Tess
Mom had scribbled over it:
Do not wear this dress!!!
I smiled and ripped off the tag. My mother never met a ribbon or a gift tag she didn’t save and reuse.
I opened the box and removed tufts of fresh tissue paper. I lifted out my mother’s wedding gown from 1970.
The gown was of its era, conjuring the mod early 1970s, the days of Lauren Hutton, Marisa Berenson, and Priscilla Presley when she married Elvis. It was a simple, straight A-line gown with a round collar. It was made of open antique cream-colored lace over a silk charmeuse lining. The lace of the trumpet sleeves was unlined, giving the gown a very fresh and courant look.
Clusters of tiny seed pearls were sewn into the flowers on the lace. The glints of milky beading gave the dress a classic finish. At the bottom of the box, folded neatly, was a long, wide shawl that I remembered from the wedding photographs. My mother liked dramatic emphasis around her face, and this shawl provided it. She had draped the shawl over her shoulders and thrown it over the back of her dress, giving a capelike effect.
I slipped behind the dressing screen and removed my jeans and work shirt. I slipped the dress over my head. It glided over me. I pulled a box of size 8 sample shoes off the shelf. I slipped out of my loafers and into the pumps. I crossed to the three-way mirror and stepped up onto the riser. I adjusted the mirrors.
The dress fit, but it was five inches too short. I examined it from all sides. I liked the neckline, the antique lace, and the silhouette. It needed something, and I wasn’t sure what, so I went to the notions closet and found a wide grosgrain ribbon in lavender. I cut a piece and wrapped it around my waist. The pop of color changed the look of the old lace. The round cutouts of roses and daisies in the lace were offset by the straight lines of the grosgrain ribbon. The mix of textures did something to the dress. I went to the notions closet and picked out a chunky rhinestone buckle. I threaded the ribbon through the buckle.
There was a knock on the door. “I’m busy!” I called out.
“It’s Gram.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes!” she called out.
“Come on in.”
“We’re all packed for the airport,” she said, stopping when she saw me in the dress.
“What do you think?” I modeled the dress.
“Are you going to cut it off to the knee?”
“No, I was thinking of altering it.” I picked up the shawl and unfurled it. “There might be enough fabric. I would add the lace at the bodice and waist and drop the hem to the floor.”
“You really like it?” Gram asked carefully.
“You don’t?”
“I loved it the first time around.” Gram smiled.
“Mom tried to act like she lost it. I told her exactly where it was in the attic so she had to send it over. Why the resistance?”
“Because your mother is a drama queen.”
“You raised her.”
“So I speak the truth. Your mother has never liked anything old, including being old. She wants to buy you a new dress.”
“I don’t want a new dress.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to make a big deal out of this wedding.” I caught myself, but not before my grandmother saw through me.
“It is a big deal.”
“I just want to get married and start a new life with Gianluca. I don’t really care about the ceremony and the party.”
Gram sat down on one of the work stools and faced me. “You’re the most traditional person I know. You never wanted me to sell this building because of the history. So what’s going on with you? Are you sure you want to get married?”
“Yes! I love Gianluca. But I don’t care about the dress and the hors d’oeuvres and the band. I just don’t. Maybe years of making wedding shoes for people has turned me off to the entire enterprise. To tell you the truth, I would be happy going down to city hall.”
“That would kill your parents.”
“They’d recover.”
“I don’t mean to cause trouble, but you need to get real here. Your
Mom had scribbled over it:
Do not wear this dress!!!
I smiled and ripped off the tag. My mother never met a ribbon or a gift tag she didn’t save and reuse.
I opened the box and removed tufts of fresh tissue paper. I lifted out my mother’s wedding gown from 1970.
The gown was of its era, conjuring the mod early 1970s, the days of Lauren Hutton, Marisa Berenson, and Priscilla Presley when she married Elvis. It was a simple, straight A-line gown with a round collar. It was made of open antique cream-colored lace over a silk charmeuse lining. The lace of the trumpet sleeves was unlined, giving the gown a very fresh and courant look.
Clusters of tiny seed pearls were sewn into the flowers on the lace. The glints of milky beading gave the dress a classic finish. At the bottom of the box, folded neatly, was a long, wide shawl that I remembered from the wedding photographs. My mother liked dramatic emphasis around her face, and this shawl provided it. She had draped the shawl over her shoulders and thrown it over the back of her dress, giving a capelike effect.
I slipped behind the dressing screen and removed my jeans and work shirt. I slipped the dress over my head. It glided over me. I pulled a box of size 8 sample shoes off the shelf. I slipped out of my loafers and into the pumps. I crossed to the three-way mirror and stepped up onto the riser. I adjusted the mirrors.
The dress fit, but it was five inches too short. I examined it from all sides. I liked the neckline, the antique lace, and the silhouette. It needed something, and I wasn’t sure what, so I went to the notions closet and found a wide grosgrain ribbon in lavender. I cut a piece and wrapped it around my waist. The pop of color changed the look of the old lace. The round cutouts of roses and daisies in the lace were offset by the straight lines of the grosgrain ribbon. The mix of textures did something to the dress. I went to the notions closet and picked out a chunky rhinestone buckle. I threaded the ribbon through the buckle.
There was a knock on the door. “I’m busy!” I called out.
“It’s Gram.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes!” she called out.
“Come on in.”
“We’re all packed for the airport,” she said, stopping when she saw me in the dress.
“What do you think?” I modeled the dress.
“Are you going to cut it off to the knee?”
“No, I was thinking of altering it.” I picked up the shawl and unfurled it. “There might be enough fabric. I would add the lace at the bodice and waist and drop the hem to the floor.”
“You really like it?” Gram asked carefully.
“You don’t?”
“I loved it the first time around.” Gram smiled.
“Mom tried to act like she lost it. I told her exactly where it was in the attic so she had to send it over. Why the resistance?”
“Because your mother is a drama queen.”
“You raised her.”
“So I speak the truth. Your mother has never liked anything old, including being old. She wants to buy you a new dress.”
“I don’t want a new dress.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to make a big deal out of this wedding.” I caught myself, but not before my grandmother saw through me.
“It is a big deal.”
“I just want to get married and start a new life with Gianluca. I don’t really care about the ceremony and the party.”
Gram sat down on one of the work stools and faced me. “You’re the most traditional person I know. You never wanted me to sell this building because of the history. So what’s going on with you? Are you sure you want to get married?”
“Yes! I love Gianluca. But I don’t care about the dress and the hors d’oeuvres and the band. I just don’t. Maybe years of making wedding shoes for people has turned me off to the entire enterprise. To tell you the truth, I would be happy going down to city hall.”
“That would kill your parents.”
“They’d recover.”
“I don’t mean to cause trouble, but you need to get real here. Your
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