I’ve avoided events like tonight because I’m not prepared for the inevitable comparisons that will follow. I know I’m inadequate to fill her shoes—they are impossibly large—but I don’t need everyone else to know that as well. That was the beauty of the children’s section; it was her idea to build it, but it was mine to create. Nothing to hold it up against, just the feeling of accomplishment and hoping I made her proud.

I squeeze around the side of the desk and take a seat in her chair. The space might be small, but Gran lingers in every nook and cranny. The glasses she always forgot are on top of the filing cabinet. The book she was reading is on the bookshelf, her bookmark peeking through the top of the pages she’ll never finish reading. Her favorite mug is still sitting on the desk in front of me. For all anyone knows, it could be superglued to the spot, because I’ve never moved it.

The only thing I’ve considered taking down is the framed article from a local magazine naming me the top up-and-coming photographer: “With style and grit, Young explores trails most photographers wouldn’t dare take. Her keen eye for beauty in untouched places has us holding our breath as we wait for what she shows us next.”

Gran was so proud of it. I was so proud of it. I felt like I was getting my feet beneath me; my future felt so bright. I would help Gran when I was around, but I was a photographer. I had found my path.

Then it was gone and all I had left were unfinished dreams, a grieving soul, and a new business to direct all my energy.

I should take it all out of here. Bring her mug home, pack away her books. There’s no logical reason for them to be here anymore. But a part of me—the part I’m afraid to let escape—is terrified to move any of it. I’m comfortable right now. I can make it through days without crying. I’ve figured out how to keep moving forward. I’m afraid the smallest disruption will set me back or, even worse, cause me to forget something. Without the opportunity to create new memories, I’m clinging desperately to the ones I have. Even the ones as silly as giving her a hard time for not using a coaster on her beloved desk.

I open my computer and check the emails I’ve ignored all day.

Even though I am what some could consider a hot-ass mess, I’m a pretty organized person. I thrive with structure. Saturdays are my day to go over the previous week and prepare for the next one. Usually, I work the floor until the end of story time and then spend the rest of the day in here.