Chapter 8 - Now Show Them the E
The dressing suite was quiet in a way the ballroom hadn't been. The door was shut, the chandeliers out there muffled to a hum through the walls. I could hear the air conditioner and my own breathing.
I had the ivory satin gown over my arm. The crystal outer layer lay collapsed on the chaise where I'd dropped it, catching light even in a heap. Victoria stood by the vanity with her arms crossed, her silver beading pulled tight across her shoulders. My husband - he still felt new to call him that - stood near the garment bags with the delivery confirmation folded in his hand. Lila hovered by the door, not quite in, not quite out.
"Show them," I had said on the altar. Now they were all looking at me to do it.
I turned the satin gown inside out at the hem. My hands didn't shake until I had to find the spot. I knew where it was because I'd asked for it that way. Low, on the inside facing, near the left side seam, where no camera would catch it unless I wanted it to.
There. A small letter, maybe half an inch tall, embroidered in ivory thread on ivory satin. You had to tilt it to see it catch the light. An E.
I held it out, the lining pulled taut between my fingers.
My husband stepped closer. He bent his head. His bow tie had come a little loose.
"An E," he said. His voice was low. "You had that put in?"
I nodded. I couldn't speak for a second. The thread was exactly the color I'd picked at the boutique, the one the consultant had said was pointless because no one would see it.
"It's on the invoice," I said. "Third line. Custom embroidery - initial E - interior hem. My initial."
He looked from the tiny letter to my face, then back to the paper in his hand. He unfolded the delivery confirmation and smoothed it against his thigh. His eyes moved across the print.
"Yeah," he said. "Right here. Customization: E interior hem. I didn't even notice it before."
Victoria made a sound in her throat. She didn't come closer.
"That is childish detail," she said. Her chandelier earrings swung when she shifted her weight. "A letter inside a dress no one sees. This is your proof? You embroidered a letter and think that means something?"
Lila looked at her mother, then quickly down at the carpet.
"It's not for them," I said to Victoria. I kept my voice even. It took effort. "It was for me. So I'd know which dress was mine when it came out of the bag. So no one could say I was confused about what I ordered."
I let the satin fall so the E disappeared again against the fabric. Then I lifted it again, just that corner. My pink manicure was still neat. The pearl in my chignon pressed against my neck.
"Why hide it?" my husband asked. He wasn't looking at Victoria now. He was looking at me. "Why didn't you tell me you'd done that?"
I swallowed. The air tasted like hairspray and clean laundry.
"Because I thought you'd think it was silly," I said. "And because I hoped I wouldn't need it. I thought if I ordered it and saved every paper, that would be enough. I didn't think she'd actually swap the whole dress. I thought maybe I was being paranoid."
He stared at the E. His jaw worked. I saw the moment he understood it wasn't about the letter at all.
"You weren't paranoid," he said.
Victoria's hands tightened on her arms. Her diamond bracelet caught the vanity lights.
"You are making a great deal of a little letter," she said. "I tried to help. That crystal gown cost more. It photographed better. An initial does not make a bride."
"It makes this bride," I said. I folded the hem back down, careful, smoothing the satin with my palm. The fabric was cool and heavy. "It makes it mine. And it matches the papers you said didn't matter."
Lila took a half step into the room. She spoke for the first time since we'd come off the altar.
"Mom," she said, quiet. "You told me the satin one was generic. You said anyone could have ordered it."
Victoria turned her head sharply. Lila flinched but didn't back up.
"I didn't know about an E," Lila added, looking at me. "I swear I didn't."
"I know," I said to her. I meant it.
My husband refolded the paper and slipped it into his tuxedo pocket. He put his hand, light, on the satin where I'd shown the E, not on me, on the dress.
"So that's it then," he said. He glanced at Victoria. "It's not deniable anymore. You can't say it's the wrong invoice or a mix-up. Her initial is in it. In the dress you took out of the closet."
Victoria opened her mouth, then closed it. Her lipstick had worn thin. For the first time that day she didn't have a quick answer. She looked at the crystal gown on the chaise, at the ivory one in my hands, at the E I had already covered again.
"Childish or not," she said finally, her voice thinner, "you've made your point."
May you like
I didn't feel triumphant. I felt tired and suddenly very aware of the guests still seated out in the ballroom, the sixty people waiting on the other side of that dressing suite door with their napkins in their laps and their phones in their hands. And the crystal gown on the chaise that no one had decided what to do with.
But the letter had done what I'd paid for it to do months ago when a woman in a boutique had asked if I wanted something hidden just for me. I'd said yes without knowing why I was so sure I needed it.
