I stare off into the distance, to the bumpy horizon of flat and pitched roofs. “There are moments when I look at that dress and I still think it’s the most beautiful gown in all the world. But all the other times I just remember how devastated I was when Daniel told me he didn’t want marry to me after all. It’s like looking at a car wreck. With bodies strewn all over the place. And broken glass. And parts of toys and skid marks and…”
Shelby holds up a hand. “Okay, okay!”
We are both grinning.
“What does Harriet say you should do?” There is not even a hint of mockery in Shelby’s voice.
Deep within me I’m certain that I’ll at last be at ease with the turn my life has taken when I can let that dress go. How could I not be? Let’s face it. Who consents to keeping a car wreck in full view all day, every day? A person who’s hanging on when they need to let go, that’s who. I know what I need to do.
“Harriet says I need to get rid of it.” Not a lot of vigor to my voice, but at least I’m being truthful.
“Does she?”
I nod.
“It’s such a cool dress,” Shelby murmurs.
Again, I nod.
Shelby tosses a hand in the air and crinkles her brow. “What does Harriet know?”
I turn my head to face her. “Harriet knows everything.”
Ten
Dear Harriet,
You can now add Shelby to the list of people who weren’t completely surprised that Daniel deserted me at the altar. And don’t ask me, “What list?” I know there’s a list. Shelby is on it. There are probably a lot of people on it.
I’m beginning to think that way down at the bottom of that list, I’m on it, too.
Shelby says I should just keep the dress. She says one day I’ll look at that dress and I won’t think of Daniel. Maybe so, but I will always think of me, and how that dress made me feel when Daniel was my fiancé. And then when he suddenly wasn’t.
I can’t imagine looking at that dress someday and feeling nothing. If I were to get to that point, I’d surely be a cold person incapable of feeling anything.
I love that dress. I want to hope that Shelby is right.
She asked me what Harriet thinks about it. I told her you’d say the dress needs to go. I’m right, aren’t I?
Shelby had a date tonight with the phys-ed teacher at her school. His name is Eric. She didn’t call it a date, but that’s what it is. She pretended like it was just a casual thing—dinner, maybe a movie. But I could tell she likes this guy, her nervousness as she talked about him gave it all away. I could also tell she very much wanted to protect me from feeling sad that she had a date tonight with a guy who makes her heart flutter and I didn’t. So I pretended like I believed it was just a casual thing.
She probably knows I was just pretending, but it made it easier for her to climb down off my roof to go home and get beautiful for her non-date.
I watched The Princess Bride tonight, a lovely way to spend a Friday evening alone in your apartment. I invited Maria Andréa to watch it with me, but she was spending the night with one of her cousins. Max and Liam actually came down and watched the first half but they left after Westley killed the Rodent Of Unusual Size, retreating to Max’s where he supposedly was going to teach Liam how to make a quarter emerge from his belly button.
Princess Buttercup’s wedding dress is exquisite and gets far too little camera time. Were I not so enamored with the dress I cannot sell, I’d want a dress (and a love) like hers.
Dear Daisy,
Of course there’s a list. But what difference does it really make if your name is on it or not? You feel a fool for not having a clue that Daniel wasn’t ready for marriage. But who’s the bigger fool? The one who can’t see her fiancé is going to dump her or the one who sees it and plans the wedding anyway?
You worry too much about what other people think you should do with that dress. It’s your dress. And you have to live with it or without it. The fact of the matter is, you will live with it. And you will live without it. It is not oxygen to you. It is eight yards of expensive organza. Whatever you are feeling at this moment about Daniel and the wedding you would probably still feel if that dress was long gone. It’s not the dress you need to get over. It’s the guy.
And the dream.
Harriet
P.S. If you will remember, Princess Buttercup did NOT get married in the dress that you think is so exquisite. She never said, “I do.”
Eleven
The first wedding I can remember attending is my brother Kellen’s. I was five, he was twenty-three.
I was the flower girl.
I wore a dress very similar to the one worn by Laura, the bride. My dress was long and white, and it glistened like moonlight. I had a mini bouquet like Laura’s—a bunchy knot of lilies of the valley—which was attached to a little basket of white rose petals. I don’t remember very much about that day. To me, Laura has always been a Murien, Kellen’s wife, my sister-in-law. I do remember the slippery feel of my long pearly skirt, the hot closeness of the little sanctuary where the wedding was held, and how I saw Kellen cry for the first time.
He was not weeping, not like L’Raine in the third pew. There was just a sparkly, misty-eyed look in his eyes that made me wonder for a moment if someone was making him marry Laura. My concern was short-lived of course; as Laura walked the aisle toward him that pained look gave way to a smile that made Kellen’s lovely Asian eyes disappear into mere slits.
It was a huge surprise to learn that you can cry when you’re happy. When you’re five that just doesn’t seem possible.
It’s been odd to have a brother who has never pulled my hair, broken my toys, or called me names. Kellen has always been an adult. My earliest memories of him are always uncle-like.
My friends’ brothers, including Shelby’s, were true terrors—at least for several consecutive years. I remember being asked, “Do you have any brothers?” by sixth-grade girls whose faces crinkled into disgust as they asked. “Just one,” I’d say. “His name is Kellen. He’s thirty. He’s married.”
The conversation would end right about there. Because I had essentially told them I had no idea what it was like to have a brother.
I tried to argue the point once, with my sixth-grade history project partner. Her name was Annie and she had four brothers. Two older and two younger. They were, according to her, “ruining her life.” I mentioned I had a brother eighteen years older than I was and lived in a house with his wife and daughter in White Bear Lake.
“He’s old enough to be your father,” Annie had exclaimed, half in shock and half in derision.
“That’s gross!” I had said. What else was there for an eleven-year-old to say?
“So you’ve never lived in the same house with him?”
“No.”
“You never had to share a bathroom with him?”
“No.”
“Or anything else?”
No. Not really.
“You never dodged a spit ball, or been tickled until you peed your pants, or been locked in the basement, or had your Easter candy stolen?”
No, no, no, and no.
Annie had paused only a moment before telling me I didn’t know anything at all about boys.
I had disagreed, naturally.
Annie, wherever you are, you were right all along.
I owe you an apology.
Liam is waiting for his mother the horn blower—I mean no disrespect. She honks just outside the shop when she comes for him—and he is looking at a photo I have on my desk of Kellen and Laura and their daughter, Mia. We are just inside the little office of Something Blue, a little room where The Finland Hotel bellhop kept his street clothes. Father Laurent is standing by the open front door smoking a pipe.
“He doesn’t look like he’s your brother.” Liam’s tone suggests I am kidding around.
“Well, he’s Korean. My parents adopted him when he was two.”
Liam studies the ph
oto. “And that’s your cousin?” He is pointing to Mia, my niece. She is twenty-one. I’m twenty-nine. An understandable mistake.
“I’m her aunt, actually.”
“Oh, yeah.”
He hands the picture back to me and I place it back on my desk.
“He’s kinda old to be your brother,” Liam looks dubious.
“I was born when he was a senior in high school.”
“That’s weird.”
“Well, I guess God likes to surprise people sometimes. My parents didn’t think they could have children of their own.”
“I wish I had a brother.” Liam looks away. Father Laurent has told me he only has the one grandson. I don’t know why Liam’s parents only had him. They’ve been divorced for just a year, I think. Maybe they couldn’t have any more.
“Maybe someday you will.”
A horn sounds from the street beyond the front door and Father Laurent, several yards away from us, looks up. Liam doesn’t, suggesting that maybe he’s reluctant to go. A wicked little part of me wants to keep talking to him so that Mrs. Ex-Laurent has to come inside to get him. The part of me with the little halo recognizes there may not be an available parking place in front of the building.
“So when will they be here?” Liam is speaking of my brother and his family, but now he is looking toward the front of the store and the street beyond.
“They’re coming tonight after Kellen gets off work. We’ll probably go out for Chinese food.”
Liam turns back to me. “You said your brother is Korean.”
“He is. But he loves Chinese food. So do I.”
Honk, honk.
Father Laurent turns to look at us. He smiles at Liam.
“Guess that’s her,” Liam sighs.
“Guess so.”
Liam slowly bends down to get his backpack.
“So your dad gets home next week, right?” I say, and Liam nods.
He begins to walk toward the front and I follow him. “So where does your Dad live, Liam?”
“Duluth. Most of the time. He travels a lot.” Liam’s shuffled pace couldn’t get much slower.
“Not anxious to go home?” I venture.
Liam rolls his eyes. “Not anxious for Allegra’s howling.”
I am picturing a little yapping chihuahua or toy poodle. The kind his honking mother could fit in her purse. The kind that some women do keep in their purses. Like a wardrobe accessory.
“Little dogs are so annoying,” I say.
Liam stops, turns and gives me a very strange look. “Allegra isn’t a dog. She’s my mom’s baby. Hers and Vic’s.”
Oops.
He turns back around and we close the distance to the front door. I sneak a peek at Father Laurent’s face to see if he heard my major faux pas. Can’t tell.
Father Laurent reaches down and gives his grandson a manly, one-armed embrace. “See you next weekend, Liam. Maybe you and your Dad and I can go to a Twins game. Sound like fun?”
“Sure, Grandpa. Bye.” Liam turns to me. “Bye, Daisy.”
“Bye!” I croak.
He opens the door just as another honk—a series of three, actually—punctuates the air around us.
I follow Liam with my eyes as he gets inside a silver Accord idling curbside. I can’t see the driver’s face, just a flash of sunglasses and blonde hair. He gets in, waves, and closes the car door.
The car zooms away like an arrow from a tight bow.
“So did you hear what I said?” I don’t look at Father Laurent, but I know he’s smiling.
“Yes.”
Now I turn and begin to babble my excuses. “Father, Liam hadn’t mentioned a baby sister, and you hadn’t, so I had no idea that—”
He holds a hand up to silence my apology. “Don’t worry about it, Daisy.”
“I didn’t know we were talking about a baby.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Think he’ll tell her?”
“No.”
“It just didn’t occur to me that… well, I mean, it just seems… A baby? So soon after the divorce?”
Father Laurent turns to me. His lovely eyes are so sad. “The baby is the reason Kristen left Ramsey. She was having an affair and found herself pregnant with the other man’s child. She knew Ramsey couldn’t be the father. He had been gone for eight weeks in Sydney.”
The air in the room suddenly feels tight.
“And Ramsey couldn’t forgive her,” I whisper.
“She never asked for forgiveness. She just moved in with Vic and took Liam with her. Kristen was the one who filed for divorce and Ramsey didn’t contest it. They have joint custody of Liam, but he lives with Kristen and Vic. Ramsey has him on weekends and he’ll have Liam for the rest of the summer when he gets back from Tokyo.”
“So, how did it happen? Why did Kristen have an affair?” The question is out before I can rein it in. I shouldn’t have asked. But I want to know how the relationship fell apart.
Father Laurent answers me anyway.
“I’m sure Kristen didn’t plan to be unfaithful. It happened when Ramsey was gone on one of his trips. She let her guard down, and once it wasn’t there, things just tumbled out of control.”
“That’s so sad,” My eyes travel to the street. Liam is long gone but I look for him anyway. “Poor Liam.”
“Yes. It’s sad.”
“And how… how did Ramsey take all of this?” It’s probably obvious to Father Laurent why I would ask something so totally none of my business. He knows my story. He knows there’s a wedding dress in my store that I cannot seem to let go of.
“It nearly destroyed him. He didn’t give up on God, and I’m thankful for that. But sometimes I wonder if he’s given up on people.”
Okay. I’m done. I’m not asking any more questions. Thank heavens L’Raine is upstairs and hearing none of this.
Father Laurent takes a step toward the doorway at the back that leads to the apartments, but then he stops and turns his head back to me. He lays his hand on my shoulder and his touch feels like a benediction on my soul. “There are worse things than having your fiancé call off your wedding, Daisy.”
He swivels his head back around and leaves.
Twelve
It’s a few minutes before closing time when Kellen, Laura and Mia arrive at Something Blue. Mom is helping a customer choose from a selection of calf-length wedding gowns when the trio appears at the entrance. L’Raine is out visiting a friend in the hospital, and I am at the back of the store inspecting today’s acquisition: a lovely tapered A-line with an overlay of Venice lace.
“Ah! Here we go!” Mom says triumphantly when she sees them step inside. “My granddaughter Mia can help us. She’s your age, your size and is a whiz at fashion. Mia! Come here, sweetheart.”
My exquisitely beautiful niece smiles and hesitates. It’s a sign of her accompanying inner beauty that she doesn’t rush over to my mother to prove that she is, indeed, a whiz at fashion. Mia is an interior design major at the Illinois Institute of Art in Chicago and is home for the summer. She’s a whiz at anything that calls for taste. She’s the one who picked the color for the walls in Something Blue, and the fabric for the awnings and the furniture, even the light fixtures.
Kellen nudges his daughter. “Grandma needs help.”
Lovely Mia strolls over to where Mom waits. She is embraced and then quickly pulled into the debate over which dress is best. Kellen and Laura make their way over to me. I drop the dress I’m fiddling with and hug my sister-in-law first and then Kellen.
At forty-seven, Kellen is just starting to sprout a few gray hairs at his temples. They make him look smarter, not older, as it seems all graying temples do for the men who have them. Kellen is a financial consultant, loves numbers like I love gelato and thinks in equations. He’s the reason I got A’s in my business math classes.
Kellen was going to walk me down the aisle when I married Daniel.
I think it was hardest telling him that the w
edding was off. And I think it’s precisely because he was the one who was going to give me away.
He’s not much taller than I am, but his embrace is strong and purposeful. He’s always been pretty free with showing affection, but since Dad died, he’s kind of taken on the role of Papa Bear. His hugs, his care for me, and his advice have all taken on a fatherly patina.
And why not? As Annie Sixth-Grader so eloquently pointed out some years ago, Kellen is practically old enough to be my father.
“So. How goes it?” Kellen steps back to look at me. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s thinking that I would’ve just celebrated my first wedding anniversary a few days ago if things had turned out differently.
“I’m doing okay, Kel. How about you guys?”
“Not too bad.”
“It’s wonderful having Mia home for the summer,” Laura chimes in.
“She looks as enchanting as ever.” I look over at my niece. “She graduates in December, right?”
“Yep. She’s thinking of interning for a year in Paris after she graduates.”
“Wow.” I often forget that I am still like Mia, still in my twenties—for a few more weeks anyway—and still have the whole world at my fingertips, too. “That’s great.”
“I keep telling myself that, too,” Laura flashes me an achy, motherly look that reminds me I’m supposed to think like a doting aunt, not a colleague.
I excuse myself to go lock the front door, and as I’m walking, Mom shouts from her end of the store.
“Don’t lock it just yet, Daisy.”
I look over at her, but she has quickly turned her back to me and is deep in conversation again with the customer and Mia. I look at my watch. Two minutes after six.
The store closes at six.
Mom turns back around. “Here, Daisy, why don’t you help Valerie here. You can explain the little blue heart to her. This is the dress she wants.”
Mom hurries away from the customer before I have a chance to respond. My mother is perfectly capable of explaining the little blue heart. She is actually better at storytelling than I am. But she has rushed to greet Kellen and Laura, and Valerie is standing there looking at me.
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