Like a bride.
Like someone who's about to marry the love of her life.
Mom's wedding dress fits like it was made for me.
The alterations took a week, but the result is perfect.
Vintage lace with a sweetheart neckline.
Long sleeves that taper to points at my wrists.
A flowing skirt that brushes the floor when I walk.
Classic.
Elegant.
Timeless.
Just like the woman who wore it almost thirty years ago.
"Oh, baby girl."
I turn to find Mom in the doorway, her hand pressed to her mouth, tears already streaming down her face.
"Mom, you promised you wouldn't cry until the ceremony."
"I lied." She crosses to me, cups my face in her hands. "You're so beautiful. You look—you look?—"
She can't finish.
Just pulls me into a hug, careful not to wrinkle the dress.
"You look just like I did," she finally manages. "When I married your father. Standing in front of that same mirror, terrified and excited and so in love I couldn't breathe."
"I'm not terrified."
"No?"
"Okay, maybe a little terrified."
She laughs through her tears. "That's normal. That's good. It means you understand how big this is."
The door opens again and Astrid slips in, already dressed in her maid of honor gown—a soft dusty rose that complements the wedding colors perfectly.
"How's the bride—oh my god." She stops dead. "Ingrid. You look incredible."
"You think?"
"I know." She comes closer, circling me slowly. "The dress is perfect. The hair is perfect. Everything is—" She stops. "Wait. Where's Grandmother's veil?"
Mom's eyes go wide.
"I put it—I had it right?—"
"Mom."
"It was in the bag. The garment bag. I'm sure I?—"
