Chapter 12: The Dress Code

My first paycheck cleared on Friday, and by Friday afternoon I was standing in a dress shop with a five-year-old rating the gowns.

"Too itchy," Percy said, from a velvet pouf in the corner. "Too shiny. Too many bones."

"They're called ruffles."

"They look like bones."

The saleswoman behind the counter pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

I had spent two days thinking about the dinner.

Eugene had come to my desk on Wednesday, leaning on his cane, and made me an offer.

"I can have your mother's invitation withdrawn by noon," he said. "A clerical error. Nobody would know."

I had thought about it for exactly as long as it took him to finish the sentence.

"No," I said. "Leave her seat."

"You're certain?"

"She got the invitation because she wanted a room full of people. I'd like her to have one."

Eugene had looked at me for a while with those grey eyes.

"You mean to let her hang herself," he said.

"I mean to let her talk."

"That is the same thing," he said approvingly, and went away.

Now I stood in front of a three-way mirror in a column of deep green silk.

I tried to see a woman who belonged at the head table of anything.

I was a size fourteen, with freckles and strong hips, and the dress held all of me without apology.

It had no ruffles, no bones, and no itch.

I turned sideways, and I did not hate what I saw.

"Mom," Percy said, from the pouf.

"What do you think?"

"It has pockets."

I looked down.

It did.

Two deep ones, hidden in the seams.

"I'll take it," I said.

The price tag was almost half of my paycheck, and I handed over my card without flinching.

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