Chapter 11 - The Place She Chose Herself
“You don't need permission for that, sweetheart.”
Luca stood beside the piano.
Sophie looked up.
“Not even if Mommy would've liked her song better?”
He smiled gently.
“Your mother loved hearing you try new things.”
She thought about that.
“Even when I was little?”
“Especially then.”
He sat beside her.
“Do you remember how you used to make up songs about everything?”
Sophie laughed.
“Like brushing my teeth?”
“Exactly.”
“And that song about the dog?”
Luca grinned.
“Your mother sang that one for weeks.”
Sophie covered her mouth, laughing.
For a few moments, she looked like any happy eleven-year-old girl talking to her father.
Then Luca said something that stayed with me.
“Your mom gave you a lot of wonderful things, Sophie. But your life belongs to you.”
She looked at him.
“You get to decide what kind of music you love.”
Sophie nodded.
Then placed both hands on the keyboard.
She played a simple melody.
It wasn't Anna's song.
It was something Sophie had been working on herself.
She made a mistake halfway through.
Stopped.
Then looked at Luca.
He smiled.
“Keep going.”
She started again.
This time, she made it to the end.
“That's lovely,” he said.
Sophie blushed.
“I made it up.”
“I can tell.”
“It's not finished.”
“Then you've got something to look forward to.”
I stood near the doorway, watching them.
It seemed like such a small conversation.
But for Sophie, it was another piece of freedom.
She didn't have to hide her mother's memory.
And she didn't have to spend her childhood trying to become her.
On Wednesday, Rose came to the restaurant carrying a small box of family keepsakes.
Most were ordinary things.
Old birthday decorations.
Holiday ornaments.
A photograph of Anna laughing beside the restaurant fireplace.
And a drawing Sophie had made when she was six.
Three people sat together at a piano.
One had long yellow hair.
One wore a black suit.
The smallest had a large purple bow.
Underneath, in uneven letters, Sophie had written:
Me and Mommy and Daddy.
Sophie stared at it.
“I made that?”
Rose nodded.
“Your mother kept it in her bedroom.”
Sophie traced the purple bow.
“I used to draw everybody with giant heads.”
Luca laughed.
“You certainly did.”
Rose smiled.
“Anna loved that drawing.”
Sophie looked up.
“Can we put it near the piano on Sunday?”
“Of course.”
Then she hesitated.
“But not a whole bunch of pictures.”
Rose nodded.
“Whatever you like.”
Sophie looked relieved.
I realized she was learning how to make choices about her own grief.
Some days she wanted photographs.
Some days she wanted music.
And some days she simply wanted to have dinner without anybody mentioning that her mother was gone.
All of those choices deserved respect.
The next afternoon, Mrs. Russo approached me with the Sunday staffing schedule.
“Emily, I wanted to check something.”
I looked up.
“Yes, ma'am?”
“You're listed as a guest for the family dinner.”
I smiled awkwardly.
“Sophie invited me.”
“Then you won't be serving.”
I blinked.
“Mrs. Russo, I can help.”
She shook her head.
“Not during the dinner.”
“But you might need another pair of hands.”
“I've already arranged coverage.”
I hesitated.
“Will I lose the hours?”
“Of course not. Mr. Moretti approved paid time off for the afternoon.”
My throat tightened.
I was so accustomed to making myself useful that sitting at a table and letting somebody else serve dinner felt strange.
Mrs. Russo seemed to understand.
“Emily, that girl wants you there because you care about her.”
I nodded.
“She doesn't want you there to carry plates.”
I looked away before she could see my tears.
That evening, my mother called.
She'd been offered an extra Sunday cleaning shift.
The money would help with her rent.
I immediately told her I understood if she couldn't come.
But she interrupted.
“Emily, I already traded the shift with someone.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Mom, you didn't have to.”
She laughed.
“Honey, I spent half my life figuring out how to get to your school concerts after work.”
I smiled through tears.
“I remember.”
“Well, I haven't forgotten how.”
She paused.
“Besides, I've never met this little girl who's so determined to make sure everybody has a seat.”
I laughed.
“You'll love her.”
“Then I'll be there.”
On Friday, Luca invited Sophie's music teacher, Ms. Turner, to listen to the two pieces she'd chosen.
The teacher was warm and encouraging.
She listened to Anna's song.
Then to Sophie's unfinished melody.
Afterward, she smiled.
“You've made a good choice.”
Sophie looked nervous.
“Do you think I should play Mommy's song first?”
“What do you think?”
Sophie considered that.
“Maybe.”
“Then that's what we'll try.”
Ms. Turner reminded her that she didn't need to play perfectly.
A family performance wasn't an examination.
She could stop, start again, or change her mind.
Sophie looked relieved.
Later, as I helped arrange chairs around the dining table, I noticed Luca checking his schedule.
He'd moved his Sunday business appointments to another day.
He didn't make a speech about it.
He simply put the schedule away.
Then joined Sophie at the piano.
“Want to practice?”
She nodded.
They played for nearly twenty minutes.
Sometimes badly.
Sometimes beautifully.
Sometimes they stopped laughing because one of them had forgotten what came next.
But Luca never left the bench.
By Saturday evening, the restaurant was ready.
Fresh flowers stood on the tables.
The family photograph rested beside the piano.
Anna's repaired music box sat safely on a small wooden stand.
Sophie walked slowly around the room.
Checking every detail.
Then she stopped beside Luca's chair.
There was an empty place next to it.
She looked at the chair for a long moment.
“Daddy?”
He turned.
“Yes, princess?”
She touched the back of the empty chair.
May you like
Her voice became quiet.
“Could we save this seat for Mommy?”
