Skirts. Jackets. A prom dress for a girl down the street that got more compliments than the one from the boutique.
She wanted to be a fashion designer. She said it with a quiet stubbornness that scared me a little, because I knew how expensive dreams could be.
That week, she had been staying up late over a dress that wasn’t for her.
Lily loved to sew.
I’d see the light under her door at midnight. Then at one. Then later.
***
On the third night, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I padded down the hall in my robe and found her hunched over the machine, hair in a clip, a pin between her teeth.
“Sweetheart, it’s nearly one.” I pulled a chair up beside her. “Can’t this wait?”
She took the pin out of her mouth.
“It’s due tomorrow. Annie’s singing in the school concert, Mom. Her mother can’t afford a dress.”
“Can’t this wait?”
I knew who Annie was, sort of. A girl in Lily’s grade. Thin, quiet, always in oversized sweatshirts.
Her mother cleaned offices at night. I’d seen her once at a parent night, still in her work polo, standing at the back of the room like she didn’t think she was allowed to sit.
