The bread knife slipped, slicing a clean red line across the side of my thumb before I even felt the bite of the steel. I did not look up because Damon was already folding his morning paper, and any sudden movement in the kitchen always drew his eyes.<\/p>\n
I pressed a paper towel against the cut and went back to spreading the mustard on his rye bread.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe butter is starting to smell like onions,\u201d Damon said, adjusting his collar as he stood near the refrigerator.<\/p>\n
\u201cI kept it in the keeper,\u201d I said, my voice trailing off.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, check the seal,\u201d he said, taking his lunchbox from the counter. \u201cBy the way, I saw the calendar on the fridge. Fifty is a heavy number, Elena. You might want to skip the bakery cake this year.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed, that quick, barking sound he used when he wanted to say something sharp without being called unkind. I smoothed my hands down my apron and smiled back because it was easier than explaining that fifty did not feel like a joke.<\/p>\n
He set his lunchbox down again, his fingers tapping the metal lid twice.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe do not need to make a big production out of it,\u201d he said, his eyes scanning the counter for his keys. \u201cAt our age, quiet is better.\u201d<\/p>\n
The landline on the wall rang twice before I reached it, the cord stretching tight across the breadboard.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, do not say no,\u201d Lily said, her voice rushing through the receiver so fast she overlapped my greeting. \u201cWe are booking the Gilded Lantern for the twelfth at seven. It is already set.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is too expensive, Lily,\u201d I whispered, looking toward the hallway where Damon was putting on his boots.<\/p>\n
\u201cJake is helping pay, and Noah is coming home from school,\u201d she said. I could hear the faint, familiar clicking of her silver rings twisting against each other on the other end of the line. \u201cYou only turn fifty once. Wear something beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
Damon stopped by the door, his eyes lingering on my hands as I held the receiver.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is that?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cLily,\u201d I said, placing a hand over the mouthpiece. \u201cShe was just asking about the garden.\u201d<\/p>\n
He checked his watch, turned the doorknob, and stepped out onto the porch without another word.<\/p>\n
I stood there listening to the hum of the old refrigerator, the cold paper towel still pressed against my thumb.<\/p>\n
The wind in Oak Creek was cold that afternoon, sending dry brown sycamore leaves scraping across the asphalt of Main Street. I had three hours before the boys got home from their shifts, and my grocery list was already checked off.<\/p>\n
I stopped in front of Evelyn\u2019s Dress Shop because the window display had changed since Tuesday.<\/p>\n
Behind the glass, on a pale mannequin with no face, hung a dress the color of deep moss after rain. It was silk, with a high neck and long sleeves that gathered at the wrists, catching the pale October light.<\/p>\n
I looked at my own reflection in the plate glass, my faded denim jacket and the worn pearl earrings my mother had given me when I turned thirty.<\/p>\n
The brass bell above the door chimed as a woman in a wool coat walked out, leaving the door open just long enough for the scent of lavender and expensive starch to reach the sidewalk.<\/p>\n
I found myself stepping inside before I could think of a reason to turn back.<\/p>\n
The shop was quiet, the heavy green carpet swallowing the sound of my flat shoes.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt just came in yesterday,\u201d the saleswoman said, coming around a rack of wool skirts. She had a tape measure draped over her shoulder like a silver snake.<\/p>\n
I touched the hem of the green silk, my fingers feeling rough against the smooth fabric.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is beautiful,\u201d I said, \u201cbut I have nowhere to wear something like this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour family is planning a dinner, isn\u2019t he?\u201d she asked, adjusting a hanger near me. \u201cI think it is time you did something just for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words felt heavy in the quiet room. I looked at the tag hanging from the sleeve: one hundred and forty dollars.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe dressing room is right through there,\u201d she said, gently taking the hanger off the rod and pressing the silk into my hands.<\/p>\n
Inside the small curtained booth, the mirror was framed in warm yellow bulbs. I took off my denim jacket, unbuttoned my plain cotton shirt, and let the green dress slide over my head.<\/p>\n
The silk was cool against my skin, fitting close around my waist before falling in soft folds to my knees. For a second, I did not recognize the woman in the glass; she looked taller, her shoulders straighter than they had been in years.<\/p>\n
I smoothed my hands down my thighs, feeling the weight of the fabric.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes it fit?\u201d the saleswoman called out from behind the velvet curtain.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper.<\/p>\n
I took the dress off quickly, as if I were stealing it, and dressed in my own clothes again. My old shirt felt thin and stiff.<\/p>\n
At the counter, I counted out seven twenty-dollar bills from the envelope in my purse, the money I had saved from selling my hand-knitted blankets at the autumn fair.<\/p>\n
The saleswoman folded the dress into white tissue paper and laid it inside a glossy gray box with a silver ribbon.<\/p>\n
The receipt she handed me read exactly one hundred and forty dollars, the ink still slightly damp.<\/p>\n
The drive back to the house was quiet, the gray box sitting on the passenger seat like a passenger who knew all my secrets.<\/p>\n
When I parked in the driveway, I looked at the front porch, half expecting to see Damon\u2019s car already there, even though it was only three in the afternoon.<\/p>\n
I hurried up the steps, the heavy box tucked under my arm, my keys clinking against the brass lock.<\/p>\n
The house smelled of morning coffee and old wood. I ran up the stairs to our bedroom, my heart rate rising with every step.<\/p>\n
I opened the heavy oak wardrobe, pushing aside Damon\u2019s gray suits and my own row of beige cardigans.<\/p>\n
At the very back, behind a stack of winter blankets we had not used in years, there was a dark, narrow space where the floorboards met the wall.<\/p>\n
I slid the gray box into the corner, covering it with a wool shawl.<\/p>\n
If Damon found it, he would ask why I needed to draw attention to myself, his voice calm and reasonable while he made the dress seem like a foolish mistake.<\/p>\n
I closed the wardrobe door slowly, ensuring the latch clicked shut.<\/p>\n
I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled the small dresser drawer toward me until the old pine wood squeaked. My mother\u2019s velvet jewelry box sat under a stack of winter scarves, its blue fabric worn down to the grey thread at the corners.<\/p>\n
I lifted the small lid and took out the pearl earrings, holding them in my open palm. They were small, slightly yellowed by thirty years of storage, and one of the silver backs was loose.<\/p>\n
I held them up next to my ears, wondering if they looked too old-fashioned for a fancy restaurant. I reached for the small mirror on the wall, but my hand stopped before I could lift it.<\/p>\n
The sound of the television downstairs hummed through the floorboards, a quiet drone of afternoon news. I looked at the little pearls, remembering how my mother only wore them on Sundays or when my father took her to the county fair.<\/p>\n
Damon came down the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards, and stopped by the bedroom door frame. He adjusted his shirt collar, his eyes moving from my face down to my hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre we wearing the family heirlooms now?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was just looking at them,\u201d I said, my voice trailing off as I went to put them back in the box.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d he said, turning back toward the stairs. \u201cWe wouldn\u2019t want you looking like you\u2019re trying too hard at your age.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey were my mother\u2019s,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know whose they were,\u201d he said, his voice carrying back from the stairwell. \u201cI\u2019m just saying, let\u2019s keep things simple.\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed, the quick, dry sound he always made when he was teasing, but I kept my hand on the velvet lid until I heard him reach the kitchen. I decided right then that I would leave them in the drawer.<\/p>\n
The next evening, I stood by the small mirror in the downstairs bathroom and applied the new lipstick I bought at the drugstore. It was a shade called Warm Berry, brighter than the pale pink I had worn since our wedding day.<\/p>\n
I smoothed my hands down my apron, trying to decide if the color made my teeth look yellow. A floorboard creaked in the hall behind me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs there a parade in town?\u201d Damon asked from the bathroom doorway.<\/p>\n
He had a mug of black coffee in his hand and was checking his watch.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted to try something different for the dinner next week,\u201d I said, looking down at the sink.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt makes you look like you\u2019re heading to a high school dance,\u201d he said, taking a sip from his mug. \u201cAt fifty, Elena, we should probably leave the paint to the girls.\u201d<\/p>\n
He smiled to show he was just kidding, but the coffee mug clicked hard against the tile counter when he set it down.<\/p>\n
I took a piece of damp toilet paper and wiped the berry color off my lips until they were pale again. I threw the paper into the trash bin and did not look at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou always take my little jokes so seriously,\u201d he said, laughing as he walked into the living room.<\/p>\n
I stood there for a long time, watching my reflection in the dim light of the bathroom. I rubbed my hands down my thighs, feeling the rough cotton of my apron against my palms.<\/p>\n
On Thursday morning, the mail carrier left the monthly credit card statement on the porch. I sat at the dining room table with the envelope, sliding a silver butter knife under the seal to open it quietly.<\/p>\n
The charge from Evelyn\u2019s Dress Shop was right there near the bottom, one hundred and forty dollars, standing out against the utility bills and the grocery totals. I heard Damon\u2019s heavy boots descending the wooden stairs.<\/p>\n
I slipped the small paper receipt from the boutique under my thigh, smoothing my skirt over it as he walked into the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs the electric bill in there?\u201d he asked, adjusting his collar.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said, holding out the white sheet but keeping the envelope flat on my lap. \u201cIt\u2019s about the same as last month.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took the paper, squinting at the numbers before folding it and putting it in his shirt pocket.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need to watch the spending this month,\u201d he said, his eyes lingering on my lap. \u201cI saw a charge from some boutique on the bank app yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
I held my breath, waiting to see if he would ask for the name on the receipt.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was just some gifts for the kids,\u201d I said, looking down at my hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d he said, turning toward the kitchen. \u201cJust make sure we aren\u2019t buying things we can\u2019t afford to show off.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The paper receipt felt hot against my skin under the fabric of my skirt. I waited until I heard the kitchen faucet run before I pulled the receipt out and tucked it deep inside my old leather purse.<\/p>\n
In the afternoon, I went out to the front porch to sweep the dried oak leaves off the steps. The air was cool, but the sun was bright enough to make me squint as I worked the broom into the corners.<\/p>\n
Mrs. Gable, my neighbor from across the gravel driveway, was leaning against her mailbox, watching the yellow school bus pass. She was sixty-eight, with silver hair kept tight in a bun, and she always wore a blue cardigan even in the early autumn heat.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re turning fifty next week, aren\u2019t you, Elena?\u201d she called out, walking over to the edge of my lawn.<\/p>\n
\u201cOn the twelfth,\u201d I said, resting my hands on top of the broom handle.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre the kids taking you somewhere nice?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey booked a table at The Gilded Lantern,\u201d I said. \u201cJake insisted on it.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stopped walking and looked toward our front door.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s a lovely place,\u201d she said, her voice dropping a little. \u201cYou should let them spoil you. You\u2019ve spent twenty-five years putting everyone else first.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a little nervous about it, to be honest,\u201d I said, looking down at the wooden porch steps.<\/p>\n
\u201cNervous about a dinner?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to make a fuss,\u201d I said, my voice dropping. \u201cDamon says it\u2019s an expensive place, and I don\u2019t want to look out of place.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mrs. Gable looked at me for a long moment, her hand resting on the wooden railing of my porch.<\/p>\n
\u201cA woman should shine on her birthday, Elena,\u201d she said softly. \u201cDon\u2019t let anyone make you feel small in your own skin.\u201d<\/p>\n
She patted my arm before turning to walk back to her house, leaving her words hanging in the cool afternoon air.<\/p>\n
I went back inside the quiet house and walked up the stairs to our bedroom.<\/p>\n
The green dress was still there, tucked away where Damon would not see it when he looked for his clean socks.<\/p>\n
I opened the wardrobe door just a crack, looking at the emerald fabric shining in the dim light of the closet.<\/p>\n
Every little comment he had made over the last week seemed to gather in the room, heavy and cold.<\/p>\n
The jokes about the lipstick, the remarks about the pearls, the warning about the credit card.<\/p>\n
They were just his usual jokes, of course, but counting them up made my hands feel cold.<\/p>\n
I reached out and pushed the dress further into the corner, behind my winter coats where the shadow was deepest.<\/p>\n
Then I shut the wardrobe door, leaving the green dress hidden in the dark.<\/p>\n
The steam from the iron smelled like starch and hot metal. I ran the silver plate of the iron down the sleeve of Damon\u2019s white button-down shirt, pressing the crease flat.<\/p>\n
Damon sat at the kitchen table, his finger tracing the edge of a printed menu he had pulled up on his laptop. He adjusted his collar, though he was only wearing his gray undershirt.<\/p>\n
\u201cThirty-four dollars for a roasted chicken,\u201d Damon said, shaking his head. \u201cIn Oak Creek, Ohio. They must think people do not know what a bird costs at the grocery store.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe kids chose it because of the patio,\u201d I said, keeping my eyes on the yoke of the shirt. \u201cThey wanted something nice for my fiftieth.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey wanted something expensive,\u201d he said. He tapped the screen. \u201cAnd their father is the one who has to pull out his wallet. Jake is twenty-four, he should understand how a budget works by now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJake is paying for his own share, Damon,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
He did not look up from the screen. \u201cHe says he is. We will see who actually pays when the bill arrives.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe has a good job now,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAn entry-level marketing position in Columbus is not a career, Elena. It is a starter job.\u201d Damon clicked the laptop shut with a sharp snap. \u201cI just do not want him throwing his money away to impress people.\u201d<\/p>\n
I set the iron on its heel and smoothed the shirt sleeve one last time. \u201cHe is trying to impress me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Damon did not answer. He stood up, took the hanger from my hand, and carried the shirt toward the hallway without saying thank you.<\/p>\n
By four o\u2019clock, the iron was cold and back in the pantry. I stood in the dining room, looking at the dust motes floating in the pale October sun. My phone buzzed on the sideboard.<\/p>\n
It was a text from Jake. \u201cJust leaving Columbus now. We should be at the restaurant by six-forty-five. You guys on your way soon?\u201d<\/p>\n
My hand hovered over the keyboard. I knew how much work Jake had put into coordinating this dinner with Lily and Noah. Lily had spent three weeks trying to get a table near the fireplace, and Noah had saved his tips from the hardware store to buy a gift.<\/p>\n
Damon walked into the room, his white shirt now on but unbuttoned at the top. He checked his watch. \u201cWhat are you staring at?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJake,\u201d I said. \u201cHe wants to make sure we are on our way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe is always checking up on us,\u201d Damon said, walking toward the bathroom. \u201cTell him we will get there when we get there.\u201d<\/p>\n
I typed, \u201cWe are getting ready now. Can\u2019t wait to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I went into our bedroom and closed the door. The house was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the heater in the hallway.<\/p>\n
I reached into the back of the closet, past the dark wool coats and the sensible winter skirts, and pulled out the box from Evelyn\u2019s Dress Shop. The tissue paper made a loud rustling sound in the quiet room.<\/p>\n
I took out the emerald dress and held it against myself. It felt light, almost weightless, compared to the heavy cottons I usually wore.<\/p>\n
I reached into my small jewelry box and took out my mother\u2019s worn pearl earrings. They were small and slightly yellowed with age, but they were the only real jewelry I owned. I clipped them onto my ears, the cold metal pinching my lobes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can do this,\u201d I whispered to myself, looking at the wall. \u201cIt is just a dress.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stepped into the green silk, pulling it up over my shoulders. The zipper went up easily, the fabric fitting snug against my waist.<\/p>\n
I walked out of the bedroom, my heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.<\/p>\n
Damon was coming up the stairs, his tie still loose around his neck. He stopped on the third step from the top, his hand gripping the banister. His eyes traveled from my shoes up to my neck, staying there for a long moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you seriously wearing that?\u201d he asked. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said, smoothing my hands down the skirt. \u201cI bought it last week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look like you are trying too hard, Elena,\u201d he said, adjusting his collar. \u201cA woman your age in bright green. People are going to stare.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet them stare,\u201d I said, though my voice caught slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am not going to let a beautiful evening go to waste,\u201d I added.<\/p>\n
Damon laughed, a short, sharp sound. \u201cYou always take things so defensively. I am just looking out for you. You do not want to make a fool of yourself in front of the kids.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned around and walked down the stairs without waiting for me to answer.<\/p>\n
I stood at the top of the stairs, my hand resting on the smooth wood of the railing. I could hear him downstairs, rustling his keys. I did not change my clothes. I walked down the stairs, opened the front door, and followed him out to the driveway.<\/p>\n
The air was crisp, the smell of dry leaves rising from the pavement. We got into the car without speaking.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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