My stepmom walked into prom wearing the exact dress my dying mother had sewn for me, and for one awful second, everyone thought we’d planned it.
Formal Wear
Shirley smiled like she’d won some competition.
My dad looked at the floor.
My stepmom walked into prom.
I turned toward the exit with tears on my face, but my date, Gary, touched my elbow and whispered, “Don’t disappear, Delilah.”
My mother had said those same words while stitching the dress with shaking hands.
A year earlier, Mom sat up in bed with dusty pink fabric across her lap, pretending the needle wasn’t shaking in her hand.
Dresses
Some days, she could barely hold a spoon, but she still insisted on sewing the rosettes along the neckline herself.
I turned toward the exit with tears on my face.
“Mom, let me finish it.”
“No. The rosettes are mine.”
“Mom, you need to rest. Please.”
“I am resting, Delilah. That’s all I do. Let me have this, hon.”
The dress was strapless, fitted through the bodice, and soft through the skirt, made for my prom the following year.
Special Occasions
