-grandfather, and more generations than she could ever comprehend.

At the top of the stairs, she passed the room that always smelled of sweet roses, the silent reminder of Nana Eloise. She smiled as she glanced in the open door, but her smile quickly vanished as she did not see her great-grandmother in her place by the window.

In the quiet of her room, she stood in front of the wardrobe, her fingers delicately stroking the soft material of the dress the color of plums or the twilight sky. It was her favorite dress, the one her father called her royal robe. Standing on her tippy-toes, she pulled the dress from the rod and held it against her slim body. Gazing in the mirror, she admired the fabric and then saw her Nana Eloise smiling and nodding behind her.

The child pulled the soft fabric over her head and smoothed it against her torso. Nana Eloise motioned with a nod toward the vanity where a delicate purple hair comb sat. The girl knew it was a family heirloom, but if Nana Eloise thought she should wear it, then she would. With the dress flowing behind her and the comb in place, she descended the stairs without even glancing at the family paintings.

She was no longer a quiet child, but a royal river of color, rolling down the stairs and catching the light as she cut through the grayscale of the parlor. A hush fell over the room as she entered. Her mother’s breath hitched. Everyone turned to stare at her and the sight of the forbidden color. No words were uttered, and no one chastised her; they simply stared.

Rebecca, the child's mother, patted the bench beside her, and the child crossed the room. All eyes, both living and not, followed her as she went to stand in front of her mother. Rebecca wiped a tear from her eye and gently touched the delicate hair comb in the child’s hair. She straightened it and turned the girl around to tie the long ribbon which flowed behind her like a veil.

Acceptance and adoration filled her mother’s soft smile. “Purple was always his favorite colour,” she said, and she kissed the round cheeks of the little girl.

Benjamin, still standing by the door, stopped his clawing at the wood and his tugging at the knob. He turned to look at his young daughter, and for the first time since the light had faded from his eyes, he really saw her. The purple dress brought a flood of memories that hit him, visibly shaking him in the moment. He began to smile.

He looked around the room as the sunlight broke through the clouds of the dismal day, filling the gloomy space with happy rays. He noticed Roger then, standing next to his widow, his expression calm. Then he saw his own father standing next to the fireplace; he had not noticed him there before. He looked all around the room, crowded now with family who had come to meet him.

The room was full of those who had come to say hello, even as those who must carry on were saying goodbye. Benjamin went to the fireplace and stood next to his father, greeting him with a silent smile. It had been many years since he had seen the man, but his father reflected the very image that hung on the wall of the staircase—proud, polished, and nearly complete in his haze. Benjamin nodded at Roger, a polite greeting for his brother, and then turned to the others who gathered, offering them a smile of recognition.

The girl, her dress tied and her clip straightened, moved toward the hearth. She stood there near the adjacent window and did a slow, deliberate twirl, the purple fabric spinning out like the plume of a delicate flower. It was a silent request for approval, a "look at me" meant for a father she could no longer hear.

She stopped her spin and looked directly at the space by the fireplace. Benjamin smiled back, the light catching his eye in just the way where haze and glint could mix. In that moment, the appraisal was complete. He saw her not as a child lost in a grayscale world, but as his own vibrant legacy.

A soft breeze, unfelt by the adults but noticed by the toddlers on the rug, seemed to ripple through the purple ribbons of her dress. The girl nodded, a small, knowing movement of her head, and then turned and walked back to her mother’s side. She sat down, her purple dress a defiant and beautiful stain against the room’s grief.

As she settled in, the toddlers on the rug went back to their play, their eyes no longer tracking a frantic stranger, but a familiar member of the household. Benjamin stood by the hearth, shoulder to shoulder with the father he had missed for so many long years, watching the entire family share the same quiet parlour.

The mourning and the meeting were one. In the Manor of the Dead, there was no such thing as an empty room; the house was always full, and he had finally returned home.