Delphi clambered onto the bed and sat there,all curls and innocence. “You’re going on a date.”
“It’s not a date.” Hattie’s pulse took off. “Who told you it was a date?” She wondered what their conversations would be like when Delphi hit her teenage years.
“Lynda. She told me she is going to look after me so that you and Noah can go on a date. Are you going to marry him?”
“What? No, of course I’m not going to marry him. Wherever did you get that idea?”
“Eddie’s mom just got married. It’s her second time, and she hopes it will be the last because her first husband—that’s Eddie’s biological daddy—was a loser. Eddie heard his mom say so.” Delphi frowned. “I don’t know what he lost. Eddie doesn’t know, either, although his toy car did go missing so it could have been that.”
Eddie was in the same kindergarten class as Delphi, and clearly talked too much.
“I don’t think we should be talking about Eddie’s family. It’s not kind to talk about people when they’re not around. What are you going to do when Lynda is here?”
“We’re going to read, and make Christmas decorations. And I’m going to be really good so you can enjoy your date.”
“That sounds like fun. I hope you’re also going to go to bed at some point and sleep. And it would be good if you could stop calling it a date.” Hattie turned sideways. “What do you think of this dress?”
“It’s too black. It needs more glitter. Or maybe feathers. I have some in my art box. We could stick them on.”
Glitter? Feathers?
That was what happened when you asked a five-year-old for fashion advice.
“What do you think I should wear?”
Delphi didn’t hesitate. “I think you should wear your princess dress.”
“My princess dress?” Hattie didn’t know she owned such a thing, but Delphi slid off the bed and padded to the clothes that Hattie had been rifling through.
“This one.” She tugged at a sequin dress in dark green and it slid off its hanger. “It’s like a Cinderella dress.”
“I assume you don’t mean the part when she is cleaning the kitchens. And since when have you been reading fairy tales?”
“Our teacher read it to us.”
“I hope she also told you to work hard, get a proper job and not wait around for a prince. In my favorite version of that story, Cinderella sets up her own cleaning company and goes global.” Hattie rescued the dress. She’d bought it years before and worn it once for a night out with her girlfriends in college. She hadn’t thought about it for years. “I’m too old for this dress.”
“I like it,” Delphi said emphatically. “I think Noah will like it, too. It’s very happy. What do you think, Rufus?”
Rufus gave an obliging bark and wagged his tail.
Great. The dress had the vote of a five-year-old and a dog. Based on that alone she should put it right back on the hanger. And anyway, it was far too dressy. Noah would probably have a heart attack if she wore it.
“It won’t fit.”
“Try it.” Delphi was insistent so Hattie took off the black dress and slid into sequins. Instantly, she was transported back to that night of the college ball. Music thumping, hair down, drinks flowing. It had been before her father had died,before she’d even met Brent. She’d been young and living in the moment. Another life.
Delphi smiled. “It fits. And it looks like Christmas.”
Surprisingly, it did fit. Maybe that was what stress and being too busy to eat did for you. And she could see why Delphi thought it looked festive—all she needed was a red bow in her hair and she’d look like something that had fallen off the Christmas tree.
She smoothed the fabric over her hips.
“I can’t wear this to dinner with Noah.”
“Why not?”
How to explain to a five-year-old the nuances of dressing for an evening out that definitely wasn’t a date?
