I lifted the small lid and took out the pearl earrings, holding them in my open palm. They were small, slightly yellowed by thirty years of storage, and one of the silver backs was loose.
I held them up next to my ears, wondering if they looked too old-fashioned for a fancy restaurant. I reached for the small mirror on the wall, but my hand stopped before I could lift it.
The sound of the television downstairs hummed through the floorboards, a quiet drone of afternoon news. I looked at the little pearls, remembering how my mother only wore them on Sundays or when my father took her to the county fair.
Damon came down the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards, and stopped by the bedroom door frame. He adjusted his shirt collar, his eyes moving from my face down to my hands.
“Are we wearing the family heirlooms now?” he asked.
