I looked at Clark. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He had told her about our conversation, though whether he knew what she planned to do with it, I couldn’t tell.
“You can’t do that,” I said.
“What? I’m helping.” Alice lifted the garment bag and unzipped it. Inside was a pale blue designer dress covered in delicate beadwork. It was beautiful. “Luckily, I fixed it. One thousand dollars.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know.” The way she said it told me exactly why she had. She turned to Olivia. “Honey, wear this. What your mother made belongs in the trash.”
Clark shifted. “Alice, that’s enough.”
She kept going. “It’s not your fault your mother is a poor cashier.”
I felt hot all over. Not angry at first. Ashamed. Ashamed of the grocery store. Ashamed of the debt. Ashamed of the dress.
Olivia looked at me, then at the designer gown. Then she smiled. “It really is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Alice said, beaming. “I knew you’d understand.”
Olivia took the garment bag, and my stomach sank. I told myself not to react. She was seventeen. It was prom. Of course she wanted the expensive dress. She walked into her bedroom, and then called back, “In return, I’d like to show you something, too.”
Alice laughed. “For me?”
“Yeah.”
Clark frowned. “What is she doing?”
“I have no idea,” I said.
Olivia came back holding her phone. She tapped the screen a few times and set it on the table beside the designer dress. On it stood a teenage girl under cheap gymnasium decorations, in a homemade prom dress. Big hair. An awkward smile. Hand-sewn fabric.
The girl was Alice.
Clark leaned closer. “Alice?”
She went red. Olivia said, “Your private throwback album. Forgot you gave me access a few years ago?” She tapped the screen. “You were seventeen, weren’t you? Your caption said your mom spent weeks sewing this dress because your family couldn’t afford one from a store.”
Nobody spoke. Alice finally said, “Why are you showing me this?”
Olivia looked at her. “Your mother made this for you, didn’t she?”
Alice didn’t answer.
“Didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“So why is what my mother made trash?”
That landed harder than anything I could have said.
Clark picked up the phone. Beneath the photograph was Alice’s caption: My mom worked on this for three weeks. We couldn’t afford anything fancy, but I felt like a princess. He read it twice. Then he looked at her.
Alice crossed her arms. “That was different.”
“How?” Olivia tilted her head. “How was it different?”
Alice opened her mouth. Nothing came out. And suddenly I understood something I hadn’t before. Alice wasn’t mocking my life because she’d never lived it. She was mocking it because she had.
Clark lowered the phone. “You told me you wanted to do something nice for Olivia. You knew her mother made that dress. You didn’t bring this here to help Olivia. You brought it here to embarrass her mother.”
Alice snapped, “I did.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity. The man who had cheated on me was just now discovering his girlfriend could be cruel. Clark had ignored plenty when Alice aimed it at me. This time, Olivia was standing in the middle of it.
Alice reached for Olivia’s phone. “Turn that off.”
Olivia plucked it away before she could touch it. “No. You don’t get to insult my mom and then act embarrassed by your own.”
“That is not what this is.”
“Then explain it.”
Alice glanced toward the door. And that was when Olivia said something I still think about.
“Your mom must have been really proud of that dress.”
Alice froze.
“I would never talk about something my mom made for me like you just did.”
Alice went quiet. Then she zipped the designer dress back into its bag. Clark looked at her. “You owe both of them an apology.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She gave a short laugh. “I’m not apologizing for trying to help.”
Clark’s face changed. “Then I’m not leaving with you after that.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“No.”
Alice tightened her grip on the garment bag. At the door, she turned back to Olivia. “You’ll regret not wearing it.”
Olivia shrugged. “Maybe.” Then she looked at me. “But I don’t think so.”
Alice left alone.
For a moment Clark just stood there. Then he looked at Olivia. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded, but she didn’t let him off the hook with a smile. He left a minute later.
After the door closed, I sat down. Olivia was still holding her phone. “How did you even find that?”
“Alice follows me online.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
She smiled. “After my birthday dinner, I wondered whether she’d always been like that.”
So that was what she’d been looking at during all those late nights while I sewed. She’d been carrying the discovery for days. I laughed despite myself. “And?”
Olivia looked at Alice’s old photograph. “I don’t think she was.”
Three days later, prom night came. Olivia wore my dress and let me fix her hair. When she stepped outside, Clark was waiting to take photos. Alice wasn’t with him. He looked at our daughter for a long moment. “You look beautiful.”
Olivia smiled. “Mom made it.”
“I know.”
He glanced at me. There were a lot of things I could have said. I didn’t. We took pictures, and Olivia went to prom.
When she came home that night, one hem had come loose and there was punch on the skirt. I pointed at the stain. “Designer dress wouldn’t have survived that either.”
She kicked off her shoes. “Yeah, but this one can be repaired.”
Then she hugged me. Later, as I sat mending the loose hem, I heard my mother’s advice again, neat first, fast later, and understood why that dress had mattered so much.
And for once, I didn’t feel poor.
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