I repeatedly told him a thrift-store dress was fine, and I meant it.
But he continued working himself to exhaustion for me.
I convinced myself he was maybe cleaning offices.
***
About a month in, Grandpa called me into the living room, which had remained locked after his shift. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were shining.
“Come here, kiddo. I’ve got something for you.”
He opened the closet and pulled out a hanger wrapped in a white sheet. Then he uncovered it.
My jaw nearly hit the floor!
“I’ve got something for you.”
It was a soft blue dress with delicate stitching along the bodice, tiny beads catching the lamplight! It looked like something out of a magazine!
“Try it on. Go on.”
I slipped into the bathroom and pulled it over my shoulders. It fit as though he’d measured every inch of me in my sleep!
I came back out and couldn’t stop staring at myself in the hallway mirror.
It looked like something out of a magazine!
“Grandpa, did you make this for me yourself?”
He nodded, grinning like a kid.
“Borrowed the old industrial machine at the shop. Stayed late every night after work, stitch by stitch.”
“You taught yourself? In a month?”
“It wasn’t easy. Poked my fingers about a hundred times!”
I threw my arms around him and cried into his shirt.
“Did you make this for me yourself?”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“Yes, you do, sweetheart. You’ve always deserved this and so much more.”
***
Five days later, my grandpa was gone.
He had a heart attack in his sleep. Aunt Carol found him when he didn’t answer her morning call. I didn’t get to say goodbye.
I couldn’t eat or sleep.
I skipped school for almost a week and just sat on the couch in one of his old flannel shirts.
My grandpa was gone.
The prom flyer stayed pinned to the fridge, and every time I walked past it, I felt sick.
***
“I’m not going, Aunt Carol. I can’t,” I told her while she stayed with me at Grandpa’s place because I refused to leave.
