I touched the loose black stitches holding the ugly collar in place.
“I want this stuff off.”
The chaperone found a small sewing kit in the event supply cabinet.
She offered to help, but I shook my head.
“I can do it.”
At a table near the wall, I began cutting the long basting stitches one by one.
Dad held the fabric steady.
The mustard collar came away first.
Beneath it was a graceful, open neckline edged with tiny hand-sewn beads.
Then I removed the bulky sleeves.
The original sleeves were soft and fitted, ending just above my elbows.
The rhinestone panel peeled away from the bodice in a single piece.
Finally, Dad loosened the stitches holding the original skirt beneath the mustard overlay.
The cheap fabric slid to the floor.
The gold dress dropped into place.
It was wrinkled from being folded and slightly too loose at the waist, but it was beautiful.
Not beautiful because it was expensive.
Beautiful because I could suddenly see my mother in it.
I could imagine her laughing beside that old car.
I could picture her choosing blue thread because matching thread was boring.
I could feel the care in every small repair.
When I stood, the people around us were silent.
Brianna looked at the heap of mustard fabric on the floor, then at her own enormous blue gown.
For the first time that night, she did not look triumphant.
Dad took out his phone.
“May I take your picture now?”
My eyes burned.
I nodded.
He took one photograph of me alone and another with his arm around my shoulders.
He did not ask Alexis or Brianna to join us.
Alexis watched from a few feet away, tears running down her face.
“This is being blown out of proportion,” she said.
“I made a bad decision.
Families forgive bad decisions.”
Dad lowered the phone.
“A bad decision is forgetting an appointment.
This required planning.”
“I was under pressure.”
“To do what?”
Alexis looked toward Brianna.
“To make the night special for my daughter.”
“And you believed that required hurting mine.”
“She gets everything.”
The words came out before Alexis could stop them.
Dad went completely still.
Alexis continued, her voice rising now that the truth had escaped.
“She has the college fund.
She has your attention.
She has everyone treating her like she’s fragile because her mother died.
Brianna walks into a room and still has to compete with a ghost.”
I felt the sentence strike me, but I did not look away.
Dad’s expression changed from anger to something colder.
“My daughter lost her mother,” he said.
“That was not an advantage.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You took one of the last things her mother left her and turned it into a weapon.”
