Linda’s mouth tightened.
She said nothing else, but the look she gave me stayed with me.
I told myself she would eventually understand why it mattered.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
***
The morning of the wedding was chaos in the way weddings apparently always are. People moving in and out, the planner speaking into a headset like she was managing a military operation.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
My skirt was hanging in the closet in the bridal suite. I had checked on it twice already, just because seeing it settled me.
About two hours before the ceremony, I went upstairs to get dressed.
I opened the bridal suite door, headed to the closet, and pulled it open.
At first, my brain would not make sense of what I was seeing.
The skirt fabric hung crooked, torn in long, ugly gashes. Dark stains spread across the patchwork. One of the seams had been ripped so hard that squares dangled loose, barely attached.
I went upstairs to get dressed.
I sank to the floor. “No, no, no.”
The door clicked softly behind me.
“Oh, dear.”
I looked up.
Linda stood in the doorway, smiling. “Is something wrong with your skirt?”
“You did this.”
She gave the tiniest shrug. “I saved you from embarrassing yourself.”
“Is something wrong with your skirt?”
I thought I would scream or throw something.
Instead, everything went still.
I wiped my face with the heel of my hand. “You know, you might be right. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate.”
Her smile widened just a little. “I’m glad you’re finally being sensible.”
I gathered the ruined skirt carefully in my arms and stood. “We should make a few changes.”
I walked right past her.
“We should make a few changes.”
The planner looked up when I set the skirt on the table in front of her.
“What happened?”
I leaned in. “I need your help.”
When I told her my plan, she asked exactly one question.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said. “Absolutely.”
“I need your help.”
When the church doors opened, a hush moved through the room before I even took my first step.
I wore a simple ivory dress from the planner’s emergency rack.
I carried the ruined quilt skirt in my arms.
Patchwork pieces hung loose where they had been torn. The stains showed under the lights. Whispers spread in ripples as I walked down the aisle.
At the altar, Colin’s smile faded into confusion.
I carried the ruined quilt skirt in my arms.
“What happened?” he whispered when I reached him.
“You’ll understand in a minute.”
I laid the damaged skirt across the small table beside us. Then I nodded toward the sound booth.
The music faded, and a soft piano track began.
The screen behind the altar flickered to life.
The first image showed my mom in our kitchen, holding up a half-finished quilt and laughing.
A murmur moved through the guests.
The screen behind the altar flickered to life.
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