“For scientific purposes.”
I laughed harder.
“Try it on.”
The dress was slightly loose at the waist, exactly as he’d planned.
He pinned the extra fabric while I stood in front of the mirror, then made the final adjustment that same evening.
When I tried it on again, it fit beautifully.
I stared at my reflection.
“Grandpa…”
He stood behind me, smiling.
“You like it?”
I turned and threw my arms around him.
“You shouldn’t have worked so hard.”
“Yes, I should have.”
“I don’t deserve this.”
His smile disappeared.
“Don’t say that.”
I looked down.
He put both hands on my shoulders.
“You’ve spent too many years letting people make you think having less means being less.”
I swallowed.
“It doesn’t.”
He nodded toward the mirror.
“That dress is special because nobody else in the world has one.”
I hugged him again.
At the time, I thought we’d remember that moment together for years.
Five days later, Grandpa di:ed from a heart attack in his sleep.
There had been no warning.
My aunt Diane found him after he failed to answer her morning call.
I never got to say goodbye.
For days, I barely left the apartment.
His boots were still beside the door.
His coffee mug was still by the sink.
His old flannel shirt still smelled faintly of him.
The prom invitation stayed on the refrigerator.
Every time I saw it, my stomach tightened.
“I’m not going,” I told Aunt Diane.
She sat beside me.
“He made that dress because he wanted you to wear it.”
“He isn’t here to see it.”
“I know.”
That hurt more than anything.
She took my hand.
“You don’t have to stay all night. Go for 20 minutes if that’s all you can manage. But don’t let the last thing he made for you disappear into a closet.”
I didn’t answer.
On prom night, I stood in front of the dress for almost an hour.
Then I touched the uneven stitches.
I imagined Grandpa sitting in the back of the shop, his rough mechanic’s hands trying to guide delicate fabric beneath a sewing needle.
