What Mary Wanted Me to Know

I read the first line twice.

Mom, if Aaron kept his promise, you’re probably looking at my red dress right now.

Underneath it, Mary had written:

Please don’t be mad at him.

That was so completely Mary that I almost laughed.

Even from an envelope she’d hidden for months, she was still giving instructions.

I kept reading.

I know you bought this dress because you believed I’d wear it to graduation. I believed that too. But if I can’t, I don’t want it hanging in my closet making you sad every time you see it.

My eyes moved to Aaron.

He stood quietly in front of me.

The gym had grown noticeably quieter.

I asked Aaron to wear it because he’s the only person stubborn enough to actually do it.

I let out a small laugh through my tears.

Aaron did too.

Then came the sentence that made me stop.

If I’m not there, I want you to look at that stage and feel like both your kids made it.

I lowered the letter.

The pressed yellow daisy was still in my palm.

Mary explained that she’d picked it on the day we’d bought the dress because that had been one of the last days she’d felt almost normal.

She remembered teasing me for telling her not to pick flowers outside the hospital.

She had pressed it inside one of her books that evening.

Keep it for me.

And please tell Aaron I knew people might laugh.

That’s why I asked him instead of anyone else.

I looked up.

The principal had walked toward us.

“Mrs. Mercer?”

I folded the letter carefully.

“Yes?”

His eyes moved from me to Aaron.

“May I ask what’s happening?”

Aaron looked at me.

I handed him the letter.

“It’s your story.”

He took it.

The principal glanced toward the stage.

Then at the crowd.

“Would you like to explain?”

Aaron hesitated.

“To everyone?”

“Only if you want to.”

Aaron looked down at the red fabric.

Then he nodded.