It was emerald green with silver beading, a silver sash draped over the shoulders. It was a pretty dress, definitely elegant. But…
F
rom the day Mina hung her daughter’s wedding invitation on the boutique’s invitation wall, I knew my dress was going to be a problem.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have what to wear. I had a party dress; the dress I’d worn to Benish’s wedding eight years earlier. Mama had come along to the store when I’d bought it, to give her opinion. She’d had good taste, back in her prime, and we’d always gone shopping together.
But then Benish divorced Zoya, and I’d stowed the dress in the corner of my closet, out of sight, and never worn it again.
When Mina invited us to her daughter’s wedding and the sewing staff excitedly marked the date in their calendars, I came home from the boutique and pulled the dress out of my closet. I held it up and analyzed it.
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