“Honey, he made that dress for you. He’d want you to wear it.”
“I know what he’d want. That doesn’t mean I can do it.”
She sat next to me and took my hand.
Every time I walked past it, I felt sick.
“Tina, listen to me. That man worked himself to the bone for one night. One night. Don’t let it sit in a closet.”
I didn’t answer her. But I didn’t say no again either.
***
The morning of prom, I stood in front of my closet for a long time. Then I pulled the dress out.
I ran my fingers over the tiny stitches near the waist, imagining his big, rough hands pushing that needle through, over and over.
I didn’t answer her.
I put it on and looked in the mirror.
“I’m wearing it for you, Grandpa. I’m gonna make you proud tonight. I promise.”
I sent Aunt Carol a message about what I was doing. I grabbed her car keys while she was out visiting a neighbor. She’d told me the car was mine for the night.
I headed out the door before I could change my mind.
I sent Aunt Carol a message about what I was doing.
***
I walked into the ballroom alone, the blue dress brushing softly against my knees.
String lights glittered from the ceiling, and the whole place smelled of hairspray and cheap punch.
I kept my eyes on the floor and told myself I only had to make it through one song for Grandpa.
Then I heard her voice.
“Oh my God, look!”
Lorraine stood near the drink table in a shimmery champagne gown that probably cost more than our rent.
Then I heard her voice.
Her friends turned in slow motion, like a pack of birds spotting something small. They looked at my dress and started laughing.
The same girls who’d always mocked me at school because of my clothes couldn’t help themselves.
“Oh, look, the local frog finally found a dress that matches her!” one commented.
Someone giggled behind a manicured hand.
Her friends turned in slow motion.
Another girl tilted her head and squinted at my seams.
“That’s obviously a rag. Did you sew it in shop class?”
“Look at those stitches. It’s literally homemade!”
I couldn’t feel my hands.
I couldn’t feel anything except the ache behind my eyes and the thought of Grandpa’s fingers guiding a thread through fabric.
I couldn’t feel my hands.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but I didn’t even have the strength to argue.
So I turned around. I was going to leave.
I was going to walk back to that apartment and cry into the pillow that still smelled of my grandpa’s aftershave. I was never going to tell anyone that this was how I’d said goodbye to him.
Then a hand closed gently around mine.
I was going to leave.
I looked up. Glenn.
He wore a dark navy suit and stared at me with something I couldn’t quite name. Not pity. Something quieter. Sadder.
“Tina.”
“Please let go,” I whispered. “I just want to leave.”
“Stay right here for 10 minutes.”
“Glenn, I can’t.”
“Please.” His grip tightened just barely. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
He wore a dark navy suit.
Glenn let go before I could argue and walked straight across the dance floor.
I was confused as I watched him weave between couples, past the punch bowl, past Lorraine, who lifted her chin as if she expected him to stop and flirt with her. He didn’t even look at her.
The most popular boy kept walking up the three shallow steps to the stage and leaned over to say something to the DJ. The DJ nodded. The music cut off mid-song.
Glenn let go before I could argue.
The ballroom noise rolled to a confused stop.
Heads turned. Someone laughed nervously, then stopped when nobody joined in.
Glenn took the microphone.
He tapped it once. The soft thud echoed against the walls.
My legs felt like water, and I gripped the back of a chair to stay upright.
