20. Daisy
Chapter 20
Daisy
"Daisy," my mother breathes my name. Her fingers press at her lips, her eyes wide and filling with tears. "Oh my word." Emotion wobbles her voice.
I spin in a circle, just for her. The seamstress, Colleen, stands back, wearing a proud grin from ear to ear. My mother's caregiver, Bonnie, sits in one of the chairs Colleen brought out. She, too, is smiling.
My mom dabs at her eyes. "Darling girl, that dress was made for you."
"Thank you, Mom." Colleen worked a miracle, taking the outdated puffy sleeves and lengthening them, cutting off the excess and slimming them into something sleek and long-sleeved. She added beading to the bodice, and a train where there wasn't one.
I look beautiful. I feel beautiful.
But it isn't until this moment, wearing my mother's wedding dress, that I also feel like a fraud. It's not like I haven't known this whole time what I was getting myself into, but seeing myself in a finished dress makes it more tangible.
The door to Creative Sewing swings open and Vivi flies in. She's wearing her chef's jacket, Dama Oliva embroidered above her left breast. Her long, thick hair is wound in a braid lying haphazardly over her shoulder.
As if she has been here the whole time, she strides to my mother's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Our girl is stunning, right?"
"Almost too beautiful for words," my mother croons.
"Ok, ok." I wave my hand, stepping down from the platform. That's enough attention being paid to me.
"Can you believe she's wearing my dress?" my mom says, turning to Bonnie. And Vivi. And Colleen. Anybody and everybody who will listen. "I wore that dress when I married Daisy's father thirty-five years ago, and the luck it brought me!" Her eyes shine, as does her complexion typically dull from illness. It's like somebody has dusted her with shimmery powder, but really it's how she feels on the inside showing on the outside. My mother is glowing. "Life has been good to me." She pauses, remembering her late-stage diagnosis. "Mostly," she amends. "Daisy, I hope you are as happy with Duke as I have been with your father all these years. And you, my sweet girl, have made me the happiest mother. I can't wait to watch you walk down the aisle."
I hug her, and try not to cry, but I fail.
Mostly my tears are for her, for what we will both lose. But if I'm being honest with myself, a small portion of these tears are for me.