“Come on and sit down, it’s time for your gift,” Jacque said, patting the couch cushion beside him again, his tone conspiratorial, like he was sharing a secret.
Dom crossed her arms, feigning skepticism but unable to fully hide her curiosity. “Aww, Dad, you know you shouldn’t have, right?”
“Of course I should. I’m your father.” Jacque puffed out his chest with mock indignation, his grin widening. “And besides, I wanted to. I hope you like it.”
He gestured toward the table, and Dom’s breath hitched as her eyes landed on the gift. The wrapping paper alone was a work of art. Deep blue streaked with black in an impossibly intricate web of connections that seemed alive, the pattern shifted slightly as the light played across its surface. For a moment, Dom felt as though she could fall into it, the endless lines pulling her into a labyrinth without an exit.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, reaching out to touch it. Her fingers hovered just above the surface as if afraid the act might shatter the spell. “I don’t want to hurt it. The wrapping paper is... too perfect.”
Jacque chuckled, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Hon, I know it’s pretty, but don’t worry about hurting it. If you didn’t tear it apart with wild abandon, it would feel incomplete and unwanted. Believe me, the only thing wrapping paper likes more than being admired is fulfilling its destiny -being ripped to shreds!”
Dom grinned, his words igniting a playful determination in her. She leaned forward, fingers poised like a predator about to strike. “Well, I wouldn’t want the poor thing to feel incomplete.”
With that, she attacked the gift with gleeful abandon, the room filling with the satisfying rip of paper. Shreds of blue and black fluttered to the floor like confetti as Dom unwrapped the present with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning.
Finally, she was left holding a plain white box, perfectly cubed, its surface smooth and cool against her palms. Her movements slowed as her earlier excitement was replaced by an almost reverent curiosity. Carefully, she pried the lid open to reveal a hand-carved cherrywood jewelry box.
Dom froze.
Her breath quickened, and her fingers trembled as she lifted the box out, its polished surface catching the light. Every groove, every curve, every inch of the delicate scrollwork was achingly familiar.
“This...” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Dad, how did you... What is this? Where did it come from?”
Jacque’s smile softened, a wistful look settling on his face. “I was cleaning out the attic and came across a chest of your mother’s things. This was hidden away at the bottom. I happened to catch a glimpse of your sketchbook while I was passing by your room, and I saw a drawing of a very similar box. The moment I found it, I knew your mom would’ve wanted you to have it.”
Dom ran her fingers along the surface of the box, tracing the grooves with a mixture of awe and reverence. The sensation was eerily electric, each smooth line sending a tingle through her fingertips. Memories surged forward with startling clarity, carrying her back to a moment she hadn’t realized she’d buried so deeply.
∞
Her mother, Olivia, had been having one of her better days. It was a few weeks before she passed, and though time had buried the memory under layers of grief and years gone by, it now resurfaced with startling clarity -etched into her mind like sunlight glinting off crystal, sharp and unyielding.
“Dom,” Olivia had said softly, her voice warm but tinged with the fragility of porcelain. “Would you fetch my puzzle box? It’s on the upper shelf in the closet.”
“Sure, Mom!” Dom had replied eagerly, already halfway out the door before Olivia’s smile could fade.
She grabbed the small, well-worn foot ladder from the hall cabinet and dragged it into the master bedroom, its familiar creak filling the quiet space. The room was bathed in soft morning light, golden rays filtering through the sheer curtains and casting delicate patterns across the carpet.
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The closet smelled faintly of gardenias and lemon, a scent that always reminded Dom of her mother’s presence -a combination of strength and comfort. The box wasn’t hard to find. It practically glowed in the dim light, its polished hardwood surface gleaming as though it captured and reflected every bit of illumination from the open door.
Dom stood on tiptoe as she reached for it, her young hands curling around its smooth edges. Even then, at just twelve years old, she had felt the box’s weight, not just physical but something intangible. It seemed to hum faintly in her grip, a warmth emanating from within that pulsed against her fingertips like a heartbeat.
She cradled it carefully as she climbed down the ladder, her steps deliberate. Carrying the box felt like holding something alive, something ancient and precious. She brought it over to her mother, who sat in her favorite nook -a cushioned seat by the window adorned with a hand-quilted blanket gifted by Olivia’s own grandmother. The open window let in a gentle breeze, and Dom watched as it played through Olivia’s hair, carrying with it the scent of fresh-cut grass and spring flowers.
Olivia’s smile brightened when she saw the box in Dom’s hands. Her entire demeanor seemed to shift, as though the simple act of holding the box in her lap imbued her with renewed strength. The glow of the box seemed to extend outward, casting her mother’s face in soft, golden light.
“Thank you, honey,” Olivia said, her voice brimming with gratitude. “I can’t believe how big you’re getting. You’re practically a grown-up.”
Dom climbed up beside her on the cushion, nestling into the crook of her mother’s arm. Olivia shifted slightly to make room, wrapping one arm around Dom’s shoulders. Together, they sat in companionable silence, the box resting between them like an unspoken secret.
As Dom leaned her head against Olivia’s shoulder, she watched in rapt wonder as her mother’s fingers began to trace the intricate patterns inlaid on the box’s surface. The scrollwork seemed alive, each line flowing into the next in a way that made Dom’s eyes ache if she stared too long. The lines were endless, unbroken, and impossible to follow to their conclusion.
“They’re never-ending,” Olivia murmured, her voice carrying the weight of a quiet revelation. “Lines that don’t start or stop. It’s like they’re alive, always moving, always connected.”
Dom found herself mesmerized by the rhythm of Olivia’s fingers, the way they glided across the surface with the grace of a skater on freshly frozen ice. The patterns seemed to shift subtly beneath her touch, the grooves and whorls rearranging themselves as though in response to her movements.
Then, with a soft exhalation, Olivia let out a breath she seemed to have been holding. Dom gasped as a seam appeared down the middle of the box -a seam that hadn’t been there moments ago when she had held it herself.
Holding her breath, Olivia twisted the box gently, her hands moving with practiced precision. The halves slid apart soundlessly, revealing a new set of shapes and patterns on the surface. She rotated it further, counter-clockwise and then forward again, the movements deliberate and purposeful, like a musician coaxing a melody from a delicate instrument.
The patterns continued to shift, vanishing and reappearing in new configurations, each more intricate than the last. Dom’s heart raced as she watched, unable to tear her gaze away. The process reminded her of turning the combination lock on her bicycle chain -except the magnitude of this felt infinitely more important.
Finally, Olivia paused, her fingers hovering over the now-unadorned surface of the box. With a final twist, there was an inaudible click. Every line, every groove and symbol had disappeared, leaving the hardwood smooth and unmarred.
Dom’s jaw dropped. She looked up at her mother in wide-eyed wonder, her mind struggling to comprehend what she had just witnessed.
“How did you do that?” Dom whispered, her voice barely audible.
Olivia smiled down at her, the kind of smile that carried a lifetime of love and secrets. “This box is special,” she said, placing it gently into Dom’s hands.
Dom held the transformed box, cradling it like a sacred relic, an artifact of immense value. It felt different now -lighter, warmer, as though it had been waiting for this very moment. She felt a surge of emotions she, many she couldn’t name -but she was able to identify a strange fear, hope, and an unbearable sense of curiosity.
“What’s inside?” she asked, her voice wavering in eagerness.
“Something precious,” Olivia said, her gaze distant but kind. “Something meant to stay safe until the right moment.
“That,” Olivia said pointing at the box in Dom’s hands, “has been passed down through our family for countless generations,” her voice was filled with a soft reverence. “I received it from your grandmother when I came of age. And when you’re old enough, it will be yours.”
“But what is it?” Dom asked, her tone carrying equal parts curiosity and frustration, her young mind desperate for answers that felt just out of reach. Her mother reclaimed the box, and Dom reluctantly let it go.
Olivia’s laughter came easily, light and melodic, wrapping around the room like a comforting embrace. She held the box delicately, her fingers tracing its edges with the familiarity of someone who had spent a lifetime trying to uncover its secrets. With one last turn, the box clicked softly, the halves sliding seamlessly back into their original alignment. The loops and lines of the intricate patterns reappeared, flowing across the surface like ripples in a still pond disturbed by a single pebble.