I wanted to scoop Mimi’s soul out of his hands and cocoon it between mine. Stow it away in the jewelry box she’d given me for my sixteenth birthday. The one she’d filled with sixteen rings, one for each year she’d missed. She’d laughed when I’d laid down my spoon full of crème brulée to slide each and every ring on. They were apparently meant to be worn separately. I never did. I kept them together. If only I could’ve kept her soul and mine together, too.
