Damon walked into the room, his white shirt now on but unbuttoned at the top. He checked his watch. “What are you staring at?”
“Jake,” I said. “He wants to make sure we are on our way.”
“He is always checking up on us,” Damon said, walking toward the bathroom. “Tell him we will get there when we get there.”
I typed, “We are getting ready now. Can’t wait to see you.”
I went into our bedroom and closed the door. The house was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the heater in the hallway.
I reached into the back of the closet, past the dark wool coats and the sensible winter skirts, and pulled out the box from Evelyn’s Dress Shop. The tissue paper made a loud rustling sound in the quiet room.
I took out the emerald dress and held it against myself. It felt light, almost weightless, compared to the heavy cottons I usually wore.
I reached into my small jewelry box and took out my mother’s worn pearl earrings. They were small and slightly yellowed with age, but they were the only real jewelry I owned. I clipped them onto my ears, the cold metal pinching my lobes.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself, looking at the wall. “It is just a dress.”
I stepped into the green silk, pulling it up over my shoulders. The zipper went up easily, the fabric fitting snug against my waist.
I walked out of the bedroom, my heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.
Damon was coming up the stairs, his tie still loose around his neck. He stopped on the third step from the top, his hand gripping the banister. His eyes traveled from my shoes up to my neck, staying there for a long moment.
“Are you seriously wearing that?” he asked. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.
“Yes,” I said, smoothing my hands down the skirt. “I bought it last week.”
