My mother-in-law and I had barely exchanged a few words in three years. So, her unexpected visit completely caught me off guard. And what she brought with her only fueled my suspicions about what she might want from me.
After barely three years of talking to each other, there she was, standing on my doorstep, a white box in her hand, as if it were a peace treaty.
Lorraine’s smile was too bright, the kind of smile she’d probably practiced in front of the hall mirror before Sunday dinners. I hadn’t seen her give me that smile since the spring when Raymond died.
« I brought you something, » said my mother-in-law.
I didn’t move to pick up the box. My hand remained gripping the door frame, as if it needed to hold on.
Lorraine’s smile was too radiant.
***
The last real conversation we had ended at a Sunday dinner, when she slammed her palm down on the dining room table. « My son might be happier if he hadn’t married you! »
That evening, I left before dessert and, since then, I haven’t tasted a single one of her dishes. It was the first celebratory meal after the death of her husband, Raymond. Everyone said that grief could do strange things to people.
Three years of cold greetings seemed to tell a completely different story.
I left before dessert that evening.
***
« Lorraine, it’s Monday morning. »
« I know what day it is, Mia. »
She handed me the box a little further away, and I finally took it because standing there refusing seemed pettier than opening it. The lid lifted more easily than I would have liked.
Inside was the strangest dress I’ve ever seen.
She handed me the box.
Dozens of old men’s ties. Striped, floral, burgundy, navy blue. All sewn together to form a kind of dress that reached the knees, with a carefully made hem and straps made of a material that resembled pearl grey silk.
I slowly took it out of the box. It was heavier than it should have been.
« Lorraine. What is this? »
« I want you to wear it for my birthday. »
I took it out slowly.
I looked up at her and stared at her. My mother-in-law wasn’t laughing. She had her hands clasped in front of her and nervously pressed one thumb against the other.
« Are you serious? »
« In two weeks, I’ll be 65 years old. »
Was this her way of making peace? Or was she trying to humiliate me?
« Why this dress? »
His gaze drifted down towards the slats of the porch. Just for a second, but I noticed.
« Are you serious? »
« Because it would mean more to me than you can imagine. »
She said it softly. Without sentimentality, without sounding like she was reciting a prepared line. In a voice that bore no resemblance whatsoever to that of the woman who had told me, in her own dining room, that I had ruined her son’s life.
Then she quickly patted my arm, like you’d pet a stranger’s dog, and drove off before I had a chance to ask her another question. Her sedan had already reached the end of the street when I closed the door.
She said it softly.
I stood in the entrance hall, the dress draped in my arms.
***
That evening, I placed the white box on our kitchen counter and waited for Dean to come home. When he arrived a little after 6 p.m. and saw the dress spread out on the marble, I expected him to either laugh or roll his eyes.
Instead, her face softened in a way I hadn’t seen in months.
I expected him to laugh or roll his eyes.
He saw her before I even said anything.
« What is this? »
« Your mother came by. »
He stopped on the threshold. « Did my mother come here? »
« She brought me a dress. She wants me to wear it for her birthday. »
« What is this? »
My husband approached and lifted the hem of the dress, letting the ties billow out in the kitchen light. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile that shows he’s unsure of what expression to wear.
« Mia. Maybe Mom is finally trying to fix things. »
« With that? »
« Just give him a chance. »
« Maybe Mom is finally trying to fix things. »
I looked at him, standing there, and I saw the same thing I had been seeing for three years. That weary hope. That cloak of guilt he couldn’t shake off, the guilt of having buried his father and the guilt of having asked me, again and again, to make just a little more effort.
« Dean, she told me at her table that you’d be happier without me. »
« I know what she said, but I think you’re overthinking it. »
I saw the same thing I’ve been seeing for the past three years.
« Am I imagining things because she suddenly appeared on our porch wearing a dress made of ties? »
He didn’t respond to that.
My husband simply folded the dress back into the box, with as much care as a man folding a flag.
« Mia, » he said softly, « Mom came by my office this morning. »
« What’s wrong with her? »
He took a sealed envelope out of his jacket and placed it next to the dress.
He didn’t respond to that.
On the front, in handwriting I recognized immediately, it read: « For Dean and Mia, to be opened together, after Lorraine’s birthday. »
My throat tightened. « That’s your father’s handwriting. »
« Mom told me that Dad was working on something before he died. She told me that he wrote this letter himself, that he wanted it opened the night you wore this dress. »
I secured the envelope.
« That’s your father’s handwriting. »
« So, the dress… he knew about it? »
« It certainly looks like it. » Dean twirled it in his hands. « I didn’t even know it existed until this morning. Mia, please. Put it out for her, and for him, so we can read the letter. »
I wanted it. My God, I wanted it so badly. But something deep inside me was pulling me in the wrong direction.
« Dean, your mother cruelly rejected me. And now she shows up with a message from your deceased father? »
« I know what it’s like. »
» Really ? «
« I didn’t even know it existed until this morning. »
My husband slumped into a chair. « I’m not going to open the envelope before the appointed time. It’s in Dad’s handwriting. So it’s his wish. I owe him that much. »
I took the dress and carried it into the bedroom, where I spread it out under the lamp. My fingers traced the ribbons one by one until they stopped on a burgundy ribbon adorned with tiny gold anchors.
Something inside me calmed down, and I felt something strange.
« I owe him that much. »
I leaned closer. The stitches where the anchor ribbon met its neighbor were small and meticulous, with carefully folded loop knots. I’d seen this kind of stitching before, I was sure of it. But the memory refused to solidify.
I stayed there for a long time, with the feeling of vaguely recognizing something, without being able to put a name to it.
***
Lorraine called twice in the following two weeks.
« You always wear that dress, don’t you, darling? »
The memory refused to become clear.
« Yes, Lorraine. »
« Promise me. Promise me you won’t change your mind. »
I sighed softly so she wouldn’t hear me.
« I promise you. »
« It’s just a small, casual get-together, darling. A retro garden party. Nothing fancy. And it’s a family surprise, so Dean can’t ruin it. I asked him not to interfere and stop you from joining the group chat, okay? »
My mother-in-law’s voice had that slightly forced warmth that people adopt when they read a text.
« Promise me you won’t change your mind. »
***
I pressed Dean again the day before the party. « Has your mother ever apologized to you for what she said to me? »
My husband looked down at the floor. « Mia. »
« That’s what I thought. »
« She’s making an effort. Dad would have wanted that. »
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