“Fake,” she replied, “but what the heck. I put the boutonnieres in the fridge. Do you know how many girls would like to go to the prom with Jason?”
“Well, if anyone wants to take my place…” I began.
“Cut it out. You want the bathroom first? I’ve got to make sure these are dry.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll hang your dress on the closet door. You’ve got a pile of shoes to choose from.”
“Thanks for getting all that together.”
“Glad to,” she replied. “This is going to be great!”
When I returned from the bathroom twenty minutes later, I found the shoe boxes piled neatly and the dress hanging on the door. One look told me the gown wouldn’t fit, though it would have been perfect for Holly with her tall model-like frame. I figured it was hers-its blue matched her eyes.
“Jason had better not be picky about his last-minute dates,” I muttered as I unzipped the back.
When I put on the dress, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; a sleeping bag would have been as flattering. I gathered the waist with my fingers, trying to shorten the dress and give it some shape, then padded down the hall toward Aunt Jule’s room to find something I could tie around me as a belt. I hoped she was in a better mood.
“Good Lord!” she exclaimed before I could say a word.
“Are you trying to be nominated for wallflower of the year?”
“I thought a belt might help.”
She clucked and came toward me. “It’s going to need more than that,” she said, grasping the fabric, lifting the dress up from my shoulders. “Perhaps your date can bring football pads.”
“I think he plays basketball.”
“Then we’ll have to use his shoes.”
I laughed, glad to know she was back to her old self.
With her hands still on my shoulders, she turned me around, then shook her head. “I don’t know why Holly thought her dress would fit you. Let’s see what I’ve got I may have to do some fast sewing.”
I followed her into the walk-in closet, a pleasantly chaotic room, where Nora, Holly, and I used to play. Aunt Jule suddenly seized on something. “This is it! Perfect. Halter tops never go out of style, not when you have pretty shoulders.”
She pulled out a rather slinky red dress.
“Wow.”
“ I was pretty wow,” she said, “back in the days when I could fit in this. Now you can be.”
“I don’t know,” I said, touching the stretchy red fabric.
She marched me out of the closet and turned me toward the mirror. “Lauren, look at yourself. Do you really want to go to a prom looking like you’re playing dress-ups?”
I shook my head.
“So give it a try. Don’t be prim.”
“I’m not prim,” I argued. “I just don’t want to call attention to myself, and red does.”
“So does a dress several sizes too big.”
“True.”
“How about shoes?” Aunt Jule asked.
“Holly brought me several pairs.”
“Do they fit as well as her dress?”
“I haven’t tried them yet.”
Aunt Jule disappeared inside the closet. Box lids started flying. “Here we are.”
She emerged holding up a pair of red heels. “Okay,” she said, noting the expression on my face, “so they’re retro.
Trust me, when guys see you in these, they’ll be falling all over you.”
“Or I’ll be falling all over them. How can you stand in heels that tall and skinny? I’ve got four-inchers, but they’re not on pinpoints.”
“Try them,” she said.
I did, walking back and forth in my room, then up and down the porch, my heels clicking loudly, my bathrobe blowing in the breeze of arriving storms.
At eight-fifteen I was dressed and surveyed myself in the mirror once more. The red gown was the most sophisticated thing I’d ever worn. The slits up its sides did more than provide a view of my legs, they were necessary if I wanted to walk rather than hop like the Easter Bunny.
I picked up the little evening bag Aunt Jule had lent me and headed downstairs. When I reached the lower hall, I heard Frank, Holly, and Aunt Jule talking. I assumed the guys hadn’t arrived yet. Relaxing a little, I entered the river room and strode toward the fireplace, where Holly was posing.
Frank glanced over his shoulder, then turned around and whistled at me.
“Really, Frank.” Aunt Jule said, but this once he had succeeded in pleasing her.
Holly looked at me with surprise. “Where did you get that dress?”
“It’s your mom’s.”
“I lent you mine,” she said.
“It was beautiful, but it didn’t fit.”
“Surely, Holly,” Aunt Jule interjected, “a girl into details, as you are, would have noticed that you and Lauren are built very differently.”
I heard the put-down in my godmother’s voice and wished she’d act more like a mother and less like a goading sister.