Chapter 8 - THE WEDDING DRESS IN MY MOTHER'S CLOSET
My mother called on Thursday.
“Emma, sweetheart, can you come over?”
I hesitated.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I just think it's time we talked about the dress.”
I closed my eyes.
The dress.
I'd avoided thinking about it.
Ivory satin.
Delicate sleeves.
A fitted waist.
A train that had made my mother cry when I first tried it on.
I drove to her house that afternoon.
She met me at the door.
Hugged me.
Then led me upstairs.
The dress hung in the guest room.
Still wrapped in protective fabric.
I stood before it.
For a moment, I could almost see the wedding.
The music.
The flowers.
Daniel waiting at the altar.
Then I remembered the dinner.
The townhouse.
The money.
The way he'd told me to sit down.
I swallowed.
“I don't want it.”
My mother nodded.
“I thought you might say that.”
She sat on the bed.
“Can I tell you something?”
I looked at her.
“Of course.”
She smiled sadly.
“When I married your father, I was terrified.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because marriage changes your life.”
I nodded.
“But I was never afraid he would make decisions without me.”
My eyes filled.
She continued.
“We disagreed. We argued. We made mistakes.”
She smiled.
“But I always knew I had a place beside him.”
I looked toward the dress.
“I loved Daniel.”
My mother nodded.
“I know.”
“I still do, a little.”
She reached for my hand.
“That doesn't mean you have to marry him.”
I began crying.
My mother held me.
For the first time since the dinner, I let myself grieve.
Not just the wedding.
The future I'd imagined.
The children we'd discussed.
The holidays.
The ordinary mornings.
The version of Daniel I thought I knew.
Afterward, we made tea.
My mother suggested donating or reselling the dress when I felt ready.
I nodded.
Then I asked:
“Do you think I'll ever get married?”
She smiled.
“Maybe.”
I looked down.
“And if I don't?”
She squeezed my hand.
“Then I hope you build a life you love anyway.”
That evening, I returned home and opened my laptop.
I searched for a place I'd always wanted to visit.
The Oregon coast.
Quiet beaches.
Lighthouses.
Little bookstores.
I booked a three-day trip.
May you like
Not to escape.
To remember that my life still belonged to me.
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