Three months ago, she sent me a package in the mail. No note. Just a box.
Inside, there was a green dress.
Dark green satin. The color of pine trees. It wasn’t the same dress. That one was ruined in 1998. But
it was almost exactly the same. Same color. Same shape. She must have looked for months.
At the bottom of the box, there was a little card. It just said, in her loopy handwriting:
I owe you a lot more than a dress. But I figured I’d start with the first thing I broke. — R.
I haven’t worn it. I don’t know if I ever will. But I hung it in my closet.
And I called her that night. And we talked for an hour. The longest we’d talked in a year. She cried. I cried a little too.
At the end, she said, “Jenna? Can I say something?”
