“And it gives Carol permission to finalize the invitations with the printer,” Ethan added.
“Why would Carol need my signature for that?” I asked.
Ethan adjusted his watch strap, his eyes avoiding mine.
“She is coordinating all the paperwork,” Ethan said.
“She actually came by the apartment earlier today while you were at the boutique,” he added.
I looked up from the paper, my pen hovering over the line. “In my apartment?”
“Yes, she wanted to help me clean out my old childhood desk in the spare bedroom,” Ethan said.
“She said we might need some of my old school records and certificates for the program bio,” he added.
I did not know he needed anything from that desk, which had sat undisturbed for years.
“I did not think those old papers mattered for a wedding,” I said.
“Just sign it, Mom,” Ethan said, his voice tight. “We are out of time.”
I signed the paper slowly, the blue ink looking sharp against the white page.
After he left, I carried the gray dress into my bedroom and pulled it out of its plastic cover.
The dull gray fabric draping over my arms like a shroud.
I set the hanger back on the brass hook and reached instead for the garment bag containing my eighty-dollar coral dress. The zipper made a sharp, metallic sound in the quiet dressing room. I pulled the warm, bright fabric over my shoulders, smoothing the skirt with both hands. It fit me comfortably, the linen light against my skin, a soft contrast to the heavy gray dress hanging beside it.
The dressing room door swung open, and Ashley walked in. She was already in her wedding gown, her veil trailing behind her like a white cloud on the green carpet. She stopped near the vanity mirror, her hand going instantly to her pearl necklace.
“What is that?” Ashley asked, her voice sharp and clipped. “Why are you wearing that dress?”
I turned to face her, keeping my voice soft but firm. “It is the coral dress I bought in Chicago. The gray one does not fit me well around the shoulders, Ashley.”
