Forty-Eight
Honey wanted a new dress and Fern also needed something to wear to the wedding, which is how Fern found herself sitting on a tiny stool in the dressing room trying to zip a too-small sequined number up Honey’s bulging back.
“I don’t get it,” Honey said, trying to twist around and see the label on the back of the dress. “Is this a size eight? Because I am definitely a size eight.”
Fern put on her reading glasses and looked at the label. “It says eight.”
“It must be a mistake,” Honey said. “Mislabeled.”
“Want me to see if they have a ten? It’s pretty.”
Honey snorted. “I’d be swimming in a size ten.
See if they have something similar in an eight.
I like the color.” Fern helped Honey step out of the dress and took it to the saleswoman.
As she was going through the racks of dresses, all of them hideous, she had a memory from so long ago.
One Saturday, Nina had taken her and Clara and Bridie to run some errands.
Nina needed something at Sears, something in the housewares department, and she let the girls browse through the Lemon Frog shop that Sears advertised as being for “young teens.” They all grabbed bunches of corduroy pants and tops with little lemon frogs embroidered on them.
When Nina came to find them, both Bridie and Clara had chosen a few items. Fern was locked in a dressing room.
“Fern?” Nina said, knocking gently on the door. “Can I help you?”
Fern slowly opened the door, dressed in the clothes she came in. “Didn’t you like anything?” Nina asked.
“They don’t fit,” Fern said. Nina could tell she was embarrassed and on the verge of tears. “I’ll find you another size,” she said to Fern.
“No,” Fern said. “I can’t. My mother only lets me buy a size seven. Sometimes a nine.”
“Hold on,” Nina said. She was back within minutes with a pair of dark purple slacks, size eleven.
Fern put them on and although they were a tiny bit snug, they were wearable.
“But they’re not my size,” Fern said. Nina put a finger to her lips.
Shhhhh. Within minutes Nina had worked the paper tags off the T-shaped plastic fastener and switched them.
“What about the tag on the pants?” Fern asked, excited.
“Easy,” Nina said. With little effort she ripped it right out of the waistband.
“Honey will never know.” Fern had worn those pants until they had holes in the knees, crotch, back pockets.
She loved them. She carried Honey’s size eight to the salesgirl.
“It’s a little small,” Fern whispered. “But if we change the tags—”
The saleslady nodded and smiled. She went to the rack and rifled through and grabbed another version of the dress.
“Here’s a ten,” she said, handing the dress to Fern and turning to help another shopper.
Fern swiftly undid the tags attached with tiny safety pins—so much easier!
—and switched them. She checked the back of the neckline and miraculously there wasn’t a label to tear out. She went back to Honey’s dressing room.
“Here’s another eight. Give it a try. The saleswoman said sometimes they get mislabeled.”
“Aren’t you going to try something on?”
“In here? No.” Fern rolled her eyes. “Not exactly my style.”
“What exactly is your style?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find something.”
Honey turned to Fern, exasperated. “You live in those hospital scrubs.”
“Mom, I work in a hospital.”
“But why do you have to wear them off duty?”
“Because they’re comfortable.”
“I miss the old nurse’s uniforms.” Honey said. “The white dresses. The white cap. The stockings and navy capes. So smart.”
“You’re describing a uniform from the fifties.”
“What a shame. Remember all those nursing books I bought you? The Cherry Ames books? Cherry Ames Student Nurse. Cherry Ames Senior Nurse. You loved those books! She wore the dress and the cape. She didn’t work in hospice.
I always thought you became a nurse because of those books.
” Honey smiled at herself in the mirror, admiring her accidental vocation influencing.
“Maybe,” Fern said. She realized she’d been a little in love with Cherry Ames in all her nursing iterations. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about Cherry’s tiny waist and pointy breasts. “I did have quite a crush on Cherry Ames, Dude Ranch Nurse.”
“Fern. Honestly.” But Honey smiled at Fern in the mirror. She’d lightened up so much since Hank. Honey slipped on the fake size eight. Fern stepped behind her and zipped the back.
“There!” Honey said, delighted. “I knew it. I don’t know why, but this shop always mixes up sizes.”
“It looks great.”
Honey smoothed the skirt and looked at herself from the side. She deflated a bit. “Is this really a size eight?”
“Mom, who cares?”
“I knew it. I’ve done everything right, but the scale won’t budge.”
“Maybe because you’re happy?” Fern said. “Because Hank is a great guy who doesn’t care how much you weigh?”
“Even so. It will smooth out with a girdle.”
“You don’t need a girdle.”
“I need two. I’ll double up.”
Fern knew Honey was thinking about Nina and what Nina would wear and how Nina would be effortlessly elegant and inevitably make Honey look like she was trying too hard.
The elder Finnegans and Larkins had a working truce, a public politeness, but it had been ages since they’d all had to coexist in one room.
Until next weekend. Until Bridie and Dune’s wedding, when all the unwilling players would be summoned to the stage one more time.