The Grace Kelly Dress

by Brenda Janowitz

  “I just miss him, you know?”

  “I do, too, honey,” Joan said, her voice softening. Her expression becoming more gentle. She placed her hand over her daughter’s and stroked it gently. “But you have me. You have Amanda.”

  “It’s not the same,” Rocky said, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

  “No, honey,” Joan said, patting her daughter’s hand. “Of course it’s not. Would you please excuse me for a moment?” She stood up and strode out of the room.

  Rocky immediately jumped up and followed. She could feel Greta staring at her as she hastily left the room. She caught up with her mother on the sidewalk outside the bridal shop.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Rocky said.

  “It’s fine,” Joan said quickly, smiling, but Rocky could see the tears gathering in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Rocky repeated. Her mother looked around—she was never one to make a scene—but they were alone on the sidewalk. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know what you meant,” Joan said, pulling a tissue out of her purse. “Just go inside and I’ll be back as soon as I collect myself.”

  “Mom, I just meant—” Rocky said, gentler this time, reaching out to touch her mother’s arm.

  “I know what you meant,” Joan said, recoiling from Rocky’s grip, her voice booming. “Just give me a minute here.”

  “I’m not leaving you like this,” Rocky said, her arms back to her sides. “You’re clearly still upset.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” Joan said, a strained smile on her face. “Now, please go inside. I don’t want to be rude to Greta.”

  “Hey, I’m trying to talk to you.” Rocky raised her voice just the tiniest bit to get her mother’s attention.

  “You’re trying to talk to me?” Joan said, a nasty laugh leaving her mouth. High-pitched and unnatural. “I’ve been trying to talk to you your whole life.”

  “I’m right here.” Rocky opened her arms out wide, to show her mother that she was there. To show her that she wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I get it. You want your father to be here,” Joan said, speaking quickly. “Well, I do, too, Rachel. I do, too. But he’s gone. He’s gone, okay? You know who isn’t gone? Me. I’m still here. I know you have this perfect memory of your father, and I love that, I really do, but I’m still here, you know. And I really can’t compete with a dead person. A dead person stays perfect. But I’m still here.”

  “I know that, Mom,” Rocky said. “I love you. I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “Do you think it was easy for me when your father died?” Joan said, her voice now a roar. She dabbed furiously at her eyes, at her nose. “It wasn’t. I had two small kids, and you had all of your—all of your stuff—and I did the best I could. I know it wasn’t good enough for you and you’re filled with resentment towards me, but I did the best that I could. I do the best that I can.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rocky said. It was all she could say, and she just couldn’t say it enough.

  “I am, too,” Joan said. “I’m sorry you lost your father. I’m sorry you just have me. I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you.”

  “You are good enough,” Rocky said, tears now welling up in her own eyes. “Don’t say that.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it,” Joan said. “You think I don’t know that all you ever do is talk about your father? How you want to honor him at the wedding? How you can’t walk down the aisle because he’s not here. What about me?”

  “What about me?” Rocky asked, pointing to herself. She could feel it—the sadness had given way and was being replaced by anger. She felt it building in her chest, bubbling as she spoke. Threatening to pop. “I could ask the same thing to you. Everything is always about Amanda.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” her mother said, finally finding another tissue and then blowing her nose loudly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Every time I see you, every time I talk to you, all you ever do is talk about Amanda.”

  Joan looked up at Rocky. “I think she would say the same thing about you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Rocky said, and felt her chest deflate as a laugh escaped. The anger was passing, she could breathe again.

  “You can ask her,” Joan said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “I will ask her,” Rocky said, “but the fact is, you are closer to Amanda than you are to me. You have two daughters. I’m your daughter, too. But sometimes I feel like it’s just you and Amanda. I feel like I’m not a part of this family. I’m the one who gets left out. I’m on the outside.”

  “How could you say such a thing? You are a part of this family. I love you more than you could ever know, in a way that you won’t fully be able to comprehend until you have children yourself. I have two children. And I love them equally.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I do,” Joan said, incredulous. She opened her purse for another tissue and came up empty. She sniffled the tears back and continued: “Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have a sister? I wish my sister were still alive. You have no idea what a gift you have. And you don’t even appreciate it.”

  “I’m sorry about your sister,” Rocky said. Breathe in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Control the anger. Don’t let the anger control you. “I really am. I wish I could have met her.”

  “I wish that, too,” Joan said, grabbing Rocky’s hands in her own. “And I wish we were closer, I wish we could be more honest with each other. I try. I’ve been trying for years. But you have this wall up, Rocky. You never let me in. Let me in. What is going on with you?”

  “I don’t have a wall up.”

  Joan took a finger and lifted Rocky’s chin so that their eyes met. “What’s going on with you?”

  Rocky looked into her mother’s eyes. She wanted to be honest with her. She wanted to have a better relationship with her. And all of that started right here. Right now. Rocky took a deep breath and told her mother her truth. “I don’t want to wear the dress.”

  Forty-Seven

  The mother of the bride, as a bride herself

  Long Island, 1982

  Senior Tea. It was the Delta house’s biggest bash of the year, and the last hurrah of the school year. Every year, students clamored for an invitation. Each sister got three invites to distribute, three lucky friends who would get to attend the party everyone would be talking about all summer long.

  The sorority house’s common room was transformed into a magical place. A different theme each year, with decorations growing more elaborate as the years went on. Each year outdoing the year before. This year’s theme? Alice in Wonderland, all grown up. You might be drinking out of a dainty tea cup, but that’s not English Breakfast inside. It’s vodka.

  Costumes weren’t mandatory, per se, but everyone knew to wear them. After all, when you’ve secured the hottest invite on campus, you may as well dress the part. That evening, Matthew was dressed as the Mad Hatter, Joanie, with her blond hair, was perfect as Alice, and Debbie made a fabulous Queen of Hearts. Jenny and Missy rounded out their group quite nicely as a sexy Cheshire Cat and a sexy White Rabbit.

  Joanie had used her three invites for Mel, Jem, and Mikki. She didn’t need an invite for Matthew, as the president of the Theta house, and Debbie was right—she needed to bring Michele’s friends, her new friends, into her world. The year was wrapping up perfectly—she was living in the city with Debbie, she’d be spending the summer with Matthew in Florida, and then, as they readied themselves to go back for their junior and senior years of college, they’d get married. She couldn’t have planned things out better if she’d tried.

  Joanie grabbed the giant clock that hung around Missy’s neck. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “What happens at midnight?”

  “Nothing. I’
m just surprised my sister’s friends aren’t coming. I was sure that they would.”

  “They might be on their way. Some people in the city don’t even go out until midnight.”

  The DJ put on “We Are Family” for the second time that night, and Joanie was swept away by her sisters, all hitting the center of the dance floor for their song.

  “I guess you were right after all,” Debbie said to Joanie over the music. “Michele’s friends never showed.”

  “I really hoped they’d come,” Joanie said.

  “Me too,” Jenny said, dancing her way over to Joanie and Debbie. “Because otherwise it was a waste of three invites. You could’ve given them to Debbie to invite more boys.”

  “This place is packed past capacity. We really needed to invite more guys?”

  “Think of it as a public service,” Debbie explained. “I help fill the party with hot guys. Not just for me. For our sisters.”

  “You’re very giving.”

  “That’s what people say,” Debbie said, winking at Joanie as she made her way towards the bar.

  “Looks like things are about to get interesting,” Missy said, pointing to the door, where Theta brothers were giving Jesse a hard time as he tried to push his way into the party.

  Joanie strode across the dance floor. Jesse looked more out of place than Alice herself in Wonderland.

  “He’s with me,” Joanie said to the brother who was at the door. And then, to Jesse: “Hey, stranger. Come on in.”

  “I’m not here for the party,” Jesse said. He looked out of breath, as if he’d run across Manhattan to get there. His face was pale, and he ran his hands nervously through his hair, like a tic. “Joanie, it’s Mel.”

  “Is she coming?”

  Jesse shook his head from side to side. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Joanie, she overdosed.”

  Forty-Eight

  The seamstress

  Paris, 1958

  “Let’s run away to America,” Diana said, fire in her eyes.

  “America?” Rose replied, utterly confused. Was Diana’s big proposition simply a wild goose chase? Go off to America to find Madame? But Madame was not able to be found. What would Diana say when she discovered that Madame was not, in fact, off in America, but, in actuality, deceased?

  “Why should Madame be the only one to chase her dreams in America? We could do the same. I think that you should have your own atelier,” Diana explained. “You have the talent, you have the work ethic, and I see no reason why you should not have your own name on the door.”

  “My own atelier?” Rose said, puzzled. “Why, I could never.”

  “And why not?” Diana said. “You are single-handedly running this atelier—”

  “Julien is running the atelier,” Rose cut in. “I only make the dresses. I am just a seamstress.”

  “There is no atelier without the dresses,” Diana responded, tilting her head to the side, as if to see Rose better. “Your work is the only work that matters. And you are far more than a seamstress. My wedding gown is based on your ideas, your sketch.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “This is what I’ve come to love about you, Rose,” Diana said. “You are a good person. A good friend. Loyal. Trusting. Kind.”

  “Thank you.”

  Diana put her hand on Rose’s shoulder. “So, what do you think?”

  “I need this job,” Rose said. “I cannot survive without this job.”

  “I’m offering you another job.”

  “I could never do that to Julien.”

  “We can bring Julien, too. I’m told that people in New York are far more accepting.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Rose said, unable to meet Diana’s eyes.

  “I’m sure you don’t,” Diana said, a small smile on her lips. “I truly think the world of you. But you must know that already.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said. “I think very highly of you, as well.”

  “Then let’s open an atelier in America. You will be the talent, Julien will be the business know-how, and I’ll be the one to keep us afloat. What do you say?”

  Rose didn’t know. What to think. What to do. I will pay for it. I believe in you. Had anyone ever spoken those words to Rose before? Her aunt must have, hadn’t she? Surely she believed in her when she bought her that first sewing machine. She’d never said I love you, that just wasn’t her way. But she had other ways of showing that she cared.

  “I don’t know,” Rose said, her eyes fixed on the floor.

  “It’s been so wonderful having you here to help me with the dress,” Diana said, a tremor in her voice. “It’s been so very difficult to plan this wedding without my mother here. A wedding I don’t even want.”

  “I know what it’s like to feel alone,” Rose said. And then she qualified: “To be alone.”

  “My dear friend,” Diana said, placing her hand over Rose’s. “I hope you’ll excuse me for going on and on about not having a mother around for a few months when you lost your mother so long ago.”

  “You needn’t explain. I understand,” Rose said. It felt good to be honest with Diana. To speak words that were true.

  “And you’re not alone,” Diana said. “You have me. You have Julien. You have my brother.”

  Rose cleared her throat. “We should get the dress on you. I don’t want to keep you here all day for the first fitting. After all, there will be others after this one.”

  “I understand,” Diana said, and Rose was unsure of what she was referring to. Was it about opening her own atelier? About being an orphan? Or about the fact that she would not speak of Diana’s brother? As Rose stepped out of the fitting room for Diana to undress, she truly didn’t know.

  This would be the last appointment that Robert would accompany Diana on. The Laurents were due back in Paris in a week, and after that, Madame Laurent would be helping Diana to finalize the dress, along with the rest of the wedding plans. Rose worried about how they would keep up the ruse with Madame Laurent. Julien had thought Diana would be the easy one to fool, and it turned out they hadn’t even managed that.

  Rose walked down the entirety of the hallway before she knew where her feet were leading her. Once she stood at the base of the atelier, she realized. She had wanted to see Robert, one more time. He wouldn’t be at the next dress fitting, and that meant that there were no more reasons for him to see her at all. He would go on planning the wedding to his fiancée, and Rose would have to forget about him. She would never see him again. Would she even see Diana again after her wedding?

  She looked over to the chaise longue where he sat, thumbing through a newspaper. The sun hit his hair so that it appeared blonder than usual. His eyelashes glowed, like they were specked with bursts of light, and his skin looked healthy and bright. Even when his face was at rest, it seemed like he had just been smiling, as if he was thinking a happy thought. In her mind, she traced the curve of his lips, the sharp outline of his jaw. Rose longed to touch him one more time, take one more walk with him.

  Robert turned to Rose and caught her staring at him. She wanted to look away, she knew she should look away, but she did not. Instead, she offered a shy little wave, and he waved back. Without meaning to, she giggled at the exchange, and quickly drew her right hand over her mouth. It only made Robert grin even more. The edges of his eyes crinkled, and his lips parted. Rose thought about how endearing his smile was, with the one tooth that was slightly crooked. The matching tooth on the other side was perfectly straight, and Rose wondered what Robert saw when she revealed her smile to him.

  She felt silly standing so far from Robert; after all, he was the brother of a client, so it was only natural that she should go over and greet him properly. As she gathered the courage to make her way across the atelier floor, she felt a presence behind her. Had she left Diana in the fitting room too
long? But it was not Diana. Over her shoulder, she heard Julien whisper to her angrily: “Rose, your client is waiting for you.”

  PART FOUR:

  PUT THE PIECES TOGETHER

  “Now is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Some have been waiting their entire lives. It is time to put your dress together. It is time to prepare for the future.”

  —Excerpted from Creating the Illusion by Madame Michel,

  Paris, 1954

  Forty-Nine

  The bride

  Brooklyn, 2020

  Things Rocky would never forget: her father’s funeral, quitting her job at Google to go out on her own, Drew’s proposal. But now she had another thing to add to the list: the look on her mother’s face when she told her she didn’t want to wear her wedding dress.

  Joan had assured Rocky that it was fine, she didn’t mind, but her face told another story. It crumpled. She took a step back, as if Rocky had struck her, as if the pain of what Rocky said had hurt her physically. Joan tried to pretend that everything was fine, but tears sprang from her eyes and fell down her cheeks. Rocky did that to her. Rocky made her mother cry.

  She would never forget that moment. And she had no idea how to make it better.

  “She’s not coming?” Drew’s mother asked, and Rocky froze. She didn’t know what to say to the Goodmans. It was so generous of them to offer to pay for the flowers for the wedding. How could she tell them that her mother wouldn’t be there to help pick them out?

  Rocky hadn’t spoken to her mother since the fight on the sidewalk. What was there to say? She had finally told her mother the truth, and it was just as awful as she thought it would be. Her mother had been crushed. Would she ever forgive Rocky?

  “I’m so sorry,” Rocky said, and she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Drew’s mother or to her own.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Drew’s mother said, smiling widely. The smile did not reach her eyes. Rocky couldn’t tell if she was upset that Joan wasn’t there (Joan did have impeccable taste, after all), or if she was still conflicted over what had happened with Drew’s search for his birth mother. Karen Goodman was nothing if not impossible to read.